30, Flirty, and Techless

How a Unintentional Digital Detox Helped Me Rediscover My Inner Renaissance Woman

Let’s call it the "Divine Coffee Spill" (at least that’s how my spiritual advisor, Mitch, referred to it).

I was doing my usual morning routine—meditation, coffee, followed by writing my next book. Nothing out of the ordinary. But as I reread a sentence I’d just typed, I reached for my coffee... and—yep, you guessed it—spilled it all over my laptop. Naturally, I went into full-blown panic mode, desperately trying to save it. I even rushed to stick it in a bucket of rice for 72 hours (here is an actual photo of me doing exactly that):

So, what does a writer—who spends eight hours (minimum) a day glued to her computer—do when her digital lifeline is suddenly wiped out? Whether I’m editing, writing emails, working on my next book, or writing this article, I’m would say-and not proudly, I might add- I spend 90% of the time on my computer.

I shifted gears as quickly as I could. I used my phone for what I could (which didn’t include much editing or writing—unless you count getting lost in the scroll hole). At night, I’d borrow my boyfriend’s laptop when he was done working, trying to get some editing or writing done. It turns out, being creative at the end of the day when your brain’s spent is not as easy as it may seem.

During the days without my laptop, I found myself—dare I say—bored. I read books, caught up on movies from my “cultural classics” list. Ironically, I watched a few Jane Austen adaptations. I couldn’t help but compare myself to those women. Without technology, they had all the time in the world to layer on their corsets, play with elaborate hairdos, stroll (painstakingly slowly) through gardens, stitch by hand, or read entire books cover to cover. If only I could go back in time and live that slow-paced, tech-free life. Or, you know, not.

Me after 72 hours and no technology with all my free time:

But here’s the real kicker: I also realized just how much free time I had to think, meditate, and let my next book ideas come through. Where I’d normally be bogged down in digital details, I found my mind finally free to wander in the silence.

"Creativity begins in the silence most people avoid," (or so I once read.)

Every Wednesday, I speak with my spiritual advisor, Mitch. When I told him about my coffee spill, he said, “Ohhh, the Divine Coffee Spill.” After working with Mitch for over the last few years, I’ve learned that everything affects everything, and our life is simply a reflection of how we handle the curveballs thrown our way. Do we see something that happens, a coffee spill as an example, as a problem? As an obstacle or a pain in the ass? Or can we reframe it as a blessing (Anugraha, as they call it in Sanskrit)? Can we make the most of what we’ve been given, no matter how badly we want to sulk in victimhood?

Can we make lemonade of lemons?

After a chat with him, I had come to the conclusion that I would fully accept that I might never get a new laptop again. I was stoked. I could write by hand, borrow my boyfriend’s computer at night and be much more efficient with my time while using it. I would live like the women from 1872. Maybe I'd even start wearing a corset while I’m at it.

By the end of the call, I’d made peace with it. Maybe I’d get an iPad to at least type and edit my books, but I was ready to fully embrace the laptop free lifestyle.

Fast forward three days with no power and no sign of hope for my laptop working again; I took it to Apple. By the grace of God, they sent it off to the mysterious Apple Tech Center (and yes, I was cutting it dangerously close to the expiration of my one-year warranty).

While we were at Apple, my boyfriend suggested we upgrade our phones so we could separate our personal things—like calls and texts—from our social media, which tend to suck us into the doom-scroll vortex. (This idea had been on my mind for weeks, but with no computer, I thought, why not? What else am I supposed to do with all this time I have?)

Six hours, three new phones, and one minor existential crisis later, I left Verizon with a phone that wouldn’t accept calls or texts for at least 48 hours due to Easter and my transfer from AT&T to my boyfriend’s plan. And yes, that meant I was completely without technology. No computer, no phone. No life-raft in the storm.

But, I still felt some confidence. "I can do this." I had survived three days without my laptop—how hard could a few more days be without a phone? It would be like living in the Renaissance... or the 1980s.

Then I got home.

It was like my nervous system went into overdrive. I kept searching, grasping for technology—anything to distract myself from . . . well, myself. I had set up precautions, like black-and-white screens and app limits, to help me avoid the trap of endless scrolling, but still... there I was, anxious and fidgety without my usual fix. (Yes, I shed a few tears. Don’t act like you wouldn’t too)

Anugraha (अनुग्रह). A blessing, a favor, a kindness. I had to continue to remind myself of this shift. How could I let this moment be that? A blessing?

Once I allowed myself to mourn the loss of my addiction, I was finally able to shift into possibility. What could be possible without my phone and computer?

Could I actually enjoy the movies I’d been meaning to watch for years—without the constant urge to check my phone or be working on my laptop the whole time? Could I read a new book that sparks inspiration for my next article? Could I take a quiet walk and have a revelation about my life or next book? Could I connect more deeply with my family and my partner?

And, of course, I did.

In one day, I completed so much of what had been sitting on my to-do list for months. I gained crystal-clear clarity on my next book, had deep conversations with my family, connected with my partner, and even watched some classic films that completely shifted my perspective on life.

All because I was willing to see this as a “Divine Coffee Spill”, rather than a “Damn Coffee Spill”. And isn’t that what I’m trying to do here on this weekly column?

Become a graceful, classy, Renaissance woman? Isn’t that what she would do? Look at the coffee cup as half full—even if it’s spilling all over your laptop?

How can we, in every moment, choose to look at life not as one problem after another but as a series of blessings, opportunities to grow, and lessons we can take with us on our journey?

Oh, and in case you were wondering, a few days after I sent my laptop off to Apple (which, FYI, doesn’t cover liquid damage), I got it back. No hope of it being fixed, I slowly opened the box, bracing myself for my sad Mac... and there it was. A brand new laptop. Perfectly operational. Ready to go with a note that said. “Our technicians have successfully repaired your product.”

I was in shock.

It was like the universe had sent me a little surprise gift—a reminder that when things seem like they’re falling apart, they might actually be falling right into place. Our breakdowns can lead to our breakthroughs and our broken tech can lead to our biggest realizations yet.

Me after the “Divine Coffee Spill”:

Maybe it was the universe’s way of initiating me into my 30s, testing just how much I have really grown. Or maybe it was just some random occurrence—who knows? But either way, I am now the proud owner of a brand new laptop and a much stronger relationship with my own ability to go tech-less (even if just for a few days).

Here's to embracing the chaos, finding grace in the mess, and learning that sometimes, the best things come after a spilled cup of coffee.

P.S. now I keep my coffee cup on an adjacent table away from all my technology . . . so, you could say . . . the lesson has been learned.

xx Aria