Today is Day Six without a phone.

Besides for feeling slightly isolated, it’s not too bad.

I’ve been doing things that I know I would not be doing if my phone was sitting next to me, shiny screen beckoning.

Like waltzing to music in my living room with my delighted nine-month-old as my dancing partner, her tiny hand encased in mine as she giggles at this new game.

Like realizing that it is only one o’clock and I have already accomplished what usually takes me until three!

Like thinking about writing this article and actually sitting down to write it . . .

According to CNN, on average, people check their phones 34 times a day, sometimes with only a 10-minute break between checks. The Huffington Besides for feeling slightly isolated, it’s not too badPost relates that 73% of Americans would feel panicked if they lost their phone, while 14% admitted that they would feel “desperate.”

Honestly, when my phone died while I was out last Tuesday, I definitely felt the faint flutter of panic. And when I came home, placed it into the charger, and returned an hour later to a blank screen, I would say there was an element of desperation as I stabbed violently at the home button and power button (to no avail).

On Tuesday night I went to an event with my husband. There was no picture-taking of the food, ourselves, or anything else. In fact, no one besides for the people who saw us there even knew we went.

Wonder of wonders.

That night I tried every imaginable way to resurrect my phone, including switching the charging cable, the charging port, even the charging room. I even left it in rice overnight (although it had been nowhere near water).

The next morning, I admired my reflection in the black screen and searched deep within its depths for a trace of my beloved apps. The only thing I saw were my eyes, round and fearful.

We decided to involve the expert: the fix-it man. He figured the issue was either the battery or the charging port, and replaced my battery to see what would happen. I had a working phone! I rushed to catch up on WhatsApps, texts and Instagram news. I was secretly pleased to see the amount of social-media notifications I had missed, but the pleased feeling disintegrated fast, almost as quickly as the new battery ran out. I was left pensive and thoughtful, even as we discussed giving the phone back to the magic maker the following day.

And when Thursday lifted its sleepy head and my baby woke me up with her coos and babbling in her crib, soon after the sun had made its hazy appearance in a pink-tinged sky, I marveled at my unhurried morning cuddles with her, at my slow and pointed morning routine, at my casual saunter to the bathroom to wash up.

I was not rushing to check anything, to update myself, to see what I had “missed.” I was not reaching out blindly for a cold, hard object that “connects” me but leaves me with no real connection. I was focused and living for the “now,” and the only thing I rushed to do was to get back to my bed, where my baby was lying on her back and holding her feet to her mouth while singing in her baby voice. I flopped down on the bed next to her, and watched her eyes light up and a joyful laugh rise from her belly.

I didn’t give my phone in that day.

I didn’t give it in the next day either.

On Sunday night, my husband went around to the fix-it man’s apartment and handed him my phone.

Tonight, I will get my phone back. It’s going to be funny having it again, hearing the “ding” of a new e‑mail or the “whoosh” of a new message. I have this crazy, insane, almost shouldn’t-be-said-aloud thought that maybe, maybe, I don’t want my phone back after all . . .

It is dawning on me that perhaps my methods of “connection” are not really that great. After all, think about the way we connect to G‑d. There Maybe, maybe, I don’t want my phone back after all . . .is no phone line, no Facebook page, no following Him on Twitter. No texting or messaging, and certainly no photos of Him to “like” on Instagram.

G‑d is reachable through a deeper form of connection: prayer. Prayer is not an instant process; it takes time to meditate and consider our relationship with G‑d, without other distractions. First, we praise and acknowledge G‑d as our Creator. Then we ask for what we need and want, realizing that only He is able to provide it. And finally, we thank Him for what He does in our lives. Through this three-step process of prayer we create a bond that is felt, not seen.

No wonder relationships today are at an all-time low. We don’t talk anymore. We don’t converse and have meaningful discussions with people face-to-face, gauging their reactions and physically interacting with them. Our relationships are based on screens and cyberspace and apps! How is a deeper connection supposed to develop?

Maybe it’s time we applied our connection with G‑d to our relationships with those around us who are near and dear. Maybe it’s time that we really started to think about our friends and family and how much we appreciate their being a part of our lives, rather than just “friending” them.

My phone will be back in about six hours, shiny screen beckoning. Perhaps I will shut it off for two or three hours a day, so that I will be forced to connect in other, more meaningful ways with those around me.

I hear my baby moving around in her crib, and I have a husband to make dinner for.

Please excuse me while I go connect with the people I love.