The luxury of being unavailable

The real flex isn’t a car, home, or job title

This issue is sponsored by Ozlo Sleepbuds, which makes me delightfully unavailable to overnight interruptions from snoring, dogs barking, street noise, or thunder. These tiny little buds are a game-changer for sleep, whether you’re at home, on an airplane, visiting family, or in a hotel. With Ozlo’s soft, soothing, noise-masking sleep sound in my ears, I’m impervious to annoying sleep interruptions—even my husband snoring right next to my head. I have never received more rave reviews of a product as I have with Ozlo Sleepbuds—they REALLY work. Get the new Ozlo Sleepbuds 2 and save $40, plus a free sleep mask. Don’t wait! This sale is only good through Sunday October 11.

One of my boyfriends was the last cell phone holdout in our friend group. This was the early 2000s, when just about everyone (myself included) had a Nokia or Motorola RZR. He didn’t want one, though. He said it felt invasive; that he didn’t want to be at everyone’s beck and call. I didn’t understand it. I said, “But you could call me from the grocery store if you forgot the list, or tell me you’re running late for dinner. It’s convenient.” He didn’t think the juice was worth the squeeze. I’m starting to think he was onto something.

Gen Xers like me spent much of their lives with regular unavailability. If I was out riding bikes with my friends, my parents had no way to reach me. If my mom was already on the phone, the person had to leave a message and wait. If I was running late coming home as a teen, my dad would wait up. God forbid someone reach for the land line while we were having dinner—my mom would freeze me in my tracks with just a look.

We didn't call this “setting boundaries.” There were just times when we couldn't be reached.

I miss my land line

Today, I’m always reachable. My phone is attached to me 24/7. I put it on do not disturb at night, but my emergency contacts can still get through. I’ve got four working email addresses. My team can reach out via Slack, Notion, email, Google Docs, Instagram message, TikTok message, and text. (I have received messages on all of these platforms this week.)

Also, I have a child who calls me asking for $5 day and night. At the gym. On a run. At the store. Out to dinner. Yes, I could (and sometimes do) not answer, but the point is, he can still get to me. Even if I don't pick up, I've seen his name. I've seen the request. Now part of my attention is focused on, “Is he calling to ask for $5 again?” instead of whatever I was doing ten seconds ago.

That's the part I think we underestimate. My attention is finite. Allowing people to interrupt it whenever they choose is essentially giving them the power to decide what I think about next.

Texts from friends, phone calls from family, notifications from my son’s school, advertisements, spam… this reachability delivers hundreds of demands for my attention every day. But reachable isn’t the same as available, and it’s an important distinction.

Barriers and boundaries

I’m eating dinner and get a text. I’m at the gym and get a call. I get a direct message at 7 PM. I get an important work email on Sunday afternoon. In all of these instances, I am reachable—but I don’t have to make myself available.

Technology has eliminated many of the barriers to reaching me. It didn't eliminate my right to decide when people have access to me. To do that requires boundaries, with others and with myself.

This is a big part of why I love hiking so much. It’s a sacred time when I am automatically alone and unreachable. I don’t even hike with headphones, because the complete lack of input (minus the sounds of nature and my own heavy breathing) resets my nervous system like nothing else. Hiking is a natural boundary to protect my peace from all of the people, ads, emails, and extended warranty plans trying to reach me.

Outside of hiking, however, I have to create this unavailability myself. And I do, because the benefits of being unavailable are numerous.

• My nervous system gets a break from constant stimulus. My attention isn’t being dragged around by her hair.

• I give my brain dedicated time to process, reflect, and make connections. My subconscious and intuition appreciate the opportunity.

• I can remain present in whatever I’m doing, whether that’s time alone, time with family, or deep creative work.

• I choose what gets my attention next, instead of letting whoever texts, calls, emails, or DMs me decide for me.

• I normalize the idea that we don’t have to be available 24/7, and give people permission to set these boundaries for themselves.

• I remind myself that access to me is mine to give.

The goal isn’t to be disconnected. It’s to be deliberately connected, and choose when I am and am not available.

Picture this: It’s the holidays. You’re in a tiny bed in your parents’ spare room. The house is 74 degrees, but if you open the window, the street noise keeps you awake. And you know they’re gonna be watching old episodes of Frasier at full volume until 1 AM. (Do we all have the same parents?) Then you pop in your Ozlo Sleepbuds 2, and… nothing. No street noise, no TV, just a soothing sleep sound straight into your ears. Doesn’t that sound lovely? The holidays will be here before you know it—grab a pair before October 11th to score their $40 off deal.

Creating space for unavailability

I recognize that complete unavailability is a luxury. When my son was younger, I couldn't just not answer. When I worked a 9-to-5, I couldn't always shut down my computer at 5 PM. But unavailability doesn't have to mean disappearing for an entire day. There are small ways to put barriers back in place to reduce the demands on your immediate attention, relieve that sense of obligation and urgency, and calm your nervous system.

1. Designate phone blackout times. Maybe it’s Sunday nights, or evenings after 8 PM. Put your phone on airplane mode or do not disturb, charge it in the kitchen, and enjoy a few hours of access-free time.

2. Create a physical barrier. Close the door. Put your phone face down. Wear headphones. Set Slack to unavailable. Make it that much harder to be reachable in the first place.

3. Protect something from interruption. Whether it’s your daily workout, hour of creative time, dinner with your family, or your kid’s soccer game—decide in advance, “During this, I am not available,” and hold that boundary.

4. Close some doors entirely. Not everyone needs 17 ways to reach you. Turn off notifications for apps that don't deserve interruptive privileges. Turn off social media messages, or people’s ability to tag you. Unsubscribe from emails you don’t read. Leave the group chat. (Hallelujah!) Stop offering your phone number when email will do.

5. Practice unavailability. Ignore the text if you’re in the middle of something. Don’t check your email “one last time” before dinner. Let the call go to voicemail. Put your headphones in. Tell your child, “I’ll help when I’m done.” Physically close the laptop. Leave your phone at home. It might feel weird at first, but the more you practice, the more you’ll crave this time.

6. Grant others the same courtesy. Send the email and add, “No response necessary.” Send a DM instead of a text, if that’s a less urgent means of communication. Don’t sweat it if you see them on Instagram but they haven’t texted you back yet. Build the kinds of relationships where nobody gets upset if you take two days to reply.

Some of these are self-boundaries. You’ll have to be the one not to open texts during the soccer game, or to put your phone away at 8 PM. Think about how Future You would feel with less urgency, less pressure, fewer demands for your immediate attention. Imagine what more space, fewer interruptions, and dedicated time of your choosing could do for your mental health and nervous system.

For better and worse, this technology is here to stay. It’s up to us to shape when, how, and how often it inserts itself into our lives. Where are you committing to be less available, starting now? Share your plans (or pleas for help) in comments.

XO, MU