By T.K. Vasquez
On a warm September morning, the first curve of the sun had risen over the world’s rim. I sat on my patio, chai latte in hand, watching as the trees’ silhouettes were backlit by crimson and the birds, one by one, began to sing. The sounds were manifold: leaves whispering, rabbits darting across the lawn, an owl saying goodnight—what I didn’t hear was the moth-frenzy of screen-tapping, the ding of notifications, or the chatter of social media.
This isn’t the modern-day morning norm, nor was it always normal for me. I used to begin my day with a shot of news—dark events, conspiracies, and fearmongering—and a check of my socials, but after witnessing the glory of dawn, it was hard to return to the noise.
And we all know the noise.
Once we plug in, we don’t unplug until our heads hit the pillow. Every crack of free time, every second when our thoughts wander, we grab our always-on devices and numb out.