Flight Mode

We need more of those, not less

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Do you feel the same way?

Do you let out an audible sigh when you finally hit your allotted seat on the plane?

After the frenzy of booking, packing, the frustrating hunger games with on-demand taxis, the pre-emptive check-in that doesn’t matter, the baggage drops, the security check inevitably behind a befuddled passenger discovering the meaning of fluids for the first time, wailing toddlers, waddling gawkers, tiny seats by the gate, and the ignominy of being herded like cattle in groups into the metal tube, you finally find solace—your seat.

Stillness. Nothing to do for the next 4 hours.

The boarding ballet continues to unfold around you. Bins click shut, flight attendants fuss with seatbelts, bizarre mechanical rubbing noises unfold, and then, at some point, you engage in the little ritual of clicking the plane icon on your phone.

It’s a delusional ritual (like voting?). Do we need flight mode anymore? I doubt that the multi-million dollar flight systems rely on the collective social complicity of hundreds of passengers turning off their phones. But we engage in it, nevertheless.

And then, magically, you are disconnected.

At this point, inevitably, another sigh escapes me. It’s an inaudible physiological exhale. It’s as if an unseen chain tethering me has suddenly snapped. No buzzing notifications, no blinking messages demanding attention. No social media performance. No Slack messages (when I used to work). No emails. Peace.

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Every time this happens, it makes me realize how I am living in a constant, low-grade anxiety about being ever connected and available. Tiny black holes can exert immense gravity. The black mirrors we carry have a similar effect—they bend our space-time but in bad ways.

Moments like this—moments of disconnection—are precious and increasingly rare.

Isn’t flight mode always available, though? Technically, you could turn it on anytime and expect to be disconnected. But it doesn’t quite work that way.

The complete relief that washes over me when I turn on flight mode on a flight has a specific set of variables:

1. Externally mandated (I have no choice, cannot succumb, not feel guilty).

2. It is forced by poor connectivity (I’m up in the clouds, anyway).

3. Precise start and end times so you know you will be out of it (I’ll land at xx, so I will be unavailable until then).

4. Unimpeachable social excuse. Last but not least. Who can fault you for being unreachable at 30,000 feet, sealed in a pressurized tube of recycled air moving over the ocean?

We need more of these bubbles-sanctioned reprieves that give us a guilt-free pause.

Some people retreat to the wilderness, where cell towers are distant memories. Others disappear into retreats or professions that demand detachment.

We must create socially accepted, universally understood “off-switch” moments—sauanas, marathons, treks—in whatever form they may take.

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Even flight mode is under threat now. In-flight Wi-Fi, satellite networks, improving coverage, and an increasing push to eliminate them are soon going to make this a feeble excuse for disconnection.

There is nothing modern capitalism hates more than flight mode. Carving out more of it is resistance.

Better Short,

Tyag