The Day the Internet Went Down

Last Christmas, I received a gift from Lynn, my longtime friend and someone who’s always had an eye for the unusual. When I unwrapped the neatly packaged box, I found a kalimba inside—a small, wooden instrument with metal tines. Its appearance was undoubtedly charming, with its handcrafted design and polished finish, but I have to admit, my first thought was that it was an old-fashioned instrument, something from the past that didn’t quite fit into today’s world.

At the time, I didn’t have much interest in it. Sure, I appreciated the gesture. Lynn has always been thoughtful, and I know she meant well by sending me something unique for Christmas. But to me, the kalimba seemed like a relic from another era, something that might have been trendy in the 20th century but felt out of place now. I viewed it as no different from traditional instruments like the guitar or piano, instruments I had never learned to play and wasn’t keen on trying. The kalimba, with its simplicity, didn’t strike me as something I could connect with.

For the next few weeks, the kalimba became more of a decoration than anything else. I placed it on my bookshelf, where it sat untouched, collecting dust. Its presence was subtle, and honestly, it blended into the background of my living room. I had no intention of playing it, and it wasn’t a priority among the clutter of everyday life.

That all changed one Saturday afternoon, when a sudden and unexpected inconvenience pushed the kalimba into the spotlight.

The Day the Internet Went Down

It was a typical weekend. I had planned to spend the afternoon streaming a new show and catching up on emails—nothing out of the ordinary. I had settled into my usual spot on the couch, coffee in hand, ready for a lazy, uneventful day when, out of nowhere, my internet connection dropped. I stared at the buffering symbol on my screen, waiting for the Wi-Fi to kick back in, but it didn’t.

I tried resetting the router. Nothing. I restarted my computer, my phone, but still, no connection. Frustrated, I called the service provider and was informed that there was a regional outage. The estimated repair time? That's not reliable.

There’s something unnerving about being disconnected from the internet, especially when so much of life depends on it. I found myself at a loss for what to do. My phone was useless without Wi-Fi, and all of my usual distractions were suddenly out of reach. I hadn’t realized how reliant I had become on the digital world until that moment. I sat there, scrolling through my offline apps, hoping that something would magically work.

But, of course, nothing did.

I looked around the room, searching for anything that could hold my attention while I waited. And that’s when I noticed it—the kalimba, sitting quietly on the bookshelf, untouched since Christmas. It was as though it had been waiting for this very moment, a moment where all of my usual distractions had disappeared.

Picking Up the Kalimba

With nothing else to do, I walked over and picked up the kalimba. It felt surprisingly light in my hands, smaller than I remembered. I sat back down on the couch and turned it over, studying its structure more closely. The metal tines were arranged neatly along the top, and I noticed that each tine had a small number engraved on it. Beneath those numbers, faint musical notes were also etched in, indicating which sounds each tine would produce when plucked.

I plucked one at random, and the note that followed was soft, delicate, almost haunting in its simplicity. It wasn’t loud or brash like a guitar or piano; instead, it had a mellow, resonant sound that immediately caught my attention. I plucked another tine, then another, stringing together a few notes.

It was then that I realized this wasn’t just any old instrument. The kalimba was different. Its simplicity, which I had initially dismissed, was what made it special. Unlike more complex instruments, the kalimba didn’t require hours of practice or technical skill to produce something beautiful - Just follow the instructions. Each note seemed to flow effortlessly, and before I knew it, I was improvising simple melodies.

An Instrument That Resonated with Me

As the afternoon wore on, I lost myself in the music. The more I played, the more I felt connected to the kalimba. Its sound was organic, pure, and deeply resonant. There was something almost meditative about it. I didn’t have to think too much—just pluck a tine and let the sound wash over me.

The tactile experience of playing the kalimba was another unexpected joy. There was something incredibly satisfying about running my fingers across the metal tines, feeling the gentle resistance as I plucked each one. The instrument fit comfortably in my hands, and its size made it easy to handle, unlike the bulky, intimidating instruments I had avoided in the past.

What struck me the most, though, was the sense of calm that playing the kalimba brought me. In a world where everything moves so fast, where we’re constantly bombarded with notifications and distractions, the kalimba offered a rare opportunity to slow down and focus on something simple and peaceful. I found myself playing not to learn a song or master a technique, but simply to enjoy the sound and the moment. The simplicity that I had once viewed as a limitation was now something I cherished.

A Shift in Perspective

After that afternoon, the kalimba was no longer just a decorative object. It became a part of my daily routine. I would pick it up for a few minutes each day, usually in the evenings after work, and let its soft notes fill the room. It wasn’t about learning or practicing; it was about unwinding, letting go of the day’s stresses, and reconnecting with a quieter part of myself.

I started to understand why Lynn had chosen this gift for me. Lynn, ever perceptive, had likely known that I needed something like the kalimba, even if I hadn’t realized it myself. She had always been the type to give thoughtful, meaningful gifts, and this one was no exception. What I had once dismissed as an outdated instrument was now something I looked forward to playing each day.

Interestingly, the kalimba also changed the way I viewed music in general. I had never considered myself musically inclined. Instruments like the guitar, violin, or piano always seemed out of reach—too complicated, too time-consuming. But the kalimba showed me that music didn’t have to be about perfection or mastery. It could simply be about creating something beautiful in the moment, no matter how simple.

Joy in Simplicity

What I hadn’t anticipated was how much the kalimba would change my relationship with my own free time. Before, I spent most of my downtime glued to a screen, mindlessly scrolling through social media or binge-watching shows. But after that weekend without the internet, I started reaching for the kalimba instead. It became a way for me to disconnect from the digital world and reconnect with something more tactile, more present.

There was a certain joy in the simplicity of it all. The kalimba didn’t demand my attention in the same way that my phone or laptop did. It didn’t buzz or beep or flash with notifications. It simply existed, waiting for me to pick it up when I felt like it. And each time I did, I found a sense of peace that I hadn’t realized I was missing.

As the weeks went on, I noticed other changes, too. I felt more present in my daily life, less distracted by the constant pull of the online world. I began to appreciate the little things more—like the sound of the wind outside my window, the warmth of the sun on my skin, or the quiet moments in between the chaos of the day. The kalimba had become a tool for mindfulness, something that helped me slow down and focus on the here and now.

A Gift That Keeps Giving

Looking back, I’m grateful for that Christmas gift from Lynn, even though it took me months to truly appreciate it. The kalimba has brought a new sense of calm and joy into my life, one that I hadn’t expected. What began as a dusty ornament on my bookshelf has turned into something much more—a way for me to unwind, to reconnect with myself, and to find beauty in simplicity.

Now, when I pick up the kalimba, I’m reminded of that weekend without the internet, of the moment when I was forced to step away from the screens and distractions that normally filled my time. I’m reminded that sometimes, the things we overlook can turn out to be exactly what we need.

Lynn’s gift was more than just an instrument. It was a reminder to slow down, to find joy in the little things, and to embrace moments of stillness. And for that, I’m truly thankful.