ArcaMax

Last weekend, I ventured on a wee break to the Rainbow River in Dunnellon, Florida, with friends. You know, clumsy kayaking, steamy morning java, birds and otters aplenty. The group discouraged phone use, a disorienting prospect in 2025 when national policy unfolds via unhinged tweets at all hours of the night.

While I didn't go cold turkey from the phone, I managed to stay mostly logged off news and social media for three days. That's the equivalent of... I don't know, winning an Olympic bronze medal in poodle clipping. Not the most profound accomplishment, but not nothing! (By the way, Olympic poodle clipping was almost a real thing -- look it up.)

As spring travel gears up, a little jaunt into the cypress trees got me thinking. All people, but especially those of us inclined to stage imaginary screaming matches while trying to sleep, would do well to extricate ourselves from digital overexposure and plug into the simplicity of the natural world. Not just because the country could be heading for a recession and we must practice stretching a block of cheddar in remote housing.

I don't mean to be like, "Life's short, take the trip!" Not everyone can afford to go hiking in French wine country, especially with $10 eggs to budget for. Nor can we ignore the news permanently or opt out of civic action. The same outdoor spaces that heal us are in constant jeopardy from climate change, deforestation, unchecked development and more.

But regulating one's nervous system can be a more modest feat. Gaining perspective might look like sitting in a park and considering the squirrels. Or staring wistfully out to the gulf, YOU KNOW THE ONE. Or even flopping on the driveway and getting lost in the clouds without Googling "chemtrails conspiracy."

To be sure, unplugging takes surprising effort. I testify as someone who attempted to meditate for 15 minutes along said Rainbow River and instead composed an entire short story in which a meditating woman got ripped off the dock by a ravenous alligator. Coming soon to a theater near you: "Dharma and Leg."

However, after a few days of waking naturally with the sun, of not reading things like "TRUMP ADMINISTRATION BANS FORESTS, WOODLAND CREATURES" before my feet touched the floor, I remember why rest matters. Our conversations, as a society, will be more productive, authentic and, well, hinged, when we've been able to rest. When we're not thinking in internet soundbites, when dopamine isn't blasting around like WAP WAP WAP WAP WAP. People on all sides of the aisle need to, as the youth say, touch grass.

Because out there in the crystalline quiet -- hey, is that an anhinga? -- the things worth protecting settle into focus. Dense political issues become practical and real.

Who should sit on wildlife boards, developers or scientists? Should experts tasked with protecting beaches and species be randomly fired? Who's meeting in quiet corners to plot golf courses on preserved lands? Why are oil tankers allowed to run into rare, endangered whales? Why did the feds stop a tree planting program? Shouldn't government ensure these natural gifts don't become paved over and pillaged and polluted more than they already are? Are you sure that's not an anhinga? No? Doesn't it look like one? Around the neck? OK, right, shh. Time to be quiet.

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Stephanie Hayes is a columnist at the Tampa Bay Times in Florida. Follow her at @stephhayes on X or @stephrhayes on Instagram.

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