Editor’s note: Every week, I’ve been running a series of posts called Savor Sunday. This is a guest post from Caroline McGraw of A Wish Come Clear. 

Last night I dreamt that I was a passenger in a car driving slowly up a familiar road. The scene felt comfortable and ordinary, when suddenly, it changed. All around me was…paradise. The environment became lush, remote and idyllic. Alongside the road grew a myriad of oak trees, gnarled and stately and beautiful. The trees were planted beside a river, and moss hung down from their branches.

The light coming through the old trees made them seem young; in fact, it made everything lovely. I marveled at the sight; how could so many giant trees grow together like this?

I could barely speak for amazement, but when I said aloud, “Where is this place?”, I heard the voice of the driver beside me. Though I couldn’t see her face, I could hear her reply. She said gently, “Honey, it’s not far.”

It’s not far. When I awoke, that statement still rang in my ears. What did it mean? As a way of answering that question, I’ve been thinking about other things that aren’t as far off as they may seem…

Real relationships aren’t far.

I think about this each time I visit the L’Arche home where my husband works. (L’Arche is a faith-based non-profit wherein people with and without intellectual disabilities share life together.) It’s where I spent several years as a direct-care assistant, where my husband and I met and fell in love.

Though I’ve worked at L’Arche for nearly 5 years, I’m soon-to-be self-employed as a writer. This time of transition makes me realize just how important it is for me to stay connected to people. As such, I make sure to have supper at one of the L’Arche houses at least once per week. Those dinners are a part of my connective tissue, part of what keeps me sane. They remind me that I am loved not for what I do, but for who I am.

Compassion isn’t far.

Ever since I changed my work schedule, I’ve been making time for a walk or run every day. It’s made such a difference in my perspective. Being outside with no agenda but forward motion wakes me up. It allows me to notice what would ordinarily escape my attention: a crowd of little birds, pecking at a piece of bread; a family of deer, watching as I run past; an older gentleman, hitching up his pants when he thinks no one’s watching.

Of course, I’m like you: prone to forget that there’s beauty all around me. For example, yesterday morning I attended an 8am work meeting, and I woke up at 6am to get there in time. On my way to my (borrowed) car, I passed through the kitchen of the L’Arche home where I lived and worked for two years.

As I opened the door to the house, I was mentally composing a soliloquy of self-pity. My rant went something like this: “It’s so early, and I have to go to this meeting even though I woke up exhausted. I have a runny nose and a stye, I need a shower, and it’s all too much!” Had I run into anyone, I’m sure I would have started complaining aloud.

Fortunately, the house was deserted…deserted save for a lone figure slouched over his breakfast cereal. It was my friend Leo*, sitting with his bathrobe and eyes both half-open.

And as soon as I saw him, I could literally feel my attitude change. The sense of self-pity vanished; in its place, I felt compassion. Leo looked tired, too.

I thought of all the mornings I’d helped him with his routine, all the times I’d made sure that bathrobe went into the laundry. I thought of how much we’ve seen each other through. Both of us lost a close friend this year, and that grief has made its mark.

And what I felt in that moment was gratitude: for Leo, being alive; for me, being alive with him.

What’s beautiful isn’t far.

That oak-tree dream has stayed with me, not just because of the sense of blessing I felt upon waking but because of the truth embedded in it. It helped me to see that a world of beauty is never far away. Despite the sadness and death and hurt that is being alive, there are also glimpses of paradise to be found within this life we live.

*Names have been changed.

Editor’s note: This is a guest post from Katie Tallo of Momentum Gathering.

Between all of the cells in our bodies is this amazing stuff called connective tissue. It surrounds our organs, supports our bodies and helps us function in highly special ways. It channels vital nutrients to our core. It gives us strength and form. It’s our glue.

What does your connective tissue look like?

Likely its pretty yucky if you’re talking about your flesh and blood connective tissue, but I’m referring to the other kind of connective tissue.

The aspects of your life that support you, help you function in highly specialized ways, nourish your core and give you strength — that’s your connective tissue — the intangible ways in which you feel connected — the fibres that bind your being to those you share the planet with.

For me it consists of dinner around our small kitchen table with my family, a heartfelt exchange in the comments on my blog, a walk in the park, a great line in a favourite book, a fit of laughter shared over Skype that defies distance between friends, a cheer of support from my husband, a cup of tea by my mother’s fireplace, a simple good morning from a stranger passing by on the sidewalk. My connective tissue lies in nature, family, friends, my neighbourhood and on the web.

As different as our flesh and blood is from each other, so too are the ways we connect. From a tweet to a hug, from a loyal dog to a million Facebook friends, each of us has reams of connective tissue weaving through our lives. Without some form of it, we’d likely have a tough time functioning.

When Pulitzer Prize Winning Film Critic, Roger Ebert lost the ability to speak after cancer surgery, he turned to the internet to create a new kind of connective tissue. For an extrovert no longer able to hold his own in social situations, the internet became his bridge to a new world of social connectedness and a new voice. He found his connective tissue through blogging and twitter.

When talking about social networking, Seth Godin believes it is always important when it’s real, and it’s always a useless distraction when it’s fake. Hits to your website and keeping score of your friends doesn’t mean a thing. “Are there people out there I’d go out of my way for, and would they go out of their way for me?” This is the privilege of real connection, according to Godin.

