“Shit,” I think to myself.
I reach back, feel the emptiness in my back pocket before frantically checking both my front pockets. Also empty.
My heart sinks.
Up until now, the past two hours have been one of the best hikes I’ve ever been on. That type of perfect hike that only happens when you set off with less of a destination and more of a curiosity.
For me, that curiosity was centered around a valley, visible from my apartment, that begins at the far edge of Sarandë, the Southern Albanian town in which I’m currently living, and leads… well, that’s what I wanted to find out.
As I walked through town, I chatted on the phone with one of my oldest and best friends. We caught up as I made my way past rows and rows of tightly packed apartment buildings, which gave way to more generously spaced houses as the road began to incline toward the valley. We ended the call when the houses petered out entirely, and soon after, so did the cell signal.
On my own, I continued up the trail, well-worn by centuries, if not millennia of use by sheep and goat herders making their way into town from the rolling hills and mountains that surround it.
The narrow valley eventually opened up to a wider bowl, empty, save for two tiny goat farms, each consisting of little more than a few small pens and a stone hut with a tarp roof.
At the end of the valley I continued up the sloping hill, thinking of looping back along the ridge separating my valley on the East from the town and the sea on the West.
At the top, I stopped for a snack, admiring the view of the shimmering Adriatic, the Greek Island of Corfu rising dramatically out of it, while wondering what lies beyond the ridge that lays just ahead of me to the North.
After a half hour or so I got up, consider heading back South along the ridge as I had planned, but instead turn North, my curiosity getting the better of me.
As I pick my way forward through the maze of razor sharp boulders that make up this landscape, I think to myself that this is the part of the story that I’ll look back on either as the moment the adventure truly began, or the moment of stupidity that I should have turned back.
It turns out, I don’t have to wait long to find out.
As I reach the edge I discover that it descends and then drops into a canyon that runs directly down to the sea. I pull out my phone to check Google Maps to see if I can follow the coast at the end of the canyon back into town.
It looks like I can, so I lower myself down one low cliff, and then another, take a few steps, reach for my phone again to snap a photo, and find my pocket empty.
“Shit.”
I spend the next 45 minutes scouring the area, retracing my steps, already knowing it’s gone.
The landscape is all tall grasses and pockmarked limestone, filled with thousands upon thousands of holes the perfect size for a phone to fall into and never be seen again.
The valley I’m in has likely seen more goats than people, and chances are that whatever nook the phone has found its way into it will never be seen by another human again.
As I climb up out of the valley, I head for the ridge that I perhaps should have stuck to initially. As I follow it back toward town, I think about what the lost phone is going to mean. I’m not upset or annoyed (ok, I’m mildly annoyed), so much as curious.
My data is all regularly backed up to the cloud, so nothing valuable has been lost in that regard. The biggest hassle is almost certainly going to be dealing with 2-factor authentication requests from various apps and websites. In most of those cases at least, I should be able to get alternative authentications through email… at least I hope so.
Being in Albania for the time being, it might be a while before I can get a replacement phone from my phone company, who almost certainly doesn’t ship here…
I think about the things I most commonly use my phone for, especially while away from home and my other devices, and brace myself as I start to tally up the inconveniences.
Take Your Tools Off Their Pedestal
The list of inconveniences turns out to be shorter than I had expected; note-taking, podcast listening, navigation, photos, and keeping track of time round out the list of most common uses.
As I list them off, I realize that really, all I’ve lost is a tool. A wonderful, multi-functional one, but a tool nonetheless, and one that–at least for my purposes–can be easily replaced by other, more analog tools.
It’s worth remembering that while we have access to many incredible tools that enable and streamline our creative work, our tools are biased.
The tools we use have a way of shaping how we engage with the work we use them. It’s never a bad thing to be forced to go without a well-worn tool, at least for a while, in order to determine in which direction its bias leans.
Tools (especially phones) also have a habit of streamlining and enforcing behaviours that aren’t always positive. One of the reasons I was enjoying the hike so much in the first place is that I wasn’t plugged into a podcast or audiobook. I was also outside the range of cell service, free of any pings, notifications, and the urge to check in and see what’s happening on any of the various social networks.
To me, being forced to spend more time in that state certainly isn’t a bad thing.
As I begin to descend the ridge I look to my right, taking in the sea, the forest of jagged stone, and two lonely trees springing up between the rocks, backstopped by the island of Corfu in the distance. I pull out my Nikon DSLR from my backpack, zoom in, and snap a couple of photos my phone would have been entirely incapable of taking.
I wonder if I’m going to be getting better reacquainted with my long-neglected camera now.
Don’t Confuse The Tools With The Work Itself
Walking into town I can’t help but feel a wave of gratitude. I’ve lost a bit of convenience, but when I think about what really matters to me and my work, phones, computers, and all the rest of the various tools I use merely help to facilitate the work itself.
I think about the curiosity that lead me to first take this hike in the first place, and then lead me into the canyon. I think about how before I had even lost the phone, I was already thinking of the narrative of the day’s story and my decision to choose the canyon over the ridge. I think about the insights and lessons I’ve been mulling over on my walk back home. I think about the new ideas and stories and connections this experience is seeding in my brain.
This is the work.
Curiosity, insight and storytelling don’t require a phone or any other tool in order to flourish. In fact, they often function best in the absence of tools and their biases and distractions.
I think again about what’s been lost. A 5-year old chunk of metal, plastic, and glass that was already on its way out. Some convenience, ubiquitous connection and the accompanying distraction, anxiety, and impatience.
Then I think about what’s been gained. Perspective. Some new ideas to mull over. A new challenge to approach. A story.
As I walk up the the hill toward my apartment, the sun beginning to sink behind the hills from which I’ve just walked, I can’t help but feel as though I’ve come out ahead in the day’s transaction.
A Question For You
What’s a tool you put too much value or emphasis on when it comes to your work?
Explore how to navigate a creative life that matters
This article originally appeared in my weekly Listen Up Newsletter. Each issue is the product of a week of work, and contains something not available for sale.
Fresh perspective, a shot of encouragement when you need it most, and maybe even some genuine wisdom from time to time.
Each week, we explore a different facet of the question “How do we navigate the wilderness of creating work that matters?”
It’s something I’m proud to create and I’d be honoured to share it with you.
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