Reachable ≠ Available

Lately, I’ve stopped carrying my phone everywhere. It sits on the kitchen counter or on my desk while I move through the house. It’s usually on silent. Honestly, I don’t even remember what my ringtone sounds like anymore.

And it feels… peaceful.

There was a time I wouldn’t leave the room without my phone. Now, I don’t need it on me. I don’t want to be reachable all the time. If something’s truly urgent, someone will find a way to get through.

But here’s what surprised me: I left my phone alone for a few hours, came back to it, and found messages from people worried because I hadn’t responded yet.

And that hit me.

Somewhere along the way, we forgot how to give each other space.

We used to wait

I think about my teenage years. If I wanted to talk to a friend, I had to call their house. Navigate an awkward conversation with a parent or sibling. Hope they were home. Sometimes, I’d just show up. Ring the bell and ask, “Are you around?”

Sometimes they weren’t. And that was okay.

You learned to take no without offense. You learned to say no without guilt. You learned to wait.

Now, the expectation is immediate. A ping. A bubble. A read receipt. And if you don’t reply soon enough, the silence is noticed. Interpreted. Felt.

We’ve confused reachability with availability.

The pressure to be on

It’s not just about chatting. It’s the pressure of instant to-dos.

Got a thought? Send it.

Need something? Ask now.

Remember something? Forward it.

We’re trained to offload. Not hold it, not wait. Just pass it along. Now.

And if you’re on the receiving end, it becomes a pile. A mental load of little bubbles and unread dots.

We’ve normalized disruption. Without meaning to. We interrupt each other all the time with “just a quick thing.”

Because we can.

Because we’re connected.

But being connected isn’t the same as being present. And being reachable isn’t the same as being available.

We’re not designed for this

We’ve lost the buffer.

No answering machines. No polite delay. No pause to ask: “Is this a good moment?”

We went from dialing to pinging to expecting ... and forgot what it felt like to not be reachable. To not have anyone expecting a reply. To simply… be.

And with that came something else: We stopped being okay with waiting.

Next-day delivery is too slow. Answers need to be instant. Silence feels like avoidance.

Maybe we need to slow down again

Not everything needs a reply. Not everything is urgent. Not every moment needs to be filled.

Sometimes, peace is not checking your phone. Sometimes, connection means letting someone not reply right away.

Sometimes, it’s okay to be unreachable. Not as a rejection, but as a way back to yourself.

Maybe we all need a little more unavailability.

A little more quiet.

A little more grace.

Because reachable should never mean owned.