The Window Is My TV

Reflections From 25 Days Without My Phone in Nepal

“Well, I’m drained from today. I’m going to go watch my TV show now.”

My friend watches me with amusement as I make my way to the couch (really just a wooden bench with a few worn cushions), kick off my shoes, and curl up to gaze out the window of the teahouse we're in, nestled in the heart of the Himalayas.

“What is she doing?” someone calls out, curious.

“She says the window is her TV. We’ve had our phones turned off for a week now. I fear she may be losing it,” my friend replies, with a smile on her face.

I smile too, as I take in the scenery in front of me.

There are prayer flags rapidly flapping in the wind. The clouds are slowly drifting past. A horse is standing motionlessly. I see smoke curl up from the chimney of a cobblestone house in front of us… it looks like something straight out of a storybook.

We’re currently on a 10 day trek through the Himalayas, on a circuit around the 8th tallest mountain in the world, Manaslu.

I turned my phone on airplane mode the minute we arrived at the first tea house we were staying in for the night. I hadn’t thought much about it before, but the moment I was surrounded by the majestic mountains I knew I didn’t want to be tethered to my phone.

I lasted a full 48 hours before I realized how much my parents would worry unnecessarily if I was suddenly off the grid for 10 days.

I asked for the wifi at a tea house on the 3rd night and quickly called my dad. With a spotty connection, I explained that I was trekking around a “mountain” for 10 days with all of my belongings on my back.

“Are you going to be staying in…uh…concrete buildings the whole time?”

I laugh. I assure him I’ll have 4 walls to sleep in every night and that I’m with a guide and a couple of people I had met a few days ago.

I don’t think he fully understood, but I gave him the number of my guide in case he needed to reach me.

I tried to message a few close friends so that they wouldn’t worry either, but my connection went out and nothing ended up sending.

Oh well.

I turn on airplane mode and sigh a breath of relief.

I love being disconnected. It’s truly one of my favorite things—to just exist and not have to constantly be connected to the brick in my pocket that can rapidly change my mood with one text, call, and social media post.

I’m not anti-phone by any means, but it’s truly a privilege to unplug in the society we live in.

It always seems like you need to be reached, available, online.

In the past year specifically, I have been on my phone a lot. Capturing every moment of my travels, creating silly little videos. Sometimes, I find myself scrolling endlessly, even in the most gorgeous countries.

We’re unfortunately wired this way—our devices give us dopamine boosts that make them impossible to put down. If I have my phone in my bag, I’ll find myself checking it every five minutes just to see “what time it is.”

But if you actually asked me the time, I simply wouldn’t know. I was subconsciously checking my notifications without even realizing it.

Suddenly, some chickens appear in the tiny patch of grass below. I get so excited—they’re new characters in this show. I follow their every movement as they hop around, pecking at something on the ground.

The trek itself has been really tough. I only started packing at midnight, right before we were set to leave—yet another example of me overcommitting to too many things. I ended up bringing a few extra tops, a heavy portable charger, a bar of shampoo (even though we stopped using showers a few days in), multiple jackets, and a whole bag full of medicine.

People would come up to me and say:

“I was complaining about the weight of my bag. And then I saw yours.”

“I was having a discussion with my wife, and she was telling me that women are stronger than men. We saw you and your bag and I have to admit, she’s right.”

“Your bag looks HUGE. What do you even have in there?”

Instead of these comments motivating me, they made me feel even more devastated that I had packed horribly.

My group even started calling me BB—for Big Bag.

I turn my head slightly and notice water trickling down the rocks behind the houses. A tiny waterfall, which could be easily overlooked at first glance. I get lost in seeing the water flow down. It’s mesmerizing.

If matters couldn’t get tougher, my right inner thigh muscle got pulled due to my heavy hiking boots (weighing a whopping total of 2kg).

The pain got so bad that I could barely lift my right leg while walking. There were even moments when I had to pull the fabric of my cargo pants to lift my right leg up in order to take another step because it simply wouldn’t move on its own.

How was I going to survive 10 full days of trekking in the mountains?

I had made a huge mistake.

I thought I was athletic and fit. At least, back home, I’m considered “active.” A yoga teacher, avid hiker, strong swimmer, and occasional runner.

But here, I’m a snail. They literally added that to my list of growing nicknames (they’re the worst, I know).

Sure, the rivers, trees, and waterfalls were stunning and would normally take my breath away, but I was already gasping for air from the altitude, heavy bag, severe muscle pain, and (maybe) being a bit out of practice stamina-wise.

So, after a long mentally and physically draining day, the only thing that was on my mind when we reached the next tea house was to turn my brain off. To disengage, to get numb. I wanted an escape.

Usually, that would be scrolling for hours on my phone, watching Netflix.

But I couldn’t do that here. I had the option to connect to wifi, sure, but I couldn’t justify drowning everything out when I was in the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.

So I decided the window would be my TV.

Every time I sat there in boredom without my phone, craving for some entertainment, I made my way to the nearest window with a hot cup of masala chai and just stared out into the world.

I spot a yak standing still, its thick fur rippling gently in the wind. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a yak before coming here, and I’m in awe of how massive yet gentle they appear.

Suddenly, it dawns on me that I’m a four-day walk away from the nearest road. A wave of gratitude washes over me—I had wanted so badly to get lost in the mountains, and here I was: truly deep in a remote part of the Himalayas.

I learned to observe and accept reality as it is. Not to escape, but to fully embrace it. To face the difficult moments instead of pushing them away. After all, without pain, how can we truly appreciate beauty?

Life is not about being happy 100% of the time. It’s about seeing things for what they are and not attaching any labels of “good” or “bad” like we typically do. Maybe then, we can find some peace and contentment in our life.

And so, I stare out the window. Not only on the 10 day Manaslu trek, but in the 12 hour local bus after, when my phone data ran out and I gazed out at the passing blur of trees, mountains, and villages.

I continued being disconnected in Nepal during Vipassana, a 10 day silent meditation course. This time, my phone was completely locked up, and that offered a different type of peace.

When I emerged back into the bustling city of Kathmandu, I decided to not buy any more phone data. I spent my days walking around aimlessly, drinking in every detail on my walk, and only wandering into coffee shops for wifi when I needed to call a friend or a motorbike to take me home.

My mind felt so much clearer without all the notifications and outside noise. It forced me to be completely immersed in the present moment, and notice details I had missed before.

And now, I’m back home in California, constantly surrounded by technology again. I still reach for my phone and get the urge to drown everything out with a TV show.

But then I remember what I learned on the road, and I guide myself back to the nearest window. To sit. To observe. To exist. To watch the moment for what it is.

Thank you for taking the time to read my words. I know how precious every second is in an age when everything demands our attention.

Now that we’ve reached the end, maybe you’re thinking about putting your phone down for a moment. Maybe even finding a nearby window.

Gaze out. What do you see? What do you feel?

Can this window be… your new TV?