Each summer, when our campers arrive at Cheley, they do something quietly radical: they hand in their phones. In an era when many young people are rarely without a screen, this moment might feel like a loss. But what we see, time and again, is that it’s actually the beginning of something powerful. Without phones, our campers step into a rhythm that’s increasingly rare. A rhythm shaped not by notifications, but by conversation. By mountain air and muddy boots. By space to think and feel without interruption.
I’ve been thinking lately about Arthur Brooks and his writing on technology and well-being. He explains how our phones, though incredibly useful, can slowly erode our ability to be fully present. They fill every quiet moment, leaving no room for boredom. And boredom, as Brooks points out, isn’t a problem to fix. It’s a necessary space where reflection happens, where creativity is born, and where we start to hear our own thoughts again.


A Summer Without Smartphones
At Cheley, we don’t eliminate boredom. We embrace it. Because we’ve seen what grows in its place. Campers begin to reengage with the world around them. They notice the light over the mountains on an EB. They find their voice during All-Camp Campfire. They get curious about the people around them. And over time, they get reacquainted with themselves.
We have a saying at Cheley: “Disconnect to really connect.” It isn’t just about turning off devices. It’s about tuning in to each other, to nature, and to the parts of ourselves that get quieter in our everyday lives.
Of course, this isn’t always easy at first. Many campers arrive expecting to miss their phones deeply. But when I talk with them at the end of a term, they often say the opposite: “I thought it would be hard. But I actually feel better without it!” They feel calmer, more focused, and more grounded. Some even tell me they want to create “phone-free zones” at home.
Brooks also talks about how phones hijack our brain’s reward system, offering tiny dopamine hits through likes, texts, and alerts. Over time, that steady stream of stimulation makes it harder to find joy in the quiet beauty of daily life. The irony is that the device designed to connect us can, when unchecked, keep us from true connection.
At Cheley, we see a different kind of reward system. One powered by belly laughs, shared challenge, and the confidence that comes from doing hard things. One built on real-life experiences without filters, algorithms, or comparison.
Our staff still use their phones, primarily for safety, communication, and risk management. But even then, their relationship with technology shifts. They set boundaries. They model presence. They notice how different it feels to be in a space where face-to-face connection is the norm, not the exception.
Because Cheley isn’t just a break from technology, it’s a blueprint for how to live with it. Technology isn’t going away. Nor should it. But what we can offer — and what Brooks encourages us all to find — are guardrails. Intentional boundaries that protect our attention, our well-being, and our sense of meaning. The ability to set our phones down, look up, and tune in.
We are more than our notifications. We are here. And that’s enough.

