stuck in Utah without my phone
“Yet, the news about Him spread all the more, so that crowds of people came to hear Him and to be healed of their sicknesses. But Jesus often withdrew to lonely places and prayed.”
Luke 5:15-16
“Nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wilderness is a necessity; and that mountain parks and reservations are useful not only as fountains of timber and irrigating rivers, but as fountains of life.”
John Muir
Several months back, my wife and I moved into an apartment in the Theater District of Manhattan. At 478 square feet, we are strategically perched five blocks above Times Square and five blocks below Central Park. When you step outside, you enter the sciatic nerve of the city.
Learning to sleep was hard when we first moved in. Even with blackout curtains, the lights of Times Square found a way into our apartment. There is a kind of light pollution that is, in some ways, beautiful, but in other ways, it is a menace. For the first time in my life, and much to the mocking joy of my wife, I now wear a sleep mask at night.
The stimulation of living in Midtown is hard to describe. There is a visceral shock for people who visit, but I don’t see it anymore. I have become numb to it in many ways. Unbeknownst to my conscious self, numbness to stimulation is not good for the soul. I found my concentration beginning to wane. We all know the danger of being distracted on a smartphone, but living in Manhattan, where I do, is like being in a smartphone.
You probably feel this in some ways, too. We live in a world where our attention is under siege. The devices in our pockets, the ads on our screens, the pings and notifications, the pressure to respond to everything immediately—all of it demands our focus. Over time, it takes a toll. It’s not just our energy that gets depleted; it’s our ability to see clearly, think deeply, and love well.
I could feel this happening in my soul—imperceptibly at first, but acutely as of late. When I began to try to make sense of what was slowly forming me, I came across something that would reshape my life: Attention Restoration Theory.
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Back in the 1980s, two environmental psychologists, Stephen and Rachel Kaplan, noticed something fascinating. People who spent time in natural settings—forests, lakes, and parks—reported feeling mentally clearer, more focused, and emotionally refreshed. The Kaplans dug into this and developed a framework they called Attention Restoration Theory. You may have heard of forest bathing; it’s a version of this :)
The core idea is that our attention is a limited resource. When we use directed attention, we get tired. Reading, solving problems, working through conflict, filtering distractions—all of these require effort. If we don’t rest from that kind of attention, it breaks down. Prolonged overuse of directed attention leads to mental fatigue, which many of us now recognize as cognitive exhaustion.
Living in the heart of the city and pastoring people dealing with city life was slowly breaking my attention down. But the antidote, they propose, is not simply doing nothing; it’s engaging with environments that offer soft fascination, scenes or settings that draw our attention in gentle, non-taxing ways. It turns out that when your brain shifts into this mode, it begins to heal.
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I am sitting by a waterfall in Utah next to Zion National Park. For the last three days, I have been riding UTVs through some of the most beautiful countryside in America. I am with a group of Dads and Kids who have connected with the work we do with Primal Path and Forming Men. This trip is hosted by the folks at Wilderness Collective, and they have an important requirement for their trips: phones must be locked away the entire time.
It’s now the third day, and as I sit by this waterfall in the early morning, I am slowly becoming conscious of something. I am strangely aware of my surroundings. It’s kind of like the world is in high definition again. My brain feels like it has been reset. I am not distracted or reaching for my phone to take a picture. I am just present before God, reading His first book of creation with gratitude and wonder.
In his book The Comfort Crisis, Michael Easter makes this same claim.
“A study out of The University of Michigan discovered that 20 minutes outside, three times a week, is the dose of nature that most efficiently dropped people’s levels of the stress hormone cortisol. The catch to that study, of course, was that the participants couldn’t take their phones outside with them."
Even small amounts of nature can make a difference. Just having plants in the office is a game-changer.
“One study, conducted across multiple offices with hundreds of workers—found the boost was about 15 percent more work completed. The workers also said they liked their jobs more.”
Easter makes the case that research shows the sweet spot of real healing for our brains is about three days.
Three days out in nature.
Three days out in the backcountry.
Three days with a waterfall nearby.
It’s called the “three-day effect,” and there is research to back it up. But there is a resonance in my own personal experience that has been a gift. God promises to restore our souls, but I am finding that this restoration includes our attention.