So if you’re not quite sure what your own connective tissue really looks like — whether it’s real or useless — whether it strengthens you or holds you back, then lay it out before you and examine it. Sift through the fibres for meaning, usefulness, bridges, love, respect, creative energy, expansiveness, closeness, hope, inspiration, empathy, service, comfort, difference and common ground. Discard the toxins, the fat and the waste. Keep the rest. Keep the stuff that gives you a voice and allows you to go out of your way for others. Keep the stuff that matters most to you. It’s the stuff of life.

Katie is a writer whose connective tissue includes her online creations, Momentum Gathering and The Habit Course where she collaborates with some pretty great people, Barrie Davenport of Live Bold and Bloom and Leo Babauta of Zen Habits.

Editor’s Note: This is a guest post by Sara Calabro. Sara is an acupuncturist and the founding editor of AcuTake, a blog dedicated to improving acupuncture education and access.

We’ve arrived at a point of tension. Technology has enabled possibilities that just 10 years ago seemed unthinkable. And yet these same advancements have deprived us of some of our most basic abilities, instincts and pleasures. This conflict has spurred an ongoing and at-times-heated debate that’s being played out everywhere from the blogosphere to the classroom to the boardroom. However, one area where the topic is being discussed much less than it should be is in healthcare.

Medicine—particularly in the West, but growingly, around the world—has become dominated by an obsession with technology. MRIs, CT scans, and lab tests are ordered before laying a hand on the patient; antibiotics and antidepressants are recommended as quickly as cough drops. Up against insurance billing requirements and overcrowded hospitals, physicians often are forced to favor quick fixes over sound medical decisions. This excessive reliance on technology in medicine has trickled down to patients, causing them to disconnect from the process of staying healthy.

The need is greater now than ever for therapies that derail this trend by encouraging us to consciously participate in our health outcomes. Acupuncture is one such therapy.

Acupuncture is premised on the idea that human beings are comprised of interdependent structures and functions whose condition is affected by emotional and environmental factors. This is very different from Western biomedicine, which assigns symptoms to isolated anatomical structures. The latter approach is to thank for countless life-saving feats in emergency and acute situations. But it falls drastically short in addressing the chronic conditions that perpetually drain our healthcare system’s resources and devastate people’s quality of life.

Greater adoption of acupuncture could help ease this burden considerably. Here’s how:

Acupuncture puts us back in control. Medical technologies such as pharmaceutical drugs force the body toward a particular result—usually temporary reduction of symptoms, often accompanied by side effects—which leaves little room for patient involvement. In contrast, acupuncture engages the body’s own healing mechanisms to address the underlying problem. Essentially, the body directs the medicine rather than the medicine directing the body. This activates our intuitive sense about what’s going on with our health rather than relying on someone else or a machine to tell us.

Acupuncture inspires patience. Technology has birthed and bred an “I want it now” society. With some exceptions, acupuncture does not work overnight, especially for chronic conditions. It is an ongoing process that requires an investment of time and a willingness to let go of assumptions.

Acupuncture combats our culture of excess. The driving idea behind acupuncture is that we’re already in possession of everything we need to be well. Achieving health is not about introducing a new technology; it’s a matter of turning what’s already there into something positive. Learning to conceive of illness and treatment in this way helps prevent dependence and encourages moderation.

Acupuncture can save us money. It’s not just in theory that acupuncture helps curb excess. Widespread adoption of acupuncture could drastically reduce healthcare costs. For over 5,000 years, acupuncture has been keeping people healthy with nothing more than needles and cotton balls. It’s the epitome of case studies in how achieving success is independent from investing in new technology.

Acupuncture encourages gratitude. A healthcare system that’s so heavily reliant on externally manufactured diagnostics and therapies sends a message that we are not enough. Thinking in terms of what we already have rather than what we need is healing in its own right. Acupuncture is inspiring in its ability to remind us of how much potential we already possess.

Tammy talks a lot about the importance of digital sabbaticals. Applied to healthcare, a digital sabbatical is a state of mind. It requires taking a step back—from the medicine cabinet, the sensationalized research headlines, the barrage of pharmaceutical advertising, and sometimes even the doctor’s orders—long enough to ask some important questions. How do I feel? (This is not the same as, what’s my diagnosis?) How is this therapy affecting me? (This is not the same as, did my lab results change?) What would make me feel better? (This is not the same as, I need to refill my prescription.)

Acupuncture, because it demands presence and participation from its recipients, can help answer these questions. It encourages us to think more broadly about health, beyond what mainstream influences have conditioned us to believe. Ultimately, open mindedness and awareness in healthcare will take us infinitely further than the latest technology.

For more information on acupuncture and how it can be used to treat specific conditions, please visit acutakehealth.com.

Editor’s note: This is a guest post by Courtney Carver. Courtney writes about simplifying and living life on purpose at Be More with Less and is the author of Simple Ways to Be More with Less. You can also follow her on Twitter.

Beginnings and endings are interesting, but what happens in the middle is what makes each of us unique. There is so much pressure to make money, spend money, work harder, have more and fill up our calendars, that it’s no wonder we get confused, not to mention tired.

We cannot measure the quality of our lives by:

• The success or failure of business
• How nice our cars are
• How much stuff we have
• Extravagant vacations
• Degrees and awards
• Number of Twitter followers or Facebook friends
• Overstuffed closets
• The balance in our checking accounts
• Number of emails in our in-box
• Quantity of voicemail messages

All of those things are easy to measure, but mean nothing when you think about the big picture. When you think about how you live your life, statistics mean nothing. None of those things speak to your character, or how you see the world.

