The things we give away

It felt like there were suddenly 27 hours in every day.
How else can I describe the feeling I had recently while going off the grid for an overdue, much needed retreat designed to make me look directly in the mirror. That can be a scary proposition for anyone afraid of who or what they might see staring back at them, but for me it turned out to be extraordinary.
For starters, this faith-based experience cleared the deck of all my other worldly concerns which made it easier to focus and concentrate. That, I realized just a few hours in, is becoming more and more difficult in a world driven by sound bites, social media and other distractions of the modern world.
My home away from home for three solid days was a retreat facility near Waverly, which is operated by the Catholic Diocese of Lincoln. I’d been there back in 1989 for an engagement encounter, which seems like a lifetime ago. This would be a completely different experience.
The venue is simple, by design, offering no TVs in the small rooms, a chapel, meeting rooms and a dining area. It sits on a beautiful campus, which due to recent rains was lush green, offering small dirt roads for walking, talking and contemplating the lessons of the day.
Beyond the power of prayer and very personal, religious growth I felt by the end of the weekend, what struck me about this experience was how much time is wasted on a daily basis by the noise which sucks me in daily. I tell myself I’m not a social media fan, but do spend some time on Facebook each day, mainly because the News-Register posts information there and I like to monitor our content. Almost without fail, however, I’m drawn in by something else, perhaps on another platform, and before I know it I’ve wasted precious time reading about or watching brief videos featuring someone I don’t know or something I care absolutely nothing about.
Same goes for television, as we often have it on in the background at our house, letting network executives or commercials help decide what we’re seeing and hearing. NOT having access to television or cell phones (other than periodic checks for messages from my family) was a refreshing gift of time and peace of mind. After our last session of the day, I would go for a walk, maybe get some light exercise, take a shower and then settle in with a clear mind to ponder serious subjects that demanded my full attention. That’s hard to do with the world on full blast at my fingertips via whatever screen happens to be glowing in front of me.
The strange thing was that I didn’t miss any of it.
I didn’t miss knowing what was happening on television. I didn’t miss scrolling through Facebook. I sure didn’t miss the little bursts of information that normally fill the spaces between the things that actually matter.
Instead, I discovered something I probably already knew but had conveniently forgotten: quiet takes time, but it also gives time back.
Without the television humming in the background or the phone demanding to be checked, there was suddenly room to think. Room to remember. Room to pray. Room to have conversations that didn’t have to compete with a screen. Room, perhaps most importantly, to listen.
And that’s when the 27-hour days began to make sense. I hadn’t somehow been given an extra three hours each day. I had simply stopped giving so many of my hours away.
I’m not naïve enough to think I’m going to come home and never turn on the television or glance at social media again. The phone will still buzz. The headlines will still be there. The world will still be noisy.
But for three days, I was reminded that I don’t have to answer every invitation to listen. Maybe that’s what I brought home with me. Not more time. Just a better understanding of what to do with the time I’ve already been given.
KURT JOHNSON can be reached at kjohnson@hamilton.net