when i had no phone and no one could reach me

on choosing undivided attention

Hermit Thymes is a column romanticizing introversion, hermit tendencies and abundant solitude for deeper connections.

Balancing my introversion with the desire to run an online business is often at odds with each other. I disappear from the internet for months at a time. When I’m in design mode, balance feels impossible. This letter is the story of my ever evolving relationship with technology — what makes this connection possible. As space holders, community builders, and teachers we do nothing alone. Thank you so much for being here.

The Cycling Cap for cold weather fresh off the needles! I added earflaps and different design details to the wool version. I have to figure out how to make the brim stand up in a beginner friendly way. It’s designed to be worn under a bike helmet. The theme for this pattern is “reuse, reduce, recycle” and the ways we can protect mother nature through waste reduction while also saving money. The warm weather version (to the right) is made of small bundles of scrap yarn.

When I had no phone and no one could reach me.

I didn't have a phone for 2 years. No one could reach me. I carried coins in all kinds of currency in a little purse and used pay phones in NYC when those were a thing. I went to Paris, Morocco, Spain, Netherlands, Berlin, and Mexico with no mobile communication device. I asked to borrow phones, searched for internet cafes, and wrote handwritten letters. I tripped on shrooms solo in Vondel Park. Slept in the Sahara Desert. Smoked joints in between long bus rides knitting country to country.

I travelled by bike to go dancing by myself and rode back as one of the few people on the road at dusk. I rarely asked people for help or directions. I read paper maps. My mother was afraid for me. I got lost and always found my way home.

Grapefruit and yogurt topped with hemp seeds. A ceramicist at my clay studio made a large batch of these bowls for a ramen spot. I loved them so much and asked about her method. She used a clay body called Brooklyn Red and threw them on a potter’s wheel. You want a narrow base and a wide brim. Use a large straight rib to shape the bowl in only 3 or 4 pulls or else the walls will be too thin to hold hot soup. Refine the shape while trimming being careful not to take too much away. Fire at cone 10. Dip half the bowl into the glaze bucket and do the same on the other side with the same color to create a dark line at the center. I tried to make one, but wasn’t experienced enough. One day I came in and she handed me two that didn't match the rest. A gift.

When I had a phone and let it die.

Finally I got one of those cheap flip phones with a prepaid card and when the minutes ran out, I wouldn't buy a new one for weeks. I hiked with my Osprey backpack listening to the same songs on repeat. I remember the untethered feeling of being in the world without documenting or retelling the account of my adventures. Bouncing from green space to beach sleeping in $8/night beds lost to the world. Then I fell in love again, again, and again with people I hope I am never lost to.

I am grateful for the people who offer me patience, flexibility and the opportunity to stay connected. Not everyone can or does.

I have a phone and use it with intention.

I upgraded to an iPhone and instantly felt agitated by app notifications from everywhere all the time. So I turned off alerts on all the apps except iMessage and iPhone. I've begun the practice of opening emails and messages daily although I don't always respond right away.

I give myself permission to be intentional and slow to respond. I prioritize scheduling dates for intimate time together digitally or in person, engagements requiring an immediate response, strategic partnerships, and paid contractual work with a timeline. I work well under clear expectations and deadlines.

To be in a room with me is to be in relationship with someone who can be fully present and off their phone the entire time. I tend to be quiet in rooms full of strangers. I embrace moments of silence to gauge someone’s feelings and needs during conversation. I hold eye contact. I have to make an effort to preserve friendships with varying degrees of closeness. I feel the value of acquaintanceship to my overall wellbeing, but they are difficult for me to maintain unless facilitated by community, proximity or collaboration.

Being an artist-entrepreneur working in slow crafts is to choose deep flow states over even joyous, welcomed distractions every single day. This work chose me. It continuously pulls at my attention and won't let me go. I slip the phone behind the couch cushions so it's out of reach, but I can still hear the ring.

I have come a long way.

I’m an emergency contact now.

People call me.

I pick up their call.