Measure the quality of your life by:

• What you give
• How you love
• Who you help
• The smiles you exchange
• The enormity of your gratitude

Give yourself permission to call a time-out and think about the way you are living. If you don’t remember what you had for breakfast, it might be time to slow down. Don’t be afraid to schedule a little less, and leave a little time for life to happen.

If everyday you are in awe of something, give part of yourself, and say thank you for the opportunity, your middle, your in-between, will be a life well lived.

What is your best moment in the middle?

***

Editor’s note: Be sure to check out Courtney’s new ebook, Simple Ways to Be More with Less.

Editor’s note: This is a guest post from Caroline McGraw of A Wish Come Clear.

What happens when you want to live your dream, but you can’t see past your own personal roadblocks to make it a reality? When I get to this place in my writing and my life, I remember what I learned from my friend Leo*, a man with intellectual disabilities who lives at L’Arche Washington DC. (L’Arche is a faith community where people with and without intellectual disabilities create homes together.)

Once, when he was asked, “Leo, what does it mean to be human?” he furrowed his brow and replied, “To be humble.” When asked, “What does it look like, being humble?” he said, “Well. I don’t know. But I think it helps…to not be afraid of your faults.”

Leo taught me this: You don’t need to fear your faults anymore. The fear of your own frailty doesn’t serve you. If you let go of being afraid, you will have a strange and beautiful energy left over. With this new-found energy, you are able to see the flip side of your faults: your strengths. Recognizing and embracing your strengths is the first step to begin building the life you desire.

To embrace your strengths:

1. Select a particular habit that you’ve always viewed as detrimental to your success. Do you procrastinate on big projects or arrive late to work meetings or read other people’s blog posts when you should be writing your own? (I confess to that last one!) Once you’ve chosen a habit…

2. Look past your initial judgment, and listen for the messages your habit has for you. If you are only late to work-related meetings, your tardiness is telling you something! See your lack of punctuality as a cue rather than a curse, and you may change the trajectory of your career and your life.

However, if your habit is beneficial on one level but distracting on another, it will help to…

3. Set a boundary and stick to it. Forbidding a behavior only increases its allure. Plan to indulge in a beneficial but distracting habit as a reward, at a particular time. You may set a timer for an hour on Twitter, or decide that you’re going to have dessert every other night instead of every night. I give myself permission to read online for about an hour each day, but only after I’ve done some writing of my own.

Yes, you’ll have to train yourself to do this. As you retrain your brain, remember to…

4. Strategize, linking weaknesses with strengths. When you feel a habit becoming a roadblock, use a strength to steer around it. Freely acknowledge both, and use them to your benefit. If you have trouble getting started on big projects (weakness), but you respond well to direction (strength), can you ask a friend or colleague to prompt you to start?

If I have difficulty not reading online when I need to be writing (weakness), but I get inspired by new vistas (strength), I can get up and move to a location that has a great view and no internet access. (Hello, roof deck with a view of the National Cathedral!) It’s all about setting yourself up for success.

If you let go of being afraid of your faults, what strange and beautiful things could you create?

For me, not fearing my faults meant writing a book and starting A Wish Come Clear. I tend to be reticent about sharing my work, and I struggled against that timidity for a long time to no avail. Yet thanks to Leo’s words, I’ve learned to look at it differently. There’s a threefold strength behind my shyness. First, my timidity arises in part because the written word is powerful. I’ve seen how (in the words of Marisa de los Santos) writing “from the bones out” can transform both reader and writer. The prospect of change and connection can be intimidating, and I face that prospect each time I write. Next, the hesitancy I feel motivates me to make my writing excellent before I share it. The ‘weakness’ actually contributes positively to the quality of the work. Lastly, I’m scared to share my work because it is a part of who I am. Sharing it renders me vulnerable…and yet, paradoxically, this same vulnerability also gives me strength.

As a human being, you are an admixture of limits and potentials, missed chances and seized opportunities. So many small choices have led you to where you are today. Likewise, choosing to see strengths within weaknesses is a small shift in perspective. But a single feather can tip a scale. A single breath of air can ignite a flame, or dash it out. And a small shift can make all the difference.

*Names have been changed.

Editor’s Note: This is a guest post by Diana Lorence, an inspirational speaker on the pleasures of the simple life. Diana writes about her life in the woods at www.innermosthouse.com

Not for the proud man apart
From the raging moon I write
On these spindrift pages…
But for the lovers, their arms
Round the griefs of the ages,
Who pay no praise or wages
Nor heed my craft or art.

~Dylan Thomas

Here in the woods it is spring again, the season of love and new beginnings. The trees are in leaf, the wild lilac is in bloom, and the birds are in song. All day and all night the woods are awake with a longing to begin anew.

Innermost House is my home in the woods, where my husband and I have lived for many years. The house is about twelve feet square, and there is no electricity or hot water. Yet we live a life of luxury. The greatest luxury in life is to live with what you truly love.

So many people wish to simplify their lives today. People I meet want to know how I made my way to what I call an Innermost Life. The great question is how—how to make a new beginning at a truly simple life.

There Are Two Ways to Simplify Your Life

One way is eliminating the things from your life that don’t really matter, until you are left with what you need.

This is the rational way to proceed, and it works. Experts and practitioners speak of it with authority. There are steps to take and things to accomplish and ideas to exchange. You can really get somewhere this way.

The other way is the art of filling your life with what you love most in the world. Love has a strange emancipating power that lets everything else fall away.

