In our ever-connected world, unplugging isn’t something that just happens—it’s something we have to choose. And let’s be honest, it’s not easy. We’ve been conditioned to check our phones like they hold the secrets of the universe (spoiler: they don’t).
For me, travel is the perfect excuse to disconnect—at least temporarily. With some, or ideally all, of my responsibilities covered, I can confidently tell people that if they really need me, they’re welcome to send a carrier pigeon or light a smoke signal. But breaking the habit of constant connection is harder than it seems.
Those of us who have been around a bit remember a time when we didn’t walk around glued to our screens. And many of us can recall the exact moment we realized the world had changed. For me, that moment came in the summer of 2013, as I drove past the Colosseum with my longtime mentor—and watched him grapple with the fact that there was no longer any escape from his inbox.
Rome, Italy
For ten years, I worked for Fabian, slowly climbing the ranks from summer valet at one of his restaurants to leading the philanthropic arm of his 500-person global healthcare empire. Over the years, we became close, traveling together to check in on pilot projects in India, Kenya, and beyond. We also hit the conference circuit, where I would present on our work while he held sideline meetings with other CEOs—always juggling a dozen things at once.
During one of these tours, we took a red-eye from Nairobi to Rome. Fabian was a constant flyer and had a strategy for overnight flights: don’t sleep. Instead, he powered through and, just before landing, changed into a completely different outfit from his carry-on. The man would step off the plane at 6 a.m. looking fresh, like he’d just come from a full night’s rest rather than a cramped seat at 35,000 feet. Given that he claimed to only sleep 3-4 hours a night anyway, maybe this worked for him. It definitely did not work for me, which I discovered the previous year when I dozed off into my oatmeal at an 8 a.m. breakfast meeting in Frankfurt—but that’s another story.
When we landed in Rome, voilà—Fabian’s sport coat had magically transformed from gray to blue, and he was ready to seize the day. I hailed us a taxi, and we headed toward our hotel in the city.
Now, a quick aside on my relationship with technology: I’ve always been a late adopter. I didn’t have any phone at all in 2010 and didn’t get a smartphone until the following year when I took this job. Up until then, it hadn’t fully clicked for me just how connected everyone was, all the time. How easy it had become to reach people who, a decade earlier, would have been nearly impossible to contact.
Back then, someone in Fabian’s position would have had one, maybe two receptionists sorting their mail—email wasn’t a thing, and if you somehow got your hands on their phone number, there was zero chance you’d reach them directly. Not anymore.
As we neared the city limits and the Colosseum came into view, Fabian started explaining the different neighborhoods of Rome. Then, the familiar beep of his BlackBerry interrupted him. His brow furrowed, and he began typing furiously, muttering a few choice words under his breath. When he finished, he shook his head and sighed.
“For the first time in my life,” he said, “I feel like there’s no escape.”
Now that email was always in his pocket, so were the relentless demands of his job. There were constant fires to put out, but back when communication was more cumbersome, expectations were lower. Now, everyone wanted an answer yesterday.
I’ve never forgotten that moment. It’s a lesson I carry with me—especially when traveling or experiencing something new. Set boundaries on communication. Pick your head up. See the world. Unplug.