I’ve just spent the past few days unplugged and invigorated by the simplicity of just Being. Apparently it required me to travel to the Baltic Coast of Latvia to make this happen. In this little wooden house, with no electricity, no running water, and certainly no wifi, I remembered what it means to be at peace.It took a day to overcome the nervous twitch in my hand, antsy to impulsively check email and twitter on the iphone.

How could I possibly survive without knowing what was happening at that very moment?

How could I sustain my community if I wasn’t tweeting, posting, or commenting at least every few hours?

Resistance was futile – there was no choice but to actually be present in physical reality.

I noticed that the fields of rapeseed were actually quite beautiful, their movement in the wind inspiring thoughts about patterns, simulations, and swarms.

The sheep on the side of the road stopped their grazing when I stopped the vehicle to watch them. Or, actually, we just watched each other for a moment or two, perhaps equally curious.

The bathroom was a convenient shack within walking distance of my humble abode. It consisted of a wooden seat that led to a hole in the ground. I found myself feeling grateful for the roll of toilet paper that hung from a nail on the wall inside.

In the morning, instead of my typical routine of skimming through the headlines while mindlessly chugging coffee from the machine – the process of morning coffee was itself an activity. Boiling water in a kettle on a burner connected to a propane tank, pouring it into a french press, then drinking it strong and black was better than consuming the latest tech gossip.

After that, what to do besides walk the beach and think?

Feeling the sand between my toes and combing the landscape for treasure – little smoothed green & white beach glass or even small pieces of amber – occupied several hours each day.

I had plenty of time to think about digital footprints…. about what we are leaving behind here as we reveal ourselves, our identities, our passions, our Selves. We can be so honest, so transparent, so vulnerable, so real – if we want to be – in who we are and what drives us.

Juxtaposed against the seeming immortality of our virtual selves, preserved in a server somewhere, is the actual confronting reality of our mortality.

At the end of the day, despite our most valiant efforts to overcome all limitations – we do, in fact, die.

And I thought, I am not unlike this fish.

I want to do great things. I want to be remembered in some kind of positive light for having influenced transformative change. I want to transcend the limitations of this weak and fragile physical body and be part of something epic. It’s what I was intended for… isn’t it?

But I will end, like this fish, like we all do. And what feels so urgent and pressing every day in our lives, all these pressures and obligations and responsibilities – when we end, so do they.

And yet life goes on regardless of our involvement, without missing a beat.

So I am compelled to ask myself…. What really matters?

How do I contribute to this spectacle in a way that is meaningful and valuable, if such a thing even exists. How do I experience happiness and fulfillment in a world that has been designed to be bizarre and misdirected on so many levels. Is there a point in trying to change “the system” in favor of something more equitable to human life and self-expression and actualization?

I don’t believe there are answers – only choices we collectively make about the world we are creating.

As a visitor here on Spaceship Earth, I think my stay would be more pleasant if we decided to choose a new narrative, one that favored the pursuit of developing the best assets and attributes of what we are as a species.

I haven’t seen an indication that this sentiment is entering mainstream thought, though it thrives at the edges, as it has throughout human history. I’m optimistic that somehow the power of social media technologies to reveal “Truth” will pave the way for a new global society, but I don’t hold my breath.

I walk the beach pondering – What will we do next?