Your heart allows you to sense this mysterious force. In some way, Love has the power to displace many things.

The Art of Love

The way I took was the art of living only for the one thing I love most of all. My passion is contemplative conversation. I formed my home and my life around this one consuming love. It patiently taught me how I need to live and what I need to own and whom I need to know. It gave direction to my days. It brought me my husband, Michael Anthony Lorence, whose whole work in life is conversation.

My husband and I speak of everything together. We eat and breathe each other’s words. For many years while we made our way to this place it was “he alone with I alone.” Now people come from all over the world to sit here and talk of the things in their heart and soul.

The art of love is the art of letting one truth answer a world of questions. Loving one thing taught me to light my home with candles and to cook over the fire. It taught me what books to read and what pictures to see and what silence to keep. It taught me to sit low and to sleep on the floor. It taught me to understand high things. It taught me to listen to my feelings.

The currents of the world flow against those who love and long for a truly simple life. Before we came to the woods we moved more than twenty times. After a relentless search of the Innermost Life, it finally grew out of our need. Embracing grief, we loved and lost and found our way to this simple life.

There Are Many Ways to Love

Love has many worthy objects. By what craft can anyone prescribe to another the nature of their love? You may love your work or your studies or a place or a book. Love is the heart’s way to simplify your life.

I know a man who greatly admires Thomas Jefferson. He has shaped his whole world around that love. His work and life at home are among the simplest, happiest, and most inspiring I know. I know another man who loves nothing better than fly fishing from his finely crafted wooden boat. He expresses his love through written stories of his adventures outdoors, and similarly lives a very simple life.

I know a woman who lives for her handicapped child. Despite all the complications that has involved—or maybe because of them—her love has greatly simplified her life, and allowed her to let go of everything else without reservation. Her life has a heartbreaking beauty now.

Whatever it is that you love, the wayless way to simplify your life is to live only for that love. It is by love alone that you truly see, and see what truly matters. And when you see how much it matters, your confusions and griefs give way to purpose and freedom. If you make a way to live with what you truly love—not just with what you happen to have or want—then you may find yourself simply leaving everything else behind.

What I Have Learned

The simple life is a luxury few feel they can afford today. Yet its only price is to surrender what you do not love and do not need, whether by means of art or science. I have lived a lover’s life, suffering for and rejoicing in the things I truly love. It has not been a prudent life, or a secure one.

I have learned that simplicity for me lies in loving with all my heart and all my soul and all my mind. I have made my way to a simple life by loving the one thing that matters most to me as if nothing else mattered at all.

It is spring again in the woods, and I have learned that only the simple things return our love. Together with my husband, I begin anew each spring to learn what only love can teach me.

***

Editor’s Note: Be sure to check out Diana’s site and read her guest post on the tiny house blog.

Editor’s note: This is a guest post by Joshua Millburn of The Minimalists. He also writes fiction and his first novel, AS A DECADE FADES, will be published soon. Follow him on Twitter.

***

My mother died in 2009. It was an incredibly difficult time in my life, it goes without saying.

She lived a thousand miles away and after she passed it was my responsibility to vacate her apartment in Florida. It was a small, one-bedroom place, but it was packed wall-to-wall with her belongings. My mother had great taste—she could have been an interior designer—and none of her stuff was junk. Nevertheless, there was a lot of stuff in her home.

Mom was always shopping, always accumulating more stuff. She had antique furniture throughout her apartment, a stunning oak canopy-bed that consumed almost her entire bedroom, two closets jam packed with clothes, picture frames standing on every flat surface, original artwork hanging on the walls, and tasteful creative decorations in every nook and cranny and crevasse. There was 64 years of accumulation in that apartment.

So I did what any son would do: I rented a large truck from U-Haul. Then I called a storage place back in Ohio to make sure they had big enough storage unit. The cost of the truck was $1600. The storage facility was $120 per month for the size I needed. Financially, I could afford this, but I quickly found out that the emotional cost was much higher.

Memories

At first I didn’t want to let go of anything. If you’ve ever lost a parent or a loved one or been through a similarly emotional time, then you understand exactly how hard it was for me to let go of any of those possessions. So instead of letting go, I was going to cram every trinket and figurine and piece of oversized furniture into that Lilliputian storage locker in Ohio. Floor to ceiling. That way I knew that Mom’s stuff was there if I ever wanted it, if I ever needed access to it for some incomprehensible reason. I even planned to put a few pieces of Mom’s furniture in my home as subtle reminders of her.

I started boxing up her belongings. Every picture frame and every little porcelain doll and every white doily on every shelf. I packed every bit of her that remained.

Or so I thought.

And then I looked under her bed…

Among the organized chaos that comprised the crawlspace beneath her bed, there were five boxes, each labeled with a number. Each numbered box was sealed with packing tape. I cut through the tape and found old papers from my elementary school days from nearly a quarter of a century ago. Spelling tests, cursive writing lessons, artwork, it was all there, every shred of paper from my first five years of school. It was evident that she hadn’t accessed the sealed boxes in years. And yet Mom had held on to these things because she was trying to hold on to pieces of me, to pieces of the past, much like I was attempting to hold on to pieces of her and her past.

That’s when I realized that my retention efforts were futile. I could hold on to her memories without her stuff, just as she had always remembered me and my childhood and all of our memories without ever accesses those sealed boxes under her bed. She didn’t need papers from twenty-five years ago to remember me, just as I didn’t need a storage locker filled with her stuff to remember her.

