Ten days in Patagonia.

No scroll. Pure joy.

This summer I led a student trip to the furthest southern point of the Americas and students did not have their phones. This meant no notifications. None of the thoughtless, default checks when there was a pause. And no endless tech dips into the little dopamine wells that have become so easy to access. 

Purely Patagonia and we all were all in. 

What captured our attention was the very “why” we were there. Ice fields, mountain passes, the cold wind and snow in our faces. We traversed in crampons across glaciers and on other days, our skis cut across and down the slopes. 

When the Phones Went Away

The ten days our screens went away, the group bonded. Clearly, at first there was a little push back and noticeably, it felt like something was missing. That’s because it was!  So accustomed to filling the  spaces of the day with technology, any empty space (a bus ride or moment alone at the breakfast table) could feel almost uncomfortable. Yet, adapting was as seamless as it was quick. Like a vacuum, other things filled those cell phone free spaces. What became immediately clear was how when we removed the phones, we didn’t remove the need to fill the space. We simply discovered what else could fill it!

Something Else Always Fills the Space

Conversations, innumerable ping pong matches, card games, shared meals, and one of my favorites to watch…a puzzle that was on the table at one of the hostels. Over a couple days, nearly ten students rallied around the puzzle and before we left, the scene was complete. Wish it were a smiling teen burying their phone in the landfill. Instead it was an idyllic scene from the region.

Besides robust laughter throughout the days (and late nights!), we all rediscovered the surprisingly rich experience of just being around other people without needing anything from a screen.

Returning home, school began a few days thereafter. Stepping out on a bold new branch, this year students and teachers were being asked to put the phones away. After the first day of classes, an administrator shared a gracious e-mail to the entire community. The subject line, *Mahalo (thank you) for showing up with such positive energy.” Her intent was to follow up with a few observations regarding the first day with no phones and highlighted most was how everyone seemed to be looking up a whole lot more. 

For all of us, the absence of cell phones made a noticeable, even palpable difference. Instead of screens, everyone was seeing each other. 

This all matters because changing our relationship with technology isn’t accomplished by simply declaring a new rule. It happens through thousands of small choices, repeated until they become habits. And we are all building those habits together. Not proud to admit it, I can honestly say that I too feel addicted to my phone. Is it my phone or the dopamine? The reward of an answered e-mail?  The pleasure or satisfaction that I seemingly find when I crook my neck and squint at my phone? 

Most mornings I reach first thing  for my phone, which is excused for being at my bedside because the clock and alarm are there.  Furthermore, I usually make one last check at emails before going to sleep. This too “excused” because our timezone is so different and maybe someone needs to get a hold of me. 

Enter Nope-amine

So, this brings me to how I am choosing to begin my days. Conscious, after doing my best to recollect any dreams I may have, I think of the word  *nope-amine”. We spend so much of our lives chasing tiny, immediate rewards through technology: check, scroll, refresh, respond, repeat.

Nope-amine is the opposite.

It is the small pleasure of saying no. No, I don’t need to check. And I definitely don’t need to check first thing in the morning. The “nos” can roll on.

No, I don’t need to capture this moment. No, I don’t need to fill the silence.

Similar to the experience with teens in Patagonia, I am discovering what becomes possible when I say “nope.”

Seemingly, Patagonia made this a bit easier. It was difficult to be distracted by my phone when we  were climbing across Perito Moreno. It seemed unnecessary to check my email when we were backcountry skiing (Not so tough on the long chairlift the mountain on the resort however!) 

Guess it’s about being in the moment and choosing to be. It is just that…a choice. An adventure really. One that is not only okay with, but may relish, in quiet and uncertain moments. Owning our attention is considered by many to be of greatest value. Money is infinite in a sort of way. Able to be  earned again or even printed anew. Time however is finite. But attention moreover  is even more interesting: you can have time available and still lose its value if your attention is fragmented. 

This need not be a proxy war. Nor any war at all! The goal is not to declare technology the enemy. Technology is extraordinary. It connects us, helps us learn, allows us to create, and gives us access to an almost unimaginable amount of information.  Yet, we might be wise to distinguish between a difference in using technology and technology using us! 

The Patagonia experience offered a reset. Similarly, the first day of school and our new policy. 

More Looking Up

In Patagonia we traded notifications for mountains. Scrolling for skiing.

In school we are trading algorithms for conversations. Streaks for in-person friendships.

Lest we remember something that is easy to forget, a life worth paying attention to is happening right in front of us.

For a few years now, in my entrepreneurship courses, I have dissuaded students from the knee jerk default to want to create an app. This being because sometimes the best technology intervention is not a better app, a new setting, or another productivity hack.

Sometimes it is simply putting the phone away.

In Patagonia, we looked up because there were mountains.At school, students are looking up because their phones aren’t in the way.

And perhaps that’s what we’re really trying to recover. Not less technology, but more looking up.

Ferris Bueller’s Day Off was my favorite movie when I was the age of the students I now teach. I think Ferris said it best, “Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”

#####################