The Ding
I thought my phone was ruining my rest. Six days in Iceland showed me different.
My friends and I are in a Land Cruiser with our tour guide, Einar, driving across his farm property on Ingólfshöfði, on the southern coast of Iceland, below Skaftafell. The black sand deposited from a long-ago volcanic slide now covers what once was a vast field of grass, or so we’re told. I reach down for my phone to snap a few pics out the window, and while I’m at it, check my emails and if there are any text messages. Then Einar breaks into another one of his hilarious stories, about how on this puffin tour, if there ends up being just a few puffins, tourists will want to take thousands of pictures of them. But if there are thousands of puffins, tourists will only take a few pics and will want to move on. We saw thousands.
For this guys’ trip, it took me a few weeks of proper planning. Having been there before helped, but there’s a difference between a solo trip and a guys’ trip—this warrants more adventure. I start with a schedule. A rough one, just an outline of one. Then I fill it out with a rough idea of what time we are out the door but not to the detail of when we have to go potty. I know some people who plan to that level of detail. Then the major adventures for each day, and what logistics are needed for them, such as waterproof clothes and shoes. Eventually, the schedule contains the itinerary and a packing list, and then we’re truly all set.
As I’m doing the bulk of driving on the Golden Circle path, we go north first. We’re still getting used to our white rental MG, which dings a lot. It dings anytime you enter a new speed limit and every time you exceed it. But then sometimes it doesn’t ding. We agree we have no idea what actually sets off a ding, only that there’s a way to turn it off. Which then resets each time the car starts. It’s drizzling that first day, but we still walk through Þingvellir National Park, then the Geysir, then Brúarfoss. The next day’s drive takes us to a walk around Kerið Crater, where we spend an inordinate amount of time debating if the crater is the result of a volcano or a meteor, and how meteor sounds like meatier, like God wanted the dinosaurs meatier and got a meteor instead. Then the long drive to Skaftafell. Several hours in a single-lane Route 1 with no cruise control made for fun active driving, leaning left to pass the slower cars while getting dinged at. That’s where we had some of our best conversations, about one friend’s impending marriage and our favorite books and movies. They’d switch out shotgun while the other caught a snooze in the back. And they indulged my music selection of Miguel, smooth soulful R&B, the soundtrack of this trip for me.
It was while staring out at Jökulsárlón, an unfathomable amount of glacier spilling out between mountains, as if frozen in time, that Kaplan’s Attention Restoration Theory entered my consciousness. Could he be right—that staring at nature restores something in me? Is looking at glaciers for hours chilling me out? Kaplan believes soft fascination lets directed attention rest and replenish, which might’ve been what humans evolved to do.
By the end of day 4, we’ve made it to the capital Reykjavík and into our last lodgings for the trip. Three of us piled into one room, our stuff scattered about but not messy, like you would’ve expected from three guys in their 40s. It’s quiet, no one is talking. One guy is rearranging his luggage and figuring out the safe while the other guy is on his headphones watching a bit of anime. I’m thinking about the next morning and if there’ll be time to squeeze in a short workout. And even though it’s late, there’s still light out. This time of year, the sun never goes away. Eventually I crash on my side of the bed and play a few games on my phone, except there’s no possibility of an interruption from my kids.
Back at home, with my 3-year-old daughter, I’ve made a point to say the word adventure a lot. Go on an adventure to the grocery store, I’d say. What adventure did you have at daycare today? Anytime we leave the house, do you want to go on an adventure? And to get out the door, especially with two kids, requires good pre-planning. So, my wife and I typically establish what time we’re out the door and plan backwards from there, factoring in extra time for a potentially uncooperative toddler with interruptions of I’m hungry or can you play with me. It takes a while to get all set, but eventually you get good at it. You have to. You have to be all set with the diaper bag, packed with enough diapers and a change of clothes for both girls. You have to be all set with their snacks and toys for the car ride, even if it’s just a few minutes away. All of this gets factored into the schedule, each day. Like any couple with kids, I imagine the phrase, “what’s on the schedule” gets said often. Schedule for the day, schedule for the week, maybe even what’s on the schedule for this month. And all throughout those events I’m constantly reaching for my phone. For a few minutes of respite amongst the chaos. For a few minutes to launch a new Claude chat. A few minutes to play a game on my phone that I know will result in nothing. All the while aware that someone is going to interrupt me soon. I had thought it was being on the phone too much that ruined rest, when in fact, it was the anticipation of interruptions. By being in a state of anticipation, I couldn’t also be in a state of rest.
The eight-hour flight home was going to be my last few moments of quiet. I give a lot of attention to adjusting my internal clock to dampen the effects of jet lag, and so I calculate I should stay awake for most of this flight. Maybe a short nap, which ends up being about an hour. After catching up on House of the Dragon and halfway through Avatar: Fire and Ash, I think to myself, I got really rested on this trip. I’m ready for the roller coaster back home. Ready to take out the trash bin full of diapers, to take the toddler to daycare and then drive into the office. But I don’t think anyone is ever really ready. You white knuckle the roller coaster seat handles, and after a few stomach-dropping turns, anticipate the ride will end soon. And then you’ll miss it.
The first person I’ll see when I get home is my wife. By the time I get home, the whole house should be asleep, and I’ll find her in bed. She endorsed this whole trip. She endorsed me going on it, knowing a guys’ trip hasn’t happened in over five years when we used to go like clockwork, every 18 months, and with one guy getting married soon, who knows when the next will be again. She even endorsed spending whatever I wanted on the trip. This endorsement came at a price, though. A price that she paid for while I was away. She took the kids on adventures, set her own time out the door each day, and set the schedule that week. She had to make sure the toddler went potty, which is no easy feat, and that she was all set for daycare. And she heard her own dings from the car. The ding that reminds the driver to not leave a child in the back seat accidentally. When she gave me the endorsement to go on that trip, she took on more interruptions while I was allowed to rest.
I slept in that next morning, to compensate for that late bedtime. Then the bedroom door hushed open, and I could groggily tell it was my daughter coming. She saw my face, surprised I was back, because at her age, she can’t tell time yet. She quickly climbed onto the bed and lay down right on top of me.
POSITIVE AFFIRMATION
“Interruptions everywhere, at any moment. Which makes those pauses even more precious. Those tiny slivers can really shine if you let them.
Today I catch my breathe each time there’s an interruption.”
- from my AffirmStreak this morning
My vehicle only bongs when the seatbelt is not clicked I have a little older vehicle interesting how advanced vehicles are now