By now you know that I enjoy tech. One with a knack for self-promotion may say I’m “passionate” about it, but I think it’s more in-character for me to say I like it a lot. Technology is a thread that is woven through every aspect of my day whether my eyes are open or shut. I’ve been online practically non-stop since 1998. My kids have heard this phrase numerous times: I am the internet.

There is no way any of what I just said is healthy over the long term. By “long term” I’m talking years, not just the singular year. That’s where the title of this post comes in: disconnect. I can’t be the internet. I can’t constantly be online, and I need to shut my computer off and take my hands off the keyboard every so often.

Somehow, my wife and I stumbled upon our preferred escape route: glamping. Apparently the phrase isn’t as well-known as I once thought it was, so for those who are not familiar, it’s short for “glamorous camping” — camping with modern amenities. We don’t go all the way to the top of the scale by getting internet, streaming services, or over-the-air TV; a solid roof/floor/walls, a proper mattress to sleep on, a standard bathroom (toilet+basin+shower with heated water), air conditioning, but in the middle of nowhere. That’s how we prefer to disconnect. Sure, we’ll take some movies with us in the form of DVDs or files on a laptop we plug into a TV, but if we don’t bring it along, forget about it.

Can we get online? Sure, of course we can. We always have our phones, and there’s “LTE” coverage (3G speed), but while we can tolerate the slower speeds having grown up on 14.4k, we choose not to. It’s an easy choice to make, especially after using 10Gbps internet. Takes a bit for the kids to get used to it, but they come around after a few hours. The dogs? They couldn’t care less, they’re with us and they get to see more squirrels.

And, after a week of campfires (actual fires, outdoors, with wood … not “glampfires”), grilling, getting eaten alive by mosquitoes, getting crisped by the sun, fishing, walking around with the dogs, swimming in whatever (safe) bodies of water we encounter, we get back behind the wheel and exchange touching grass for #!/bin/bash yet again. Sure, the commands come slowly at first, but the thoughts come more clearly … at least, once the >1500 emails are cleared out of the ol’ inbox.

So, with that, it’s time to disconnect for a bit. But not before a nice round of Satisfactory. Gotta get that Thermal Propulsion Rocket factory up and running, after all.