Dropping Out… Or Dropping In?

I wish I had a crystal ball to understand what time wants from me now.

As a parent, the needs were obvious: shelter, food, love. You spend years responding to your kids and you get pretty good at it. But sitting here in the space between chapters, I’ve started wondering if I’ve taken those same needs for granted for myself.

Then Maui decided to unplug us. Twenty four hours without power.
No Wi-Fi. Spotty cell service. Traffic lights dark. Ten thousand people offline.

The strange part? My life-partner and I had just talked about doing a no-electronics day. Apparently, the island heard us.

That night we lit candles, fired up lanterns, and played Scrabble (I lost). The next morning I made coffee on a camping stove (I did cheat and use the battery backup to grind the beans, we’re not savages). We sat there listening to the wind howl at sixty-five knots.

No scrolling.
No checking in.
No Wordle streak to protect.

Time felt different. Slower. More intentional.

Being Gen X, we grew up with landlines and parents who told us to get lost until dinner. That morning felt like that again, quiet, simple, and present.

Here’s what surprised me: it wasn’t inconvenient. It was clarifying.

I started imagining disappearing somewhere for a year. No Wi-Fi. Eating local food. Engaging in conversations instead of notifications. A mountain town? A quiet island? A place where no one asks about signal strength.

Would I read more?
Would I listen to the kid in me again?
Would time feel less urgent?

And then, almost immediately, I caught myself online researching places to go—and just like that, an hour was gone.

My plan to escape the internet required the internet.

It’s funny. And a little sad.

But maybe time isn’t asking me to drop out.
Maybe it’s asking me to drop in.

And that’s where real estate comes in.

Most people who call us about buying in Maui aren’t really asking about price per square foot. They’re asking something quieter:

Where can I slow down?
Where can I breathe?
Where does life feel intentional again?

A home isn’t just shelter. It’s sanctuary. It’s the place where candles get lit when the power goes out. Where coffee still gets made. Where the wind can howl and you feel steady anyway.

Maui has a way of stripping life back to the essentials. Ocean. Wind. Sun. Community. When the screens go dark, what’s left is what matters.

Maybe the question isn’t whether we should drop out of society.
Maybe it’s whether we’ve chosen the right place to drop in.

If you’re feeling that pull, to simplify, to slow down, to find your version of sanctuary, I get it.

I live it every day.

If Maui feels like your next chapter, let’s talk.