My phone flew through the air in slow-motion before bouncing across the pavement like a rubber ball. The screen flickered then went black, a spider web of cracks branching out from the upper right corner.

I had flown over the handlebars, not far behind my iPhone. I wasn't injured. But I'd been going too fast to slow down in time and it had cost me my go-to distraction: my small, portable, pocket computer.

I couldn't call my best friend for a week. Or listen to my daily political podcasts. Emails transitioned to my MacBook, along with any social media projects. 

A phantom vibration lingered in my pocket for the first 48 hours - a hint of a missed text or a new voicemail.

But there was nothing there. No phone to charge, no glowing screen on my nightstand. Not a single little red number to aimlessly fill my time.

So I did other things.

I read a book. A big book. I stayed up until 2 am getting lost in someone else's thoughts. No music, no cat videos - just me and 400 pages of non-fiction bliss.

I went on a run. My first post-injury-and-8-weeks-of-physical-therapy jog in the park since January. I went out without my phone blaring hip-hop in my ears or telling me how far I'd gone. Just me and the crashing waves of Lake Michigan.

I talked with my wife. Like, really talked with her. Not about a new meme I'd seen or a trending topic on Twitter. We talked about things that mattered and a lot of silly things that don't. Just me, and my beautiful wife.

And I did some thinking. Okay, I did a lot of thinking.

For the first time in years, I felt truly connected to everything around me - without the very device that promises to make me more connected. 

With my shiny gadget I know everything about the people I care about, but I don't put in the effort to truly connect. A thumbs up here, a red heart there - meaningless signs of approval in the digital age. 

In a time when I can do anything I spend most of that time filling the void. The vast, beautiful world is right at my fingertips, blocked by a rectangular piece of plastic and glass.

So, here's where I stand:

I'm not getting rid of my phone. That's not going to happen. But I'm glad it broke last week.

I needed to remember how great it feels to get lost in this world of ours. I needed a reminder of how great the people I'm surrounded with can truly be. And I needed to fill my time with the things that really matter.

From now on, I refuse to let any of those things fall through the cracks.