Disconnected Connection
Just a curious thought...
What if, to be more connected, we need to disconnect?
Not in a dramatic way. Not by deleting everything or disappearing completely. But gently. Intentionally. In small, simple acts of presence.
It’s a strange question to ask, especially here – shared online, read on a screen, offered through a platform designed for ‘connection’. And yet, perhaps that’s exactly where the question belongs.
Because I wonder if you’ve felt it too – that subtle tension, that comes from not being alone, but from being surrounded and still feeling something is missing. Maybe it’s the exhaustion of being constantly reachable. Maybe it’s the restlessness that shows up after scrolling for too long. Maybe it’s the way conversations have started to feel shorter, lighter, less rooted – or the way time slips away without much to show for it.
We’re more connected than ever, and yet somehow still feel far away. More visible, but not always seen. More engaged, but not always known.
The strange weight of constant connection
Most people I know have felt it in some form – even if they wouldn’t call it disconnection. It might show up as tiredness that rest doesn’t fix. Or the sense that our attention is always slightly elsewhere, even when we’re with people we care about. Or that we’re aware of so much, and yet unsure how much of it is truly ours to carry.
It’s not that we don’t want to connect. It’s just that we’re stretched. The channels are open all the time, and it’s hard to know when, or how, to close them.
We carry messages in our pockets, updates on our wrists, invitations, demands, reminders – all of it always with us. And over time, something shifts. It becomes harder to be still. Harder to stay focused. Harder to sit in silence without trying to fill it.
You might have noticed it in your own life – how hard it is to get through a conversation without checking your phone. Or how quickly you open an app when there’s a gap in your day. Or how difficult it can be to simply sit with your thoughts.
You’re not alone in that. It’s not a failure. But it might be a sign.
The practice of attention
There’s something powerful about being truly present – to a person, a task, a moment.
But presence takes repetition, it’s a muscle that needs training. And in a culture that constantly interrupts us, it takes intention.
You might have already experienced what happens when someone gives you their full attention. No distractions. No checking their phone. No half-listening. Just being there – with you, for you, fully. It stays with you, doesn’t it?
What if that’s what we’re all really longing for?
Not more followers. Not more replies. But more attention. More presence. More space to be ourselves – and to be received just as we are.
It’s hard to cultivate that when we’re always switched on.
Which is why disconnection – even for a moment – can be more than a break. It can be an act of care. Of courage. Of rebellion.
Rest as resistance
In a world that measures value by how fast you reply, how often you post, how constantly you show up – choosing to rest is counter-cultural. Setting boundaries is radical. Saying “I’m offline for a while” is disruptive. Protecting your attention becomes a quiet act of resistance.
When I think of the early church, I don’t see a flashy institution with strategies and systems. I see people sharing meals, sharing their lives, and sharing their hope – not through constant noise, but through consistent presence.
They lived simply. Not easily, but simply. And in that simplicity, there was something that others noticed. Something different. Something real.
What if we lived that way again?
Not identically – but intentionally. With rhythms that honour our limits. With space to hear one another. With a pace that allows love to go deep, not just wide.
A small and curious experiment
I’ve been trying to make some changes in my own rhythms. Not big, sweeping gestures – just small choices that open up space. Leaving my phone in another room while I write. Walking without listening to anything (this is so hard!). Letting messages wait when I don’t have the capacity to reply with care. Noticing the pull to post – and asking why. Taking time in the morning to be quiet before letting the world in.
None of this is perfect. I forget. I slip. I start again. But slowly, I’m beginning to notice the difference.
I feel more grounded. More aware. More able to hear my own thoughts – and maybe, somewhere in them, the gentle whisper of God.
And I wonder – what might happen if more of us did the same?
What if?
What if we allowed ourselves to step away sometimes – not because we’re rejecting connection, but because we’re reimagining it? What if disconnection could be a doorway – not to isolation, but to deeper presence? What if we gave ourselves permission to stop performing, and start paying attention? What if being different – slower, quieter, more attentive – is exactly what someone else needs to see? And what if, by being present with one person, one moment, one conversation – we began to rebuild something we didn’t even realise was missing?
A different kind of community
Sometimes I imagine what our churches, friendships, families, neighbourhoods might look like if we really took this seriously.
What if attention became our currency?
What if our communities were built not on productivity, but on presence?
What if we ate together more, sat together more, listened without rushing to reply?
What if church wasn’t just a service to attend, but a table to gather around – with time to linger?
What if friendship wasn’t measured in messages sent, but in memories shared?
What if we didn’t need to reach everyone, but simply show up differently for one person – and trust that love does something with that?
The irony isn’t lost on me
I know – this reflection is online. You’re reading it on a device. I wrote it on a screen.
A Curious Follower exists in the very space I’m inviting us to step back from. But maybe that’s the point.
I’m not writing this to add to the noise. I’m writing it to open a window. To create a little space – even here – where you can breathe. Where you can notice. Where you can wonder.
Because disconnection doesn’t have to be dramatic. Sometimes it just means choosing presence. Sometimes it means noticing the moment you’re in – instead of rushing through it.
Returning to the question
What if, to be more connected, we need to disconnect? (Disconnected Connection)
What if this isn’t just about screens or schedules but about how we want to live? What kind of people we want to be? What kind of world we want to build?
What if our most powerful acts of connection come not through instant messages, but through intentional presence?
What if our communities were formed not through strategy, but through shared silence, shared meals, shared life?
And what if one small decision, to pause, to rest, to step away, could begin to change not just your rhythm, but your relationships?
Josh | A Curious Follower
A Curious Follower is a space for anyone learning to slow down, live with intention, and follow the quiet tug of something deeper. However you come, welcome. Thank you for being here.
If something in this reflection resonated, you’re invited to share it with someone, leave a thought below, or simply sit with the question in your own way.