Alone In an Off-Grid Cabin: A Complete Social Media Detox | Rainy, slow days in English Country
Social media detox while staying alone in an off-grid cabin in the English countryside. I locked my phone away and spent a few days exploring the remote woodlands and living in a solar-powered tiny house surrounded by hills and pastures. This is what slow living really looks like.
I've wanted to do this for a while: go somewhere alone for a few days with no internet, no screens, and no human interaction. The idea was to spend time with myself, quietly reflecting on past events and those yet to come. I’ve been scared to do this, too, but that fear was exactly why I finally did it. More on that later. I arrived at this remote, off-grid cabin surrounded by woods and pastures, only to be rained in for the rest of the days—a perfect scenario, even more quiet and introverted than I initially planned.
The concept was simple: spend a few nights in this off-grid cabin, fully powered by solar energy and completely disconnected from the outside world. The first step was locking away my phone and unplugging completely. There were no sockets to plug in any devices, just an old Nokia to reach the outside world if needed, a map, a compass, a Polaroid camera to take physical pictures with, and a cassette tape player. I hadn't used cassette tapes for probably 20 years, but I still belong to the generation that understands the link between a cassette and a pencil.
On the first night, I cooked for myself, journaled by dim light, and listened to the eerie owl hoots outside. It was wonderful—a peaceful beginning to a few days alone, something I had wanted to do but didn't realize how much I needed. The morning brought stormy winds and more rain, with clouds settling into a thick mist that I watched for hours from the comfort of my bed. It felt strange waking up without checking my phone first thing—no emails, no news, no social media, and no sitting in front of a laptop screen for the rest of the day.
At first, I felt a bit lost, perhaps even guilty. What was I going to do with myself for the rest of the day? I only had myself to deal with, to look after, and to think about. I wasn't entirely switched off—there was still a camera on my trusty tripod following my every step. My work had to come with me, even to the most remote places, but with limited battery power, it would eventually die off too.
I went on long, rainy walks in the surrounding woodlands, where not a soul crossed my path, except for the horses and sheep on the nearest pasture. I had no one to talk to, no one to share the experience with. I imagined myself as a character in an adventure story—a wanderer exploring new paths and, in turn, discovering myself. I reflected on my journey so far, eager to share these new and slightly scary experiences, though I knew there were people who live much more remote, lonely, or wild lives than mine. Maybe you're one of those people. But for me, this was already challenging—these were my fears to conquer, bit by bit. Perhaps it wouldn't be wise to throw myself into the extremes right away. I like comfort, too, not to lie, but sometimes I want to do things that scare me, even if they seem like no-brainers to someone else.
I love spending time alone, but I've never done it for a few days like this. Usually, when I'm alone, I rely on visual media to keep me company—movies or YouTube videos playing in the background, filling the silent void of a long evening in solitude. This time, with no technology to fall back on, the only thing I had was the cassette tape player. But the thing with cassette players is that they eventually end. It's not like an online music service that keeps playing endless suggested songs after your playlist finishes. Eventually, the cassette falls into silence, and you’re alone again.
By day three, I realized I craved human connection. I wanted to check my phone, read messages, or maybe call someone. But I also wanted more of this—more vastness around me, more magical views outside my window. There’s always this internal battle in me, wanting to stay connected, to share my experiences online, to make friends with strangers I might never meet in reality, and to stay alone, absorbing everything with all my senses. I wanted to get soaked in the rain, wake up to a rare, beautiful sunrise, listen to the owls and bats outside at night, and share this experience with a select few—maybe with no one else at all.
I fantasized about staying in this solitude, but inevitably, I had to return to the real world, reconnect, and you know what? Both sides of life are beautiful in their own way. I realized how grateful I am for this connection, whether online or in real life, for having people to share these experiences with, and how blissful it is to escape every once in a while. I think I’m going to do this more often now—balance communication with solitude, go on journeys alone, completely unplugged, but eventually tell stories about them. Or at least have technology-free days at home, but maybe share that moment with someone special. That would be a start, wouldn't it?
Thank you for joining me on this journey. I hope you have a lovely week, and I’ll see you again soon.