The Day I Went Dark

From my first BlackBerry in 2005, I’ve never gone without a device within arm’s reach. Like a gunslinger armed with information, I was always ready to fire back an answer, pull up the news, or check an email. My phone was the ultimate connector.

Gone are the days of playing trivia with friends, arguing over who knew the right movie title. Back then, if I didn’t know the answer, I’d get creative. I’d make up fake movie titles like Relics from the Past and somehow convince everyone it was real. That game doesn’t exist anymore because now we all carry the ultimate fact checker in our hands.

From the moment I wake up, it’s news, politics, and updates. On the way to work, it’s emails and instant messages from colleagues, friends, and family. We exercise on the Peloton with a screen in front of us. We fall asleep with podcasts in our ears about health, supplements, motivation. All reminding us of what we should be doing and what we’re not doing right.

The endless scroll of information sneaks up on you over the years. News, comedy, politics, health. It never stops. Work is now 24/7, always on, always global. There’s always something to do, always a meeting to arrange, always someone to compare yourself against.

It takes a toll. On the mind. On the body. On the soul.

Our household fell into two traditional roles: I was the money, and my wife was the emotional support for the kids. But it’s never that simple. What I found was that I had little connection to these amazing kids, and I also felt like my purpose in the household was dwindling. I wanted to be a role model. I wanted to create a great family.

If it’s true that we marry our mother or father, do I want my daughter marrying a workaholic? Do I want my son to grow up devoid of showing emotions in a healthy way?

And this is when you start to wonder: what if I pulled the plug? What if I gave myself a system reboot?

About a year ago, a friend told me about something called The Hoffman Process and how it changed their life and perspective. I was happy for them, and I thought it sounded like something my spiritually connected wife would be into. I would pass this information and ofcourse she knew all about it. While she had never entered The Process, she was familiar with all the modalities that were involved.

A few months later, one of my closest friends went through it. He had been stressed, life had taken a toll, but he seemed “normal” to me. Still, if this gave him peace, I was happy for him.

For six months leading up to my experience, I had been struggling with the so-called work-life balance. I sat weekly on a couch, talking through my issues with a therapist. It felt good to talk, but nothing was changing inside me. I was still waking up in the middle of the night. I was checking out of emotionally raising my kids. I was focused on work almost 24/7.

Fast forward a few more months. After 12 hours of filling out forms and questionnaires about my life, I stepped onto The Hoffman Process campus in Northern California searching for a better solution.

Part of this experience, and yes, it truly is an experience,is a full digital detox. No TV. No phone. No computer. Nothing to digitally stimulate your senses. Just your eyes, ears, body, soul, and imagination.

When I first handed over my phone at Hoffman, I felt rightly nervous. It was a strange thing to do. Then I watched others do the same, and suddenly, I felt free.

Seven days later, not one person wanted their phone back. When the time came, we all turned them on reluctantly. Some of us waited hours. Many of us swore off social media. And when the notifications started flooding in, texts, emails, the red bubbles, it was like anxiety itself had been downloaded straight into our souls.

Over the week, thirty-seven strangers transformed into something almost unrecognizable. A better version of themselves. We were from different ages, races, stories, and upbringings, each of us carrying the weight of our past: shame, anger, and pain passed down from generation to generation.

The difference between people on the first day compared to the last was the most resounding thing I’ve ever seen. It was as if masks had been taken off. Faces literally changed. The way people walked, talked, and carried themselves shifted. Purpose shifted.

We connected. We talked. We laughed. We argued. And we cried.

And yes, there were a lot of tears. But they weren’t shameful.

In our world today, laughter, smiles, and even anger are acceptable. But tears? Tears are seen as weakness. What we learned together was the opposite: tears hold messages. The more you bottle them up, the more they imprison you. Letting them out is freeing. Sometimes sadness wears the mask of anger. Sometimes anger wears the mask of sadness. Once you release it, forgive, and allow love back in, you begin to see what you’ve been carrying and how long you’ve been lost. For me it might have been 10 years.

I realized I had been distracted from the things that matter most.

Like when my son wanted a hug. Why didn’t I hug him every time, as if he were a boy going off to war? When my daughter wanted to show me her first somersault, why didn’t I cheer like she was at the Olympics?

Life’s distractions, the constant pull of work, the endless information; all of it eroded connection. Even the bond with my wife, my partner, was faded.

When was the last time you hugged someone, really hugged them? Or looked them in the eye for more than a few seconds?

These were the questions I started asking myself. And the answers weren’t easy. I realized I had failed my family, my friends, and most of all, myself.

I had let insecurities, jealousy, and anger take the wheel. I had bottled up appreciation, love, and gratitude for so long that I had lost my true self. I let over-communication replace real communication. I forgot how to look people in the eye.

But this wasn’t really about phones or social media. This was about connection.

Pulling the plug wasn’t about disconnecting from technology. It was about plugging back in. To myself. To others. To life.