Returning to Silence: Reflections on the Digital Age and Letting Go

A few days ago, I made a decision that had been quietly building up inside me: I completely stepped away from social media. Both from my personal account and Luma Kuna’s. I felt an urgent need to disconnect from the immediacy, the pressure to constantly post, the endless scroll of reels that left me feeling empty.

I realized something uncomfortable: I had stopped getting bored. And as strange as that sounds, boredom is essential. It’s in those quiet moments of “not knowing what to do” that creativity is born. That’s when we notice, reflect, and connect. Instead, I found myself glued to my phone, absorbing content that left no space to think, to feel, or to simply be. I felt like a robot, endlessly moving my finger through a sea of visual noise.

I needed a breath. A sudden escape.

I wanted to return to reading without interruption, painting without the urge to document, walking without checking my phone, being present with the people around me.

To be honest, this break has also come with fear. The fear that I’m failing my brand. The fear that stepping away from social media means starting over from scratch. But even in that fear, I’m finding something deeper: the chance to ask myself what I truly want, what I need, what nourishes me.

And most of all: What does freedom really mean to me?

I’ve never felt comfortable sharing my personal life online. I’ve never been drawn to showing everything I do. I’m not interested in going viral or following trends. The idea of having to constantly perform myself in order to sell something deeply unsettles me. So I wonder—

Is this really more “free” than working a 9 to 5?

Is this really what it means to live your dream?

What disturbs me most is how normal constant exposure has become. We live in a time where connection is often reduced to a screen. Where we feel pressure to prove we’re doing something just to be part of the world. Where creating content starts replacing creating for the simple joy of it.

Yes, technology has its beauty. It allows us to stay close to friends and family across oceans. It offers tools for learning, expanding, expressing. But it can also disconnect us from ourselves if we don’t use it with care. It can turn us into mechanical versions of ourselves, always performing, always producing, always watching.

Today, in this quieter space I’ve carved out, I give myself permission to question. I don’t have all the answers, but I know this:

My art and my way of living cannot grow from urgency.

They need space.

They need slowness.

They need intention.

And maybe, just maybe, the real luxury today is this:

Returning to silence, so we can hear ourselves again.