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According to Attention Restoration Theory, four characteristics make an environment restorative, and these are worth pondering, not just psychologically but spiritually.
Being Away
Restoration begins when we get psychological distance from the places and problems that drain us. It doesn’t always mean a trip to Utah. Sometimes “being away” is simply walking home slowly or sitting in a local park. Jesus often “withdrew to lonely places.” Sometimes, “away” is where we hear God best.
Fascination
The best kind of restoration happens when something gently holds our attention. Nature is masterful at this. You don’t need to analyze a mountain or make a to-do list about a river. You just watch and wonder. This is soft fascination, and it is the opposite of doomscrolling. It’s what happens when we remember that life isn’t just about utility but beauty.
Extent
A restorative space needs to feel immersive and whole. That doesn’t mean it has to be big, but it has to feel like a world you can enter. Even adults need a Narnia sometimes. Central Park has become this for me. The Psalms often speak of creation as a kind of temple, a vast and holy space in which God’s presence can be encountered. “The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands” (Psalm 19:1). Creation has depth, layers, and meaning if we’re willing to slow down.
Compatibility
The setting must match your intent. In other words, you can’t go on a hike while checking your email and expect to feel refreshed. Restoration requires alignment between your environment and your purpose. Jesus didn’t just withdraw into nature; He went there to be with His Father. There is no value in retreating into distraction.
These categories align remarkably well with biblical anthropology. We are finite creatures in need of rest. We are aesthetic beings drawn to beauty. We are covenantal beings made to live in ordered, meaningful worlds. And we are teleological beings whose activities must be directed toward the proper ends.
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What does all this have to do with following Jesus? Everything.
Because attention is deeply spiritual. What we give our attention to shapes our hearts.
In the Gospels, one of the most remarkable things about Jesus is how present He is. He is not hurried or fragmented. He pays attention to people in pain, to beauty, and to the Spirit.
I don’t think that’s accidental. I think Jesus lived with an inner rhythm of restoration. He moved from noise to solitude, from pressure to prayer, from distraction to delight.
That pattern is still available to us.
The beauty of A.R.T. is that it gives us a practical, research-backed way to return to this kind of life. It tells us that restoration isn’t just possible; it’s natural. It was built into the world by a Creator who knew we would need it.
Where then, can we begin?
First, we must recognize that attention is a form of love. What we choose to attend to reveals what we value. If we never attend to God, it is not because we lack time but because our loves are misdirected.
Second, we must cultivate habits of attentiveness. This includes practical things like:
Scheduling walks without our phones
Creating daily rhythms of silence
Observing the beauty of the world around us
Practicing Sabbath not as legalism but as liberation
Getting to Central Park as often as possible if you live in the city :)
Third, we must see restoration not as an end in itself but as preparation for mission. The purpose of healing attention is not personal tranquility but spiritual attentiveness, so that we may hear the still, small voice and follow Christ faithfully in a broken and bleeding world.
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I have started walking the five blocks north to Central Park in the mornings. It may not seem like much, but in some small way, it helps me remember who I truly am—not a producer, not a consumer, but an image-bearer. I am a creature of dust and breath, made to behold, wonder, and love.
Estee Zandee has this beautiful prayer that I find rising in my heart.
"At Your least, You are the silence in my soul.
At my most, I am the sound of Your Word in the world."
That, in the end, is what we truly long for. Not merely to think clearly, but to live rightly. Not merely to be focused, but to be formed into the likeness of Christ, whose attentive love sent Him into this distracted world.
Hoping to bump into you in Central Park one of these days.
Cheers.
Jon.
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Discussion Questions:
How have you slowly gotten used to a level of noise, busyness, and distraction that once felt too much, and how has that made it more difficult for you to want God, hear Him clearly, or enjoy His presence?
If what we pay attention to shows what we love, what does your attention right now say about what matters most to you, and what would need to change for your attention to be shaped more by the kingdom and not the world?
If Jesus made time to get away and pray even when things were growing and busy, what does your resistance to rest and retreat reveal about how you think about success, pressure, and what makes your life valuable
Where in your closest relationships, or even your own heart, have you missed something important, not because you weren’t physically there, but because you weren’t fully paying attention?
What habits in your life right now are helping you give your attention to God, and which ones pull your attention away from Him, even if they seem small or normal?