Stimulus and response. That’s how our everyday lives work. A ping and we look at our cell phone. A notification and we react. An email and we reply. Our nervous system is in a constant mode of sending and receiving, an endless cycle of digital impulses and automatic reflexes. <\/p>\n
Until suddenly there is nothing left.<\/p>\n
Lack of stimuli as a reset<\/strong><\/p>\n There is no WLAN in the desert. The internet connection is poor, actually non-existent. A tent, cold and crystal-clear starry nights, silence. A silence that seems almost unbearably loud at first because it is so unfamiliar. <\/p>\n On the first day, I find myself reaching for my cell phone again and again. My hand automatically goes into my pocket, looking for the familiar device, following a reflex that has been ingrained over the years. It’s pure habit, not necessity, not even desire. Simply automatism. <\/p>\n When the brain tidies up<\/strong><\/p>\n Something strange happens when the constant stimuli cease. The brain runs dry, or rather: it tidies up. Like a hard disk being defragmented, something is reorganized. Thoughts that have not been present for a long time suddenly reappear. Especially memories. <\/p>\n Not the big, dramatic moments, but the small, forgotten scenes. A conversation from years ago, the smell of a season, a feeling that seemed long buried under appointments, to-do lists and notifications. <\/p>\n In the lack of stimuli in the desert, you can feel how much space is normally taken up by constant sending. We post, share, comment, reply and are always in send mode. Receiving gets lost in the process. Receiving from nature, from silence, from our own subconscious. <\/p>\n Less sending, more receiving<\/strong><\/p>\n The desert takes nothing. Nor does it demand anything. It is simply there, in its infinite vastness and tranquillity. And this is precisely where its power lies: it creates space for what would otherwise have no place. <\/p>\n There are no distractions here, no option to avoid your own thoughts. You sit with yourself around the campfire, under a starry sky that is so clear you can see the Milky Way. And slowly, very slowly, a different kind of clarity emerges. Not the clarity of a well-timed plan, but that of a tidy mind. <\/p>\n The next upload is imminent<\/strong><\/p>\n But this state is fleeting. Our next stop is the streets of Marrakesh. The vibrant life, the smells, the sounds, the chaos of the medina. A new upload is imminent. Different stimuli, different impulses, a different rhythm. <\/p>\n But maybe I’ll take something with me from the desert. Namely the reminder that the brain can tidy up if you let it. That silence is not an empty space, but a full one. And that it is sometimes necessary to stop sending in order to be able to receive again. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Stimulus and response. That’s how our everyday lives work. A ping and we look at our cell phone. A notification and we react. An email and we reply. Our nervous system is in a constant mode of sending and receiving, an endless cycle of digital impulses and automatic reflexes. Until suddenly there is nothing left. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":1421,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[19],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1423","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-blog-en"],"yoast_head":"\n