Receiving, Light and Loulou: A Day Without Internet
The Joy of Being Alive, Part II

After over 30 hours of shaky connection with countless attempts to fix it, now a complete outage.

Paradoxically, way out by the seashore there’s enough network so that at least the prepared messages to my students can go through.

A good opportunity to write my next blog post.

About my wonderful time here in the south.

About the sun, the light, the vastness.

And now also about the rain, the power outages and internet failures…

Earlier at the sea I took this picture – what a magnificent spectacle!

And at the same time I noticed how much the prospect of having no internet today relaxes me.

How much deeper and calmer I breathe.

How the inner daily structure suddenly loosens its iron grip on my brain.

All of a sudden so much time opens up!

Yet the internet is the world that enables EVERYTHING for me as a digital nomad:

contact with clients, students and friends,

the ability to post on various channels,

my source for news from around the world and entertainment.

Paradoxically, this seems to create a certain pressure, as my body is now showing me by how it feels when the internet is temporarily gone.

The moments become more intense.

My brain – still recovering from a subsiding sinusitis – visibly relaxes.

Time suddenly stretches out infinitely.

My choices become so much bigger.

And I feel transported back to times when this constant entertainment and communication unit small enough to fit in our handbags didn’t exist:

When the height of technology as a child was arranging to meet friends on a rotary dial telephone – if we hadn’t already done so at school – and I knew all the four-digit phone numbers by heart!

When as a student on the endlessly long train journeys to Russia, which I made possible again and again through jobs and strict saving, I listened to the same blues cassette up and down on my Walkman – mind you, not on automatic loop, but I had to take out the cassette, flip it over and press play again… ;-).

When later as a DAAD tutor in Russia I could only write emails to my family once a week in the university computer lab, which depending on the stability of the connection would either go through at the end of the session, or not. And this was the only communication for 9 months, as phoning was too expensive.

How did I experience all this?

According to my body’s reaction, which immediately becomes completely calm and breathes freely, as free and light and “fully there”.

Today there’s so much talk about mindfulness, about being in the moment, in the here and now, being present. Techniques are offered and extensively discussed on how best to achieve this state.

Sometimes, however, being present becomes yet another goal to be achieved, to which we only give space during certain time slots, like during yoga, a nice bath or a walk in nature.

In advertising there are more allusions to presence-promising breaks than ever before: whether it’s about tea, a car or Kinder Pingui.

While constantly being online is indeed identified as a risk factor that counteracts presence, something else is lived and practiced.

The diverse offerings of the colorful online world are all too tempting and simultaneously create a certain pressure.

At least I feel unsettled by the symbols of unread messages, while “checking them off” satisfies my reward center. But the next time I reach for my phone, I’m already looking for the next notifications.

Escaping all of this seems like a hopeless battle.

But what if being present were easier than we let ourselves believe?

What if we simply allowed ourselves, without any further judgment or consideration, to just be as we are right now?

And permit ourselves to perceive our own feelings and let them “flow through” us, without distinguishing between supposedly good or bad sensations?

What would it be like to no longer have to set aside special time periods for “being present”?

When I’m fully in the moment while washing dishes, while having a difficult conversation with a client, or while eating, I no longer need special rituals.

I might even be more efficient if I’m not already thinking 10 steps ahead, and above all, I’ve then fully exhausted each moment, experienced it so deeply, that I no longer need to return to it.

Of course, there are moments so intense that the mind wants to shut down. Then a later reflection on what happened may certainly be important.

As someone who unfortunately used to do this excessively – when my mind started mulling over the events of the previous day as soon as I woke up – I’m very grateful, however, to have now found a different approach: namely to experience things right now and then move on.

For all moments that can be processed by just being “there”, it’s now enough for me to simply experience them fully and completely, in order to then consciously shape the next moments from this being.

An example:

I have an unpleasant conversation with a client. By being fully “there”, I feel and recognize where it’s stuck, what’s tolerable for me and what’s not, and what the client is willing to do and what not.

Afterwards my body perhaps signals that it wants to move, to let all the e-motions that have set it in motion flow through.

