Restoration Day

Come here, my dear child; I'd like to tell you a story. My time in this world is coming to an end, and I fear I have done you the disservice of sheltering you from responsibility. You're old enough to know everything now, child. Everything about what people call Restoration Day, and how it forever changed the way we do things. I've wanted to preserve your childhood as much as possible, as the world has in many ways turned into a much wilder place, but you will soon have to manage all of this without me here to help. I know, love, all of this feels so overwhelming, but I promise, if you listen closely, you will know all you need to navigate this landscape and how to run our home.

Now, let's begin.

For many, the day was unremarkable. Those who were, and those who considered themselves to be "of a certain age," didn't notice the change until late morning, along with those already surviving off the grid. No, the real terror struck those who were, and those who acted like, "a younger generation." These people opened their phones the instant they woke up, and noticed immediately. You see, I was careful with you as an infant, little one. I kept you away from screens and told you stories about life when I was a child. But for most of your age group, and certainly older, a technological device that fit in the palm of their hand molded their minds. They had no memory or idea of The Before; therefore, The Detaching of Restoration Day affected them the most.

My child, remember what I told you of The Before? Not well? Oh, I suppose I haven't brought up my childhood in a few years.

It was a beautiful time in humanity, long before we gave up much of it for a digital immortality. I remember it well; our Earth looked very different. It was developed, sure, but nothing like it is now. The Before was marked by deep green everywhere. Trees, flowers, lakes, valleys, forests, and mountains once filled our world. It wasn't like today, with our flattened lands, gutted, every blade of grass and unsanctioned tree removed and replaced with concrete. It was dense in forestation and teeming with life.

If memory serves, it was 2007 when we began losing our connection and moving away from a more natural alignment. Human interest in the environment was severed, and a global upload began, resulting in the growing epidemic of apathy and violence we lived with until a few years after you were born. The year was 2066; you were six, I believe, and until that point, if you wanted to see anything resembling our precious Earth in her prime, you would look it up on your phone. If you wanted to interact with it, engage with all the wonder she provides, you would have to plug in to virtual reality.

Your earliest years could have been spent outside playing in the woods without fear, my child.

The los— ...

Woods are smaller forests, dear. Yes, that's right, dense pockets of trees. They once stood taller than the tallest buildings left in our cities, and you could have climbed them as high as you dared... Really, child, have you ever listened to me?

Never mind, my point is that the world is returning to all of that, and you will get to experience it for yourself. Better late than never.

Ever since The Detaching, our sweet mother earth has slowly been taking herself back, returning her form to The Before. It was subtle at first, but lately old data centers have been swallowed by the earth, sinkholes that inexplicably filled back in after claiming only part of the infrastructure that brought us here to begin with. It's a beautiful sight, sweet one, and I'm so glad you're here to see it through.

Anywho, I lost my train of thought. What was I saying? Oh yes, the events of Restoration Day.

Well, when the alarms didn't go off, the inner clocks of those "certain agers" and "off-the-griders" kicked in; the alarm-reliant folks slept on. This first indication that something was amiss was wholly unbothersome to those who woke first. After the first glow of the rising sun stirred them, they set about their morning routine: using the toilet, brushing their teeth, drinking water, showering, dressing, fixing coffee, and finally, drinking it.

Only then would they find their phone, unplug it, and attempt to read the morning news. And only then would they notice their phone wouldn't respond to their touch to open a single app. They would remember that they hadn't shut off their alarm or heard a single peep from their phone since they woke up. Some may have been moderately confused, but generally I believe 'unbothered' is an accurate word.

As I said, this first wave of realizers didn't induce chaos. In fact, most of these first noticers simply set their phones down wherever they stood and carried on with their day. They left home to commute to work; they stayed in to tend to their homes; they went outside to care for their land without a second thought. Some even went so far as to use their phone for something else entirely, like a doorstop or a paperweight. I personally wedged mine under the wobbly kitchen table leg so it would finally be balanced. You can see it there now.

Where was I? Oh, yes. I mean, no, dear, no. Chaos struck when everyone else woke up.

Some of the younger generation woke up an hour later; others, several hours. All of them, without fail, reached for their phones immediately. Nightstands, bed corners, floors, bathroom sinks — wherever they were charging — people frantically picked up and checked their phones, only to discover nothing would work. Not messaging, not calling, not the internet, not the camera, not a single app. Nothing. They didn't know what time it was (despite some wearing analog watches that still worked), if they had missed any calls or texts, or even whether the post they made last night got any likes while they slept. Most of these second noticers had never felt this kind of panic in their body before, never heard this much quiet, and never been expected to entertain themselves this much first thing. They didn't enjoy it. Not one bit.

They wanted music, meditation apps, social media, work chat, something—anything they could consume to quell the growing unease they felt inside.

Unfortunately, none of that was available to them, and many languished because of it. Those who still needed to go to work were incredibly late, which, in retrospect, was devastating for the overall functioning of society, not to mention the economy.

Everyone working from their phone, from wannabe daytraders to Uber drivers, was suddenly out of a job. They were faced with the difficult task of finding a new job in the midst of a global crisis, and that was harrowing for more than a few. Companies went bankrupt trying to adjust to dropping sales and the general slump in consumption as purchases were no longer accessible through phones or apps. Marketing firms shifted their focus from invasive phone ads back to old-school and slightly less invasive billboards and television commercials. Some businesses have survived after this shift, but the public interest in spending money is trending downwards with each passing year, child.

Make note of this, as opportunities arise for you to grow our community; know that currency is more than money these days, dear.

As central power deteriorates, we'll rely on each other more and more, and you should lean in.

Now, some people might think that the chaos we experienced or its residual impact is a bad thing, and if one only considers the fact that all roads were traffic jams for several weeks, or that there was a very brief uptick in suicides in the first few days of The Detaching, well, one might agree.

But those things and so many others have continued to improve: overall, car accidents decreased 30% because people were driving less distracted. Also, suicides and reported suicidality plummeted to less than 1% of the population.

You see, more than our conditions changed, we changed.

It didn't take long for people to start visiting loved ones almost daily. Just 'dropping in' became the most convenient and enjoyable way to contact our people. That, my child, in particular, is the healing we all needed: In-person connection. We were already experiencing a mental health crisis; the wounds from stolen community and a selfish culture needed connection to heal, and we had none until The Detaching. A wonder that the removal of that tiny, cursed device—which promised to connect us more than ever—managed to be just the thrust we needed.

Even though some of the initial chaos has subsided, there is still substantial fallout to be reconciled, and we are doing that with grace, my child. But finally, I can say we all have looked up. We are noticing the things and the people around us. We are once again extending our hands to the earth to feel the soft velvet of her leaves and soil, to commune, and to nurture all of her children. We are listening and responding to the needs of all ecosystems, not just the ones held in our own bodies.

The chaos of Restoration Day was the chaos of being thrust back into the world. And now, I want to tell you how to thrive in it.

First, tend the garden, child. Let it feed you.

Wait, before I continue, go grab a piece of paper and a pencil, dear.

Because you need to remember the most important and finer details of stewarding our land and community. There is useful information for planting and harvesting that you can find in that almanac over there, but our soil is specific, and you need to know how it works. Not to mention the numerous trade deals and agreements we have with various neighbors...

Yes, you will certainly need to take notes.