I called U-Haul and canceled the truck. And then, over the next week, I started donating all of her stuff to places and people who could actually use it.

Lessons Learned

Yes, it was difficult to let go, but I realized quite a few things about our relationship between memories and possessions during the entire experience:

1. I am not my stuff. We are more than our possessions.
2. Our memories are not under our beds. Memories are within us, not within our things.
3. An item that is sentimental for us can be an item that is useful for someone else.
4. Holding on to stuff weighs on us mentally and emotionally. Letting go is freeing.
5. You can take pictures of items you want to remember.
6. Old photographs can be scanned (more on this below).

It is important to note that I don’t think that sentimental items are bad or evil or that holding on to them is wrong. I don’t. Rather, I think the perniciousness of sentimental items—and sentimentality in general—is far more subtle. If you want to get rid of an item but the only reason you are holding on to it is for sentimental reasons—if it is weighing on you—then perhaps it’s time to get rid of it, perhaps it is time to free yourself of the weight. That doesn’t mean that you need to get rid of everything though.

Giant Leap or Baby Steps

When I returned to Ohio, I had four boxes of Mom’s photographs in my trunk, which I would later scan and backup online. I found a scanner that made scanning the photos easy. Those photos are digital now; they can be used in digital picture frames instead of collecting dust in a basement somewhere. I no longer have the clutter of their boxes laying around and weighing me down, and they can never be destroyed in a fire.

I donated everything else. All of it. Literally. I donated every piece of furniture and all of her clothes and every decorative item she had strewn throughout her home.

That was a giant leap for me, but I felt as if it needed to be done to remove the weight—the emotional gravitas—of the situation from my shoulders.

You see, I don’t need Mom’s stuff to remind me of her. There are traces of her everywhere. In the way I act, in the way I treat others, even in my smile. She’s still there, and she was never part of her stuff.

Whenever I give advice, I tend to give two options. The first option is usually the giant leap option, the dive-in-head-first option (e.g., get rid of everything, smash your TV, throw out all your stuff, quickly rip off the band-aid, etc.). This option isn’t for everyone, and it’s often not for me, but in this case, that’s what I did. I donated everything.

The second option is to take baby steps, and it works because it helps you build momentum by taking action. Look at it this way: what sentimental item can you get rid of today that you’ve wanted to get rid of for a while? Start there. Then pick one or two things per week and gradually increase your efforts as you feel more comfortable.

Whichever option you choose, the important part is that you take action. That is to say, never leave the scene of a good idea without taking action. What will you do today to part ways with sentimental items that are weighing you down?

***

Editor’s note: Corey from Simple Marriage and Mandi from Life…Your Way are putting on a huge ebook sale this week! The sale started on Monday (March 21) at 2pm ET and ends on Friday (March 25) at 2pm ET.

If you’re interested in simplifying your family life, the ebooks in this package are extremely helpful. The collection includes information on cooking, parenting, relationships, money, and more.

Click here to purchase your collection today!

Editor’s Note: Today’s guest post is by Matt Madeiro. Matt writes regularly at Three New Leaves and is the author of Simpler.

***

My friend caught me making faces at a stand of purple yams.

“You know you can buy them, right? They have a price tag and everything.”

“Shh,” I said, gaze unwavering. “I’m thinking.”

And I was. I’d been searching for this particular variety of yam for six straight months (don’t ask!). I hadn’t expected to find them at the farmer’s market that sunny morning, and the surprise joy of the discovery had left me flailing about for words to fill the perfect tweet.

Purple potatoes discovered. Purple(r) prose incoming.

Something like that. My first instinct was to inform Twitter of my success, and I dug around for my phone until I realized my pockets were missing the familiar weight. My heart skipped a beat, but the feeling passed pretty quickly as I came to my senses. See, I knew something these gleaming purple potatoes didn’t: I’d left my phone at home on purpose.

Call it an experiment. Call it a digital sabbatical, moreover, or call it my personal favorite way to style it: one of the longest days of my life. I mean that, of course, in the best way imaginable.

Going tech-lite for a day isn’t a new idea. Tammy has spent her weekends away from the laptop for over six months, now, and written extensively about the benefits of doing so. Taking a small vacation from the Internet had been something I’d toyed with halfheartedly, closing the laptop for a few hours at a time, but I’d decided that very morning to go all in and give it a serious attempt.

The experience, frankly, was an eye-opener.

What I Missed

That sense of connection. There’s the literal side of it, given how our phones let us tap into the Internet every hour of the day, but also the less tangible — that sense of being involved in my own digital world.

My friends were tweeting without me. I was out of the loop.

That’s a strange feeling, but a common one in a world that has come to rely on a constant line into its virtual counterpart. We’ve grown accustomed to constant feedback, to constant interaction, and to constant overload — every tweet, every update, every single thought from every single one of our digital circles.

It’s overwhelming. It’s exhausting. But it’s something we rely on, and it’s something I felt pangs of regret for every hour that I passed without. The first half of that day became an exercise in distraction, a stream of activities — farmer’s market included! — meant to keep my mind off every exciting event I was missing in the virtual world.

But something changed. I can’t pinpoint the cause, but something happened right around the halfway point of my internet exile: I changed. I let go of the digital line, bit by byte, and started connecting on an entirely different level.

Different, yes. Better, too.

What I Gained

That sense of connection. Not the same one as before, of course — a new connection, this time with something different, something smaller, and something breathtakingly real.

Life.

