“I can shake off everything as I make notes in my diary; my sorrows disappear, my courage is reborn.” -Anne Frank
I loved being both a student and a teacher. As every September drifts in on crisp, amber air, I can almost hear notebooks opening like the first page of a story yet to be written. I love the sound of pens tracing the rhythm of thoughts, margins filling with quiet reflections and doodles. As a former high school teacher, I used to arrive just before sunrise to plan for the day. I knew my students would come soon after, just as the sunlight spilled across their desks as if to highlight every memory, each scribble a small and beautiful act of rebellion.
From my perch in front of the class, the scent of paper, mingling with my morning coffee, reminded me of lessons learned and dreams still unfolding. Ever since I can remember, I have been taking NOTE of the world as I see it. Somewhere along the way, in the gentle pause of a day, the act of writing became a ritual, a way to catch fleeting moments before they slipped away.
We process so many things through our hands, from tactile and spatial information to messaging the brain about how to guide movement. Writing activates multiple brain regions, enhancing memory, learning, and creativity. The act of forming letters engages sensory, motor, and cognitive functions simultaneously, creating stronger neural connections. And yet it is something much more profound. When I write, I empty everything onto paper. In that empty place, I feel peace and coziness that is even more pronounced in autumn. The lightness I feel after journaling or writing for even a few minutes was, is, and will always be life-changing. I suppose it is a fullness we can only feel when we have a way to clear all our thoughts.
For those of you who read last month’s blog, you know that I logged off of all social media for August. It was in honor of 12 years as a nomadic family, and in an effort to spend every moment with our kids, who were home from university for a visit. I kept NOTES during the month of this experience offline, and I want to share some excerpts with you. September is the beginning of so many things, and summer’s fading warmth is the reminder that these moments are worth noting.
August 1
I made the announcement today: logging off all social media for August. Saying it out loud felt strangely heavy, like I was cutting myself off from the world. Honestly, I’m a little agitated and nervous. It’s startling how automatic the instinct is to wonder: But what if I miss something? This experiment is about curiosity. I want to see what happens when I step back and remember who is in charge of my time, ME.
August 3
Sundays are already my “off-screen” days, so today wasn’t too difficult. But something surprising bubbled up: I noticed how often I thought, I should capture this for later, not for myself, but for a storyline or post. Then it hit me: when did memories become content? We used to take photos to hold onto moments and share them with the few closest to us. Today, it felt freeing and disorienting to realize that subconsciously, if I’m not posting, I sometimes don’t even feel the urge to capture the moment.
August 5
On a day trip, I accidentally left my phone behind. At first, I panicked, but quickly I felt lighter, more present. Without the constant tug to frame everything for others, I saw things I might have missed, like the way the sunlight caught on the water, the unhurried rhythm of conversations. The most startling realization? Simply carrying my phone often creates a subtle background hum of distraction. Without it, the noise quieted.
August 6
I’m noticing how many conversations begin with, “I saw this reel…” It’s become a universal shorthand for connection. But I wonder does watching the same 15-second clip equals a shared experience? Or is it a substitute? I miss stories rooted in lived moments with longer arcs, the kind that reveal something about how we see the world. I don’t have an answer yet, but I’m sitting with the question.
August 10
One thing I’ve never done is turn on notifications. I can’t imagine letting a machine dictate when my attention should be hijacked. If someone truly needs me, the phone rings. Otherwise, urgency is manufactured. Without the ability to scroll, this feels even clearer: much of the “now, now, now” of online life doesn’t actually serve me or the people in my immediate experience, even if they are strangers.
August 12
I’ve been told I see the world through rose-colored glasses. Maybe that’s true, but I think you only truly see the light when you’ve acknowledged the dark. Without the daily barrage of news and viral clips, I feel more hopeful, not naive, just grounded. I’m still informed, but I’m not overwhelmed. Before, I didn’t realize how much time I spent fact-checking or sifting through noise. Logging off has given me back clarity I didn’t know I’d lost. I thought I was being a responsible citizen by fact-checking, but I never thought to just stop the stream altogether and find my own truth versus sifting through what is real virtually.
August 14
It’s odd knowing that scheduled content is posting without me there to interact with it. And yet, in some ways, I feel more connected to the message behind it, and I can finally step back and see it with fresh eyes. When someone shows me reels about storms and other violent things in different parts of the world, I notice how deeply disturbing they feel. Before, I think I’d grown numb without even knowing it. This month is teaching me that sensitivity is not weakness; rather, it’s the very thing that keeps us human, responsive, and willing to act.
August 19
I do miss the ease of quick check-ins on social media, but something unexpected is happening: my offline conversations feel richer. Phone calls, emails, and even audio messages take more effort, but in return, they feel more alive. Hearing someone’s voice carries texture that emojis can’t replicate. It reminds me that connection isn’t meant to be effortless; it’s meant to be meaningful.
August 22
Here’s a funny thing: I find myself missing people more, and in the best way. Without constant updates on their every move, I feel anticipation building like back in school when you returned after summer break, buzzing with stories to exchange. That little spark of mystery makes reunions sweeter. Social media gives us convenience, but it also fills in the space where wonder used to live.
August 25
This week, I caught myself peeking at other people’s screens, worried I might be missing a “big” post. That was humbling. It’s lonely at times to step away in a world that’s still logged on. But I promised myself this final stretch would be about full disengagement. My commitment is not to prove social media wrong, but to prove to myself that I’m not beholden to it. This month is about remembering I’m the one in charge of the tool, not the other way around.
August 31
The month is complete, and what I feel most is presence. At the beginning, I mistook disconnection for loss. Now I see it as power. Without the constant pull to document and share, I’ve been invited back into a quieter rhythm where noticing itself is the gift I have to give. The sound of my children sleeping, the way light shifts noiselessly through the room, the texture of silence between conversations are all pauses I have been craving.
The tools will always be there; the question is, am I here? This month has shown me that I am. I reclaimed the idea that it is a choice, and I am the one accountable for how much time I spend on anything. It seems simple, but it is anything but.
What I sense now is not an ending but an opening for something new to emerge, and for that I am so grateful.
This month, we will be noting so many new beginnings as Max starts his 3rd and final thesis year of his bachelor’s program in the Netherlands. Henry is starting a 10-month internship to round out his final year of Dutch university with a global, community-focused, privately owned snow sports company beginning in Trentino-South Tyrol. Bianca’s university research trips commence in Northern Italy and Austria and may take us as far as Norway.
And so the lesson is …
Presence begins with noticing. This experiment in logging off taught me that the simple act of taking NOTES can transform how we move through our days. Make a NOTE of new things we are learning. Take NOTE of what we are unlearning. Write a NOTE of what we are grateful for, and save a NOTE about what no longer serves us. Observe and NOTE what is working in the world and the good in people and leaders we respect. Reflect in a NOTE on what needs to change, and journal about how we will become the change we wish to see.
Record a NOTE of how we show up for ourselves and for others. Notice and NOTE the energy others bring into our world. Capture a NOTE of all the small victories and unexpected joys. Honor and NOTE our presence, our breath, and our stillness. Carry a NOTE forward of all the lessons that come from taking NOTES and let it shape how we move through today.
And remember, there is no such thing as a wrong NOTE. An ingredient splattered recipe, or a list found in the attic someday, may be a message to future generations about who we are today, in this moment. Once we begin writing, we just may notice, as Anne Frank penned, our courage being reborn. September requires many things, and courage is perhaps the most NOTEworthy…
