“Come away by yourselves to a quiet place…”
— an invitation easily postponed.
I have learned to be reachable. It happened gradually, until availability felt like a virtue rather than a habit. Messages answered quickly. Notifications left on. A low-level readiness humming beneath everything else.
Today I noticed how little space remains when every pause is interruptible. How even silence waits to be filled, as if emptiness were a problem to solve. I am present everywhere, and therefore nowhere in particular.
The cost is subtle. Not exhaustion exactly, but thinning. Attention stretched too wide to rest anywhere long enough to deepen. Faith, too, becomes responsive—reacting instead of listening, answering before hearing.
I did not disconnect completely today. I’m not sure I know how. But I let a few messages wait. I allowed myself to be briefly unavailable, and nothing collapsed in my absence.
There was relief in that realization. Also a hint of grief—for how rarely I have allowed myself to step out of reach.
Perhaps withdrawal is not rejection. Perhaps it is fidelity to something quieter, more easily drowned out.
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