I connected with life. That’s cheesy, dramatic, and a little too new age-y for my own tastes, but here’s the counter: it’s true. Every hour I spent away from the computer — every hour spent writing, walking, or struggling to get the seeds out of a big, stupid pomegranate — became an hour to live wholly, fully, and simply, mindful and happy to be so absorbed in the moment.

Maybe that’s the great big appeal of a digital sabbatical. It’s a chance to peek into a world every bit as colorful as the virtual one, but also one infinitely more manageable. I’m limited to what my eyes, ears, and nose can experience, but that’s a limitation in the best possible sense of the word.

When I focus on those three alone, I’m left with one thing: life. I’m left with the real world, the richness all around me, and I’m left with an experience that I can really, truly ground myself in. There’s no overload. There’s nothing to overwhelm, here, when I break it down to the basics: the chair I’m perched in, the cup of coffee breathing steam beside me, that girl in the corner grooving in her seat like nobody’s business.

Online, I’d know what she was thinking. I’d know what kind of mood she was in, what sort of music she was listening to, and I’d probably know a thousand more facts about her that I didn’t even care to know.

Offline, I know one thing: she’s having a hell of a time. I can fill in the rest of the blanks myself, but here’s the twist: I don’t have to. I can easily switch gaze over to someone else, if I want, or even start my own coffee shop solo act. I can think about what I’m seeing, ponder what I’m not, and generally just be where I am: a quirky little coffee shop on a sunny Sunday afternoon.

It’s a smaller perspective, and it’s a simpler one too. It’s easier to navigate, easier to enjoy, and so much more fulfilling when I take the time to give it every ounce of my attention. We forget, now, that the real world is every bit as fascinating as the virtual one, but on a scale that we can actually manage — that we can actually embrace.

And when we do? When you close the laptop, in other words, and keep your eyes off the screen?

We create the things that life is made of: experiences. Memories. Friendships.

Don’t get me wrong — being online doesn’t automatically preclude any of those. My twenty-four hours offline drove home, though, how much more vivid those things can be when you take deliberate steps to unplug, step away from the screen, and fully immerse yourself in the big, bold and bizarre world beyond.

Those offline hours proved, too, that a digital sabbatical doesn’t have to act like a light switch: off or on, with no state in between. The next day saw me back at my usual routine, eyes squinted at a glowing screen, but with one question kicking around my skull: can we see the benefits of a digital sabbatical — the sense of connection on such a richer, smaller scale — without having to unplug the router for hours at a time? Can we immerse ourselves in the real when we have to keep our phones handy for every minute of the day?

Can I relive another sunny hour at the farmer’s market, in other words, even when an average day keeps me chained to my desk?

I think we can. Here are a few ideas how.

1. Leave your phone in your pocket.

Leave it at home, even, the next time you step out. Whatever you do, make a conscious effort to keep the phone in your pocket — not in your hand, and not glued to your eyeballs whenever you need an easy convenience to kill a few free minutes.

My adventure at the farmer’s market left me little room for distraction. With my phone missing, I found myself carrying an unusual focus on the world all around me: staggered rows of colorful produce, the scent of freshly-baked bread, and the sweet music of some hippy chick rocking out on a flute nearby. When I stood in line, I just stood in line — standing, thinking, and listening, making conversation with my friends and eavesdropping just a teensy bit on the heated conversation behind me.

Compare that to my usual routine: I check Twitter. I dig out my phone, stare at the little screen, and shuffle forward in line without really thinking, looking up only to make my purchase.

Which one sounds better? Which one sounds more lively?

Try it. Keep your phone in your pocket the next time you strike up a conversation with someone, even, or when you’re riding in a car. We live in a strange world, I think, when two people at a restaurant — phones out, heads bowed — can hold a conversation without even looking at each other.

2. Unplug. For however long you need, and in whatever way you can.

It’s easy to say “turn off the Internet,” but anyone with a steady job knows that powering down the router is anything but simple. The modern office job demands daily interaction with a computer screen, making any opportunity to escape your laptop a rare one indeed.

The trick, then, is to take full control of the free hours that you do have at your disposal, cultivating a mindfulness for how you spend them. Here’s my recommendation: go tech-free. Maybe not every day, and maybe not after every stressful, mind-numbing meeting, but make a solid attempt at least a few times a week to come home from work and keep the TV shut off.

Don’t settle for easy entertainment. Don’t resort to flipping mindlessly through the channels, and don’t resort to spending hours each evening in the company of social media.

Do seek the kind of quality interaction that the real world can so easily offer, and make sure — above all else! — that you’re having fun as you do it. Read a book! Take a walk! Cook a long meal with your family, play a board game or two, or have a long talk with a loved one — just keep your attention in the moment, your mind on what you’re doing, and relish the life you’ve been given outside of the TV screen.

3. Establish a screen-free zone at home.

Want to make the point above even easier?

Take the TV out of your bedroom. You’ll sleep better, for one, but you’ll find another perk too: a sudden surplus of minutes to use as you see fit. Hold a conversation with your significant other, if you like, but do just one thing: focus. Focus on what you’re doing, on every texture it brings, and remember to appreciate it as best you can.

You can do the same for any room in your house, really, and see the same benefits. The core idea is simple: by removing digital distractions, you’ll give yourself some small breathing room from the cloud, and anything done in that screen-free zone will automatically seem so much fuller as a result. Why?