Finally, I come to inner peace and recognize how I can now proceed, with my body’s signals tipping the scales.

Thus the unpleasant moment has already been “processed”.

And afterwards I can fully dedicate myself to the next thing, for example dinner.

Actually, in this case I’ve also created an additional time period dedicated to presence through movement, but it didn’t arise from prior planning, but followed organically from the previous present moments, to be followed by the next present moment.

What I’m currently experiencing here in the wonderful south of Europe is extremely inspiring regarding fully being there, despite or precisely because of my forced offline mode.

My greatest teacher in the smooth transition between emotional states is – surprise, surprise – sweet Loulou. 🙂

She comes to my bed early, meowing, in full “If you don’t feed me soon, I’ll starve miserably” mode… mind you, only when the situation allows!

Because if I’m sick or extremely tired, she knows how to hold back; either by waiting longer or making less “provocative” sounds.

She exactly senses my readiness and ability to meet her wishes, and adapts her expressions accordingly.

When she then gets her food and senses that I currently find it cute if she rubs against my legs with loud meows, she almost makes me fall over with the bowl in enthusiasm. Snoopy’s happy dance is lame in comparison…

If she notices, however, that I have a headache or wish to have things go with less drama, she can be quite restrained.

Usually though, it’s simply pure joy to give her the long-awaited food, as I can relate to her so well!

When she’s licked her bowl spotlessly clean, a ritual follows: She dashes into the house and claws at the sisal rug, seemingly just waiting for me to address her. That’s her signal to race up the stairs as if I were a threatening monster. Upstairs she crouches for a few minutes under the bed, supposedly well hidden.

However, if something downstairs requires her attention, she comes strolling back down completely relaxed, as if nothing had happened, and makes her wishes known – mostly she then wants to be let out by her doorkeeper.

And here too she’s very clear: If it’s too cold for her, she comes right back in and retreats to the sofa, but if it’s nice and sunny, she finds a spot outside where she makes herself really comfortable. And then she spends hours there, in ever new pleasant positions – which she also knows how to find on the sofa, by the way.

Every now and then she disappears over the garden fence, especially in the evenings and at night, and I’m sure she experiences exciting things out there.

But when we’re both sitting on the sofa and she’s just finished her grooming, she likes to look over at me and comes onto my lap for a while, where she lets herself be extensively scratched behind the ears, under the chin and her cheeks – and of course caresses on her back, belly and even her long-fingered paws are also welcome.

She always shows immediately what she likes and what not.

And when she’s had enough – which can take a while, so that I sometimes sit there with a dripping nose because I forgot to have tissues ready – she toddles off again. However, she then likes to lie down on her side, pushing her soft paw pads into my legs.

I’m so grateful to her for her unadulterated being that knows so well how to enjoy!

Not to mention the moments when she came to me when I was crying or feeling ill and soon calmed me down with her purring.

I currently can’t imagine a more seamless transition between different emotional states without any baggage. And I’m very curious to see how she behaves with her family, who will be back in a few days.

What if we could all live a little more like Loulou?

That is, grant ourselves and our bodies to get what’s best for us right now?

This can start with sensing how we sit, walk, stand and breathe.

And then simply keep fine-tuning how it can be even more pleasant – here and now, and not later, in yoga class.

And yes, perhaps even the desire to let ourselves be showered with online content will diminish if we surrender to the unadulterated and immediate wave of the moment?

I don’t mean to claim that “online” isn’t an important element.

Everything has its time and space – but what if we increasingly let our body set the tone for the sequence and duration of all elements?

I’m sure that this way we can become a little more like Loulou, who turns on her heel when something doesn’t suit her and gets her caresses wherever possible.

My – today perhaps only half-serious – questions to you:

1. Where can you turn on your heel and be as moody as a cat?
2. What if caresses are a MUST that you should also demand from yourself? (That is: Can you be a little nicer to yourself in your inner monologue today than usual?)
3. What if you can trust that you’ll accomplish everything that really matters, as long as you listen to your body?