In Neal Stephenson’s new novel, Fall, the central character, Dodge, refers to the miasma of the Internet as the Din. It is a wonderfully succinct way to sum up one of the least pleasant aspects of what is arguably the most transformative invention of this century. Perhaps you can relate. Even the most absorbed user of social media must at times find themselves overwhelmed by the sheer volume of stuff assailing them every minute, waking or asleep. And those who are captive to a keyboard for work or pleasure need relief at days end.

A disclaimer. I am not an avid user of social media, and while I do spend a considerable amount of time in front of a computer it is largely for practical purposes. I do belong, if that is even an appropriate description, to two so-called social media sites—one largely personal and the other professional. Despite my best intentions I seem to have acquired a fair number of connections. I do not know how else to describe people who indeed include some legitimate friends and colleagues, past or present. It is not that I am vigorously opposed to social media or the Internet for that matter, it’s just that I don’t have time to manage all of these pseudo relationships. I can either live my life or read about others’ , but most of what I encounter are activities, views and pictures forming an unbidden and wearying deluge of mostly meaningless, often manufactured pap–well in a word, din.

Don’t get me started on email, telemarketer phone calls and texts. A very small percentage contain anything of value—fewer still require any response on my part while the growing number of scams, phishing attacks and once in a lifetime deals that litter my inbox despite all efforts to repel them is simply astounding, and it grows exponentially. Don’t take my word for it—nearly every one of my connections complains of these same things. And yet……. And yet, none of us turn off the computer, resign from social media—delist our phones, or do anything very drastic to silence the noise despite our irritation at its intrusion on our lives.

I cannot speak for others, but my only recourse has been deliberately spending time away. I seek out digital desert isles so that I can think. A park, a beach, a wood, even your backyard are all good places to tune out so you can tune in. Thinking is a vanishing human trait at risk of being supplanted by responding and reacting. Thinking requires quiet, freedom from distraction and is best done alone. Thinking cannot be done with a phone or laptop at arm’s reach.

Most of all, thinking requires silence from the echo chambers that reinforce our beliefs, prejudices, and opinions. That’s right, I am sure I harbor all of the above. The downside of our 24/7 connectivity and unlimited access to the din, is that it deprives us of the objectivity and distance necessary to examine what we think and why we do so. It is too easy to become a human bot, providing tacit agreement to what someone else has to say. Time away from this firehose of commentary offers an opportunity to question—and avoid reflexive responses.

Increasingly, I find the world hard to make sense of, harder still without the benefit of time in which to think and process. When I react or respond to something, I can feel my blood pressure rise, my hormones engage and my body tense. But during periods of intentional distance, I have no such reaction—I can see that however I might feel in the moment—things are seldom what they seem. Free to hold an idea in my mind and examine it without the urgency to feel one way or another, I have no urge to act. My thoughts may lead me in that direction at some point, or not—but I am assured that any action I may take will not be precipitous. In fact, I act a great deal less when I am thinking and not reacting, and that is a good thing.

Anyone can do this; I have no patent on the process. If you find this intriguing you might try separating your self for a bit and doing nothing but think. It costs nothing but time—and time is something we have a good deal more of when we aren’t spending it “getting and spending” our energies. I don’t mean to suggest that my thoughts are invariably deep and insightful. Often, they go nowhere, but I am left calm and better able to deal with the noise in the background after I have spent some time this way.

I pass this along because I am concerned that thinking is something we do less and less of these days. We are not all deep thinkers, philosophers, poets or pundits, at least I'm not. Most of us are just very ordinary women and men, but we have all been gifted with this wonderful human capacity. We think; therefore, we are, and if we cease to do so we might very well wonder what will become of us.