You won’t be distracted. Your attention won’t be pulled a hundred different directions, and I think you’ll like what you find as a result: a small slice of life. Sure, it’s the kind  you’ve enjoyed before, but it’s also the kind that’s otherwise so easy to ignore — funny, then, that taking a break from Facebook can paint it in much brighter colors than ever before.

Try this: cook, eat, and clean up an entire meal without watching TV. Do it with your family, if you can, and maybe outlaw phones at the table. It’ll feel strange, at first, but the feeling will pass. You’ll be left with a true family dinner, the kind that is nearly extinct and a better appreciation, I bet, for spending time outside the distraction of screens.

4. Single-task.

Here’s a recommendation you don’t often see in modern times: single-task. If nothing else, don’t be afraid to.

Multi-tasking has become the norm in the modern era. Computers, by their nature, extend our capabilities in a thousand different directions, empowering us to juggle a hundred different things at any given time. That sounds pretty swell for productivity, but it glosses over the immense benefits — and the immense rewards — of giving your full attention to just one thing at a time.

If you’re reading, read. If you’re cooking, cook. Make a concentrated effort every so often to be fully aware of what you’re doing and take whatever steps necessary to do just that. That sounds archaic, I bet, especially in modern times, but there’s a lot of value, I think, in giving everything we can — our attention, our care, our seconds — to the things that genuinely deserve it.

Why not give it a shot? You might not feel as productive, but single-tasking still helps cultivate an awareness of what you’re doing and an honest appreciation for each and every aspect of it.

5. Take time to think.

Even if you only have thirty odd minutes to yourself during the workday, try a little experiment in solitude: go sit outside in the sun. Steal a chair in the corner of a coffee shop if you have enough time to reach one. Whatever you do, take yourself out of your usual environment and find a comfortable place to perch for however many minutes you can manage.

And when you do? Don’t do anything fancy. Silence your phone, leave your laptop in your bag, and just think. Observe your surroundings, study the people around you, and take time to reflect on your life. Reflect on how far you’ve come, on how far you still have to go, and try and savor every little wrinkle in the world around you: the rich smell of coffee, the touch of a breeze, and every little detail that is otherwise too easy to miss.

Take these few minutes outside the virtual world to remind yourself what it feels like to live in the real one. And don’t discount the long-lost art of thinking, either, in a culture that encourages constant action.

–

There’s a trend, here, that I’m sure you can see: mindfulness. Awareness. A single-minded focus on what really matters, an involved decision to take time away from Facebook and Twitter and put it where it really belongs: you. Your time, your life, your family and friends, every relationship and memory you hold near and dear to your heart.

It’s a matter of refocusing. A digital sabbatical tosses you in the deep end, immersing you in the real world for hours at a time, but you can still see a lot of those benefits, I think, when life and work force you to keep your feet in the shallow end of the pool.

No matter how you spin it, the goal is the same: take those mindless minutes from the laptop and give them, one by one, to the crazy, colorful world outside. Realize how much it has to offer, and realize just how much you can gain by taking active steps to immerse yourself in it. That connection you carry to the virtual world? You don’t have to cut it. Just remember to build an even stronger one with the world all around you, and don’t let it then fall by the wayside whenever the easy distraction of your cellphone comes calling.

And when you do? I think you’ll be surprised by what you can find: a stand of purple potatoes, maybe, and the chance to savor every sight, smell, and taste that they bring. Maybe you’ll find yourself grooving in your chair at some small coffee shop, or maybe you’ll find yourself just sitting and doing what so many people forget to do: stop and reflect on the richness we all carry within.

That’s what I found, at least, on the longest day of my life, and that’s what I’m hoping to find on every glorious one that comes next.

***

Editor’s Note:

• Don’t forget to check out Matt’s blog Three New Leaves and his free ebook, Simpler.

• Also, Leo Babauta and Mary Jaksch are offering a new Bootcamp, called The Art of Blog Seduction: How to Attract Subscribers to Your Awesome Blog. Check it out!

Editor’s Note: This is a guest post by Tina Smith. Tina is a freelance writer and blogs at Smashed Picket Fences. Most recently she published a short story in “Chicken Soup for the Soul: New Moms.”

***

A year ago, my son had a terrible dry cough for almost two weeks. In the daytime it was fine, but at night he would cough and cough all through the night. He would wake up tired and cranky. The doctor gave us some prescription cough medicine to try and the pharmacy listed all the dangerous side effects.

We gave him the medicine, because that is what loving parents do right? No change. He still coughed through the night and on top of it, couldn’t sleep and in turn we didn’t sleep. The next day I was reading up on natural cures just to see what else was out there. I read over the suggestions, one of which was honey. I thought: “well it cant hurt.”

He began his nightly hacking and I came in with a spoonful of honey. He liked it better than the cough medicine, so I got points for that. Even better, the cough subsided. Silence filled our hallway and everyone got to sleep. The cough medicine sits in the cupboard; one dose used. I have since been through several honey jars.

When sniffles and sneezes surround us it’s tempting to reach for over the counter drugs for relief. There are a number of natural remedies that work well and here’s a secret: some work better or just as well as over-the-counter medications, especially for children. The American Academy of Pediatrics recommends parents avoid using over-the-counter cold and cough medicine for children under 6. Some flat out don’t work for children under 12 and others are suspected to do more harm than good.

So let’s dust off those old home remedies. Below are some of the less known and highly effective remedies for the common cold and flu.

Congestion

Kick the Vicks habit. We all know Petroleum is bad and synthetic camphor is worse. Vicks has both. Follow this easy recipe to make your own vapor rub: How to Make Your Own Petroleum-Free Vapor Rub.

