Just after I left for a walk with my dog this afternoon, I realized I had left my phone at home. I actually considered going back for it because there was a podcast I’d planned to listen to on my walk.

It’s a 1½-mile trek up a big mountain and 1½ miles back down. About an hour total. It’s the perfect time to listen to a podcast.

So the question hit me: what was I going to do for an hour?

After a brief pause (and a surprising amount of internal negotiation), I decided to choose quiet.

And here’s how it played out.

Without my phone, my attention stopped fragmenting. My focus narrowed in the best possible way. I had space to reflect on a conversation I’d had earlier that morning with my trainer, one of those conversations that lingers. With nothing competing for my attention, I was able to think more clearly. Some ideas became stronger. Others softened or shifted. I felt grateful for the conversation and for the clarity that came from actually giving it my full focus.

Then my mind wandered to yesterday, when I was showing my grandson how to skip rocks. I started scanning the path for the perfect skipping stones, smiling as I remembered how he’d been “rock climbing” his way over the big rocks along the creek. I actually laughed out loud. Gratitude and joy filled me. In the quiet, those memories didn’t rush past. They landed. They reminded me of what matters most. Time together. Presence. Simple moments that carry real meaning.

As I climbed higher, each vista along the steep mountain trail invited me to pause and look out over the canyon. I felt deeply grateful for the blessing of living in such a beautiful place. Noticing it, really noticing it, gave the walk a richness it wouldn’t have had if my attention were elsewhere.

I was present.

As the world and our culture have grown louder and more chaotic, I’ve noticed my desire for stillness and quiet growing right along with it. We tend to pride ourselves on using every minute productively. And of course, if we’re walking or cooking or exercising, we can always add a podcast. We wouldn’t want to waste time just… walking.

I have a vivid memory from my teenage years of watching my mom in the kitchen: talking on the phone, scrambling eggs, and nursing my baby brother all at the same time. Just wow, I thought. What a woman.

And I took that lesson to heart. I’ve spent much of my life packing it all in. If there was more that could be added to a day, why not?

When my first daughter was little, I met a young mom and her toddler in a “Mom & Me” preschool class. When I suggested a playdate, I learned this two-year-old had a full schedule: Mom & Me on Monday, tumbling on Tuesday, music on Wednesday, another class on Thursday, and a craft class on Friday. She didn’t have time to just play.

It felt sad. Just because we can fill our days with activities that seem good and fun doesn’t mean we should. Full schedules don’t automatically create meaningful lives.

Not long after, I read a book by a child psychologist called Take Back Your Kids. It talked about all the wonderful activities available to families: sports, Scouts, church events, music lessons, community and school commitments. All good things.

But here was the line that stuck with me: if those “good” activities prevent you from having dinner together as a family, they are no longer good.

That insight shaped my choices as a parent. I didn’t want to eat dinner on the go or live in a constant state of frazzle. I wanted time, real time with my children. Time to connect, not just coordinate schedules and shuttle between destinations.

Somehow, what I so intentionally created during those early years has gradually slipped away from me. And now, I’m working to reclaim it. Reclaiming focus so my attention isn’t always pulled outward. Reclaiming meaning by noticing what truly fills me. And reclaiming action, not by doing more, but by choosing differently.

The hour of quiet on the mountain today, with no podcast, no input, no multitasking, wasn’t the kind of productivity we’re taught to value. But it was some of the most personally productive time I’ve had in a long while.

It started with choosing quiet.
It sharpened my focus.
It reconnected me to what holds meaning.
And it reminded me that I can take action simply by creating space.
And I want more of that.