The human brain was not designed to take in and process information at the volume and speed at which we now receive it. Bad news used to arrive by ship or carriage weeks after the event, allowing it to age and air as it traveled. Now it pops up on our screens, fresh, raw and relentless.

The avalanche of news, conjecture and flat-out misrepresentation sends me flailing as one would if buried by snow. I push against it to keep from being suffocated, contorting myself to find even a straw hole of quiet through which to breathe.

It’s too much, all this intel.

I wonder, sometimes, if the divisions between us are as much a sorting strategy for inundated citizens, as they are a wide chasm in belief.

Regardless, the daily news storms are affecting my sense of well-being. I’m switching to airplane mode.

On devices, of course, airplane mode limits input with the added benefit of less demand on the battery. In trying airplane mode on as a lifestyle, I’m attempting to preserve my own battery.

I’m no longer on social media.

I read the news, but don’t listen to it.

I’ve even taken a break from church, which has seemed reflexively political.

Since airplane mode restricts output as much as input, I’m even considering the possibility of letting go of what I cannot control. Well, I’m thinking about it. 😜

Instead of trying to take in the world, I’m finding delight in the local: my apartment, the restaurants popping up nearby, spending time with friends and walks with Ziggy.

Taking my cue from Ziggy, I’m noticing what is in front of me, setting aside the running patter in my brain to feel the sun and rain on my skin; to smell the heady scent of recently chopped pine trees toppled in the ice storm last month; to look at the tight buds on rhododendron bushes, waiting for their explosion into plate-size blossoms, and to agree wholeheartedly with Ziggy that she indeed would catch the squirrels, if I would just drop the leash.

After a few short weeks of experimenting with airplane mode, I’ve noticed a difference. It’s much, much easier to focus now, and I spend less time dwelling on what I can’t change.

I’ve carved a snow fort spacious enough to wiggle in. A perfect size for me (and Ziggy.)