I had a pleasant, rejuvenating respite on the river over the past five days.

If you are unfamiliar with the joys of boating a river, let me recreate it a bit for you.

After some angst over the food menu and laborious packing of everything, as well as the kitchen sink, you arrive at the place on the river where you launch your craft eager to put, attach or strategically place - so that gravity does the work for you - all those things you brought.

Like the lawn chair. The bocce ball set. The portable blender. A keg of beer.

This is rafting. Not backpacking. Not sea kayaking. Not bicycle touring.

Weight never enters your mind when you are prepping your trip. Some people bring waterproof river bags the size of wine casks, and nearing the same weight, that are chock full of nothing but costumes and costuming related items like feather boas, stiletto heels and makeup. Of course, they bring other bags of similar weight and heft with their essentials - sleeping bag, clothes, toiletries, hardback tomes like Sacajawea.

On one Grand Canyon river trip we had one raft dedicated solely to multiple beer kegs and multiple dozens of eggs. