The train pulled away from the station, a plume of steam a stark contrast to the glaring screen in my hand.
Look, I’m a card-carrying member of the perpetually online club. As a Xennial working mom, my laptop is practically an extension of my arm, ready to capture a freelance gig during a car wash lull. My phone? It’s surgically attached, a lifeline for my kids and, let’s be honest, my own dopamine hits. ‘Off duty’ is a mythical creature I’ve only heard whispered about in hushed tones.
So when I stepped onto the Canyon Spirit, a luxury train promising a return to analog pleasures and a deliberate slowdown, I knew it was going to be… an experience. An experiment in forced serenity, if you will.
No WiFi? Seriously?
The whole conceit is brilliant, really. Three days of no WiFi, no connectivity. Pure, unadulterated presence. It was designed to pull you out of the digital vortex and drop you headfirst into the majesty of the American West. Snow-capped Rockies giving way to Utah’s rust-colored canyons, all viewed through panoramic domes while someone serves you cocktails. Sounds like heaven, right? For most people, absolutely. For me? A mild existential dread began to bloom.
Life Happens, Even on Luxury Trains
And then, because the universe apparently has a twisted sense of humor and a penchant for dramatic irony, it all hit the fan. As the train chugged along, a picturesque postcard of my former life, my husband and I were neck-deep in negotiating a house offer. We’re talking DocuSign wars, contingency clauses, the whole nine yards of what might be the biggest financial decision of our lives. And as if that wasn’t enough to trigger an anxiety supernova, our current house decided to throw a tantrum requiring meticulous digital documentation for… potential future legal entanglements. Oh, and did I mention my son decided to contract a delightful fever and projectile vomiting episode back home? My husband, bless his soul, wasn’t just playing solo parent; he was solo parenting a sick child, doing the unpleasant laundry, while still managing school runs and the aforementioned house saga. My guilt? It reached stratospheric levels.
So there I was, aboard this temple of tranquility, my hand permanently affixed to my phone, desperately trying to coax a single bar of signal from the T-Mobile satellite feature. I’m pretty sure the intended use of those stunning open-air decks involved deep breaths and appreciation of nature, not frantic phone-waving yoga poses.
The Unexpected Value of Almost Unplugging
Here’s the kicker
