If you had asked me to leave my phone behind for three days, I might have thought you’d lost your mind. Our phones have become like extra limbs, an extension of our hands and eyes, always within reach, always in use. But that’s exactly what happened when I decided to take the train to Philadelphia instead of braving four hours of summer heat and New Jersey traffic. I was on a mission of the heart: helping my youngest daughter move into her new apartment, unaware that the journey would become a quiet rebellion against constant connection.
I caught the 8:15 am Amtrak from Rensselaer, found a window seat, plopped my surprisingly light bag overhead, and settled in with a full bottle of water. The train was empty. I felt content. As usual, I reached into my little green purse (one I bought a few years ago in Florence) for my phone.
It wasn’t there.
I stood up and searched my bag. Nothing. And then I remembered, I had left it in my husband’s car after texting a friend to be his emergency contact while I was away.
And just like that, the magic began. No panic. When you meditate, you learn to embrace life as it comes.
Here are the eight surprising things that happen when you spend three days without your phone:
1) You talk to strangers. Strangers talk to you.
Without a phone in my hand, I looked up. I asked a kind stranger if she could call my husband. Of course, my husband didn’t answer a call from an unfamiliar number. I left a voicemail. I called my phone and then tried his phone again. This time, he picked up, offering to turn the car around. But the train was about to depart.
As the journey unfolded, strangers approached me, mistaking a forgotten phone left on a seat for mine. One conversation led to another, and I met a radiant woman on her way to the Jersey Shore for a family reunion. She had raised six children, just like my mother, and spoke with glowing pride about her grandchildren.
Without a screen between us, we shared stories of motherhood, some I hadn’t recalled in years, gently rising to the surface like waves returning to shore.
2) You meditate, even on a moving train.
While others typed, scrolled, and took calls, I sat still. I breathed. I meditated to the rhythm of the train and found myself synchronizing my deep breath with the man next to me, unplanned, unspoken, just natural human resonance. (Listen to the 33 Breaths Meditation)
3) You witness the architecture of life.
Through the window, I watched as life unfolded: trees, marshes, rivers, birds in V formation, even tall birds whose names escaped me. We passed natural sculptured trees, crumbling buildings, old bridges, and four lifeless trees at the Croton-on-Hudson station, silent reminders of beauty and impermanence. (Someone needs to replace those trees.)
4) You see kindness more clearly.
With no screen to occupy me, I people-watched. A young female conductor moved with purpose and joy, helping mothers with babies, passengers in wheelchairs, and everyone in between. And my daughter, who turned into my mother in Philadelphia, walked me to my hotel even though I knew the way, called to check in at night, and insisted I call her each morning before walking anywhere. She even made sure I memorized her number, just as I used to quiz her when she was younger.
FORGIVENESS AS A SPIRITUAL PRACTICE
Heal emotional wounds and let go of anger with The Release Ritual Guide and two guided forgiveness meditations. Learn to forgive yourself and others to restore inner peace and clarity.
5) Your brilliance returns.
At first, old fears crept in: How will I find my way without maps? How will I call an Uber or get to my favorite French café? But then I remembered—I had lived decades without a phone. I became resourceful. I asked strangers for directions. I followed my instincts. I even received a surprising solution to a lingering problem… in a dream.
It turns out we are far more capable than we believe. When we trust the moment, life responds with synchronicities, subtle nudges, and a quiet kind of magic.
6) Your memory sharpens.
I realized I only had three phone numbers tucked in memory: mine, my husband’s, and my oldest daughter’s. Those three days, I added my youngest’s number and, like in the old days, began memorizing street names and landmarks.
My brain made room.
My mind woke up.
7) You remember what time is really for.
Without my phone pulling at my attention, I used the time as it was meant to be used: dreaming, reflecting, observing, breathing deeply, and walking slowly. I made decisions I had been postponing. I returned to presence with surprising ease.
On the last hours in Philly before taking the train back to New York, I made it into the Rubin Museum, arriving just in time for a tour. And instead of snapping photos, I listened. I lingered on every word the guide shared, soaking in the textures, the stories, the silences between sculptures. When I stood before the bronze cast of Rubin’s own hand, I felt something stir, an emotion I couldn’t quite name. A moment imprinted in memory, not on a screen.
8) You remember your original pledge.
Each of us made a sacred promise before we entered this life.
You may have forgotten it; I had too.
But in the stillness, I remembered.
I pledge to be present in life.
I pledge to know my worthiness.
I pledge to use my time wisely.
I pledge to express my brilliance.
I pledge to expand kindness.
I pledge to honor myself and the life around me.
I pledge to contribute to this lifetime.
I pledge to love and be loving.
I pledge to trust that everything is always working out for me.
I pledge to remember that I am at the right place at the right time.
Three days without my phone reminded me of all that already lives within me.
Sometimes, losing something is what guides you gently back to yourself.
Three Soulful Reads For When You Leave Your Phone Behind:
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