Stopping by Woods: On Returning to Intention

In our family, I like to think that we will always have time for kittens, for our dogs, for marmalade and toast, for picnics, for stopping by the woods on a snowy evening.

I grew up in the same New England that Robert Frost wrote about. I saw the roads. Drifts of snow covered them. New Hampshire used to get an average of 174 inches of snow a year. Now, due to climate change, just a lousy 60 inches, a third of what it was fifty years ago.

Snow or no snow, the question might be, do we take the time to look outside at all? Are we intentional about looking up from our phones? The answer is no. We don’t have time—or make time—to look at the woods.

What could possibly be happening on Instagram or TikTok that is more exciting than driving, crossing the street, or interacting with someone at our local coffee shop? It’s all too apparent that we are sucked into our devices. We are absorbed by our longing for the pixels of a digital world.

The first time I realized the phone was a competition was at a Red Hen poetry reading at Poets House. Leaves fell in New York’s late afternoon. Li Young Li was reading with Peggy Shumaker, two accomplished poets. Before the reading began, no one was looking through the Poets House library, one of the largest poetry collections in the world. They weren’t observing the beauty of the space. They were playing with their phones. I realized that the event was competing with something that could fit on their laps.

This was twelve years ago; the phone hadn’t really taken us by the throat. It has now.

On planes, people used to have micro conversations, the type that were alluded to in Fight Club. Now, most people are glued to their microscreens. Their headphones announce, “Do not speak to me.”

On a flight this year, I met a man named Justin, who runs a rehab center for men called Treehouse Recovery. Although I am not a man or in need of recovery, I found the whole conversation engrossing, the idea of working on the whole person—a program that focused on body, mind, and spirit. The men replace their addiction with a purpose. They train their body to do something else; they get to the root of the darkness. I never would have found my way to this conversation if I had been on my phone.

I’ve been thinking about men and addiction in our culture, and how challenging it can be to find a way out. Young men can get caught in a cycle of depression and addiction, and our society doesn’t have answers, just more treadmills. And young people who turn to their smartphones for comfort are at a far higher risk of new and worsening mental health crises.

I’ve also been thinking about my own goals for the new year. I want to become more than my habits. I want to live with intention, and with that, I begin setting ambitious goals for myself.

Americans used to read about twelve books a year. The average twenty-year-old only reads between one and three books yearly, while spending an average of five hours a day on social media.

If we could get back the time we are spending on Discord and TikTok, we could be reading, meditating, exercising. The most interesting people I know are people who act on the world. Who do things. Who travel and broaden their horizons. In 2025, I plan to be bigger than my addictions.

There is a small glass box where we hide our fears, our boredom, our dopamine hits.

There is a dream space where we make things happen.

For 2025, we could take a shopping break, a dopamine detox, a Fox News break, try thinking for ourselves, do something creative, or get fit. I’m going for all of it.

In our family, I like to think that we will always have time for kittens, for our dogs, for marmalade and toast, for picnics, for stopping by the woods on a snowy evening.

I walk the woods of the state of California, and they are full of poison oak which I have to avoid.

There is no village.

Horses and bells went out with the last century.

What you were right about Frost was this: we need to choose our path wisely.

Otherwise, our screens will choose our paths for us.

This generation fears zombies?

Zombies are us.

Unless we take the path

less chosen in the woods that used to be snowy.

Dr. Kate Gale is Publisher, Co-Founder, and Managing Editor of Red Hen Press and the Editor of the Los Angeles Review. She is the author of seven books of poetry, including THE LONLIEST GIRL, THE GOLDILOCKS ZONE, and ECHO LIGHT. Her debut novel, UNDER A NEON SUN, debuted in April 2024. Her memoir, SWIMMING THE MILKY WAY, is forthcoming with Zando.