Impress your friends; give it as a gift with some chicken soup for an ailing friend. If you miss the menthol scent of Vicks then- pssst… I have a secret for you – you can get camphor essential oil to add to your homemade vapor rub. It’s the real thing and not harmful. You’ll never want to pick up the toxic overpriced crud again.

Added bonus: this vapor rub can be used as a diaper rash cream and a bug repellent. Don’t believe me? I dare you to give it a try.

Cough

Honey is a natural antibacterial, and more than just a natural sweet tooth’s wet dream. Take one teaspoon for cough. Honey will smooth out a dry throat. Cough medicine has nothing on this remedy, especially for children. Mary Poppins was on to something with the “spoonful of sugar” rant. (Warning: do not use honey on children under 1 year).

Sore Throat

Gargle salt water for sore throat relief. Try adding 1/4 teaspoon of salt to a 1/2 cup water and gargle for a minute. Afterwards drink a cup of tea with lemon balm in it. Lemon balm has been shown to be a powerful anti-viral and promotes relaxation.

Achy Muscles

Epsom salt is by far the best-kept secret of natural healing. Ease achy muscles by taking a bath sprinkled with a 1/2 cup of Epsom salt. If you have essential oils, try a splash of eucalyptus, lavender or rosemary. Don’t like baths? You can get the same benefits of Epsom salt by just soaking your feet. Read more about the benefits of Epsom salt baths.

I will finally throw out that old cough medicine. My simple remedies work well and I would rather buy one item that has several uses. I have been working on cleaning out our cupboards of medicines we don’t use, trinkets that I forgot how to use, and measuring cups that have no use- when I own a set of teaspoons for cooking already. Some things I will hang on to until I find an alternative, but I am happy with my homemade remedies that I don’t have to run off to the store to buy at the first signs of a sniffle.

***

Attention Portland peeps . . .

Come hang out with me and my fellow blogging buddies!

Tyler Tervooren, Sean Ogle, Jonathan Mead, and little old me are hosting a get together this week. I’d love to connect with you in-person.

Here are the details:

Where: We’ll be at The Lucky Lab on NW Quimby in Portland.

When: Thursday, February 17th at 7pm.

Hope to see you there!

Editor’s Note: This is a guest post by Bill Gerlach. Bill writes about the intersections of Life, Nature and Being at The New Pursuit. Normally, I don’t run posts on Tuesday, but I wanted to share this article with you! Enjoy.

Why do you choose to live simply and deliberately? What about embracing a minimalist lifestyle motivates you each day to challenge society’s norms and redefine what it means to truly live?

We all have our reasons. I have three: My family, my community and this little planet we all call Home.

Redefining the Family Experience

Each day I wake up and look at my wife and three young children and think: How will the way I live my life today help them live theirs to the fullest potential – today, tomorrow, and twenty years from now? How will my choices about what I consume and what I don’t, give them a better understanding of how to live their lives and help others? What should I embrace and what should I let go? What choices will allow the Earth to better sustain itself for my community’s well-being and prosperity?

This is why my family and I have made choices, that while not for everyone, help us live deeply each day. For example, we choose to live without TV and instead we use our time to “noodle” our creative juices, learn by doing, and get outside to explore all kinds of new experiences. We spend a healthy chunk of our spring and summer nurturing our vegetable and flower gardens. We learn how to grow more things better. We slow down to bake bread and make handmade gifts. These things bring us closer together and create memories that will last long after the bright and shiny store-bought stuff loses its luster.

Reconnecting With Community

But why should the benefits of simpler living be kept at home? With each passing day, more and more people are reinvesting in the resilience of their communities, returning to the power and solace that is to be found with neighbors near and far. While some might think the flatter the world the better, there is a growing sense that we have lost that bond with what’s right outside our front door.

Not being pre-occupied with keeping up with The Joneses opens up all kinds of time and attention for playing an active role in this reinvestment. For instance, we volunteer our time with organizations and activities that breathe life into our neighborhoods and families. We stop to chat with the neighbors checking the mail. We take part in events that put the “unity” back into “community”. It’s a wonderful feeling when you can run into so many friends and genuinely know and care about them.

Sowing the Seeds of Stewardship

Much has been written about the benefits of pursuing the simple path: Happiness, contentment, freedom; time to pursue passions; rekindling relationships and the return to community.

But what’s the hidden gem in all this? Minimalism and simplicity are profound pathways to a sustainable existence – at home, at work, and everywhere in-between. Multiply that by the thousands (perhaps millions?) of people consuming less and you begin to see where I’m going. Learning simple ways to be mindful of our consumption allows us to connect the dots between our actions and impacts on this little planet we call Home.

These lessons foster a deeper connection with and appreciation for the natural world. They sow the seeds of stewardship as we think beyond our lifetime and want to protect this beautiful place for untold generations to come. We begin to see the interconnectedness of all things and want to embrace that feeling more.

What Motivates You?

The decision to live simply could be the best decision you ever make – for you, your family, your community and the world-at-large. But what makes the minimalist path so special is the uniqueness that each person brings to it.

We all have the ups and downs of teachable moments that allow us to grow. Embracing such transparency and sharing these experiences builds a different – but no less important – community (some might say family) of support, encouragement and know-how. Here, momentum gathers and tides begin to shift; friction with the status-quo builds as more and more go against the grain of the Throwaway Culture of Convenience.

Here in simple living, everyone wins in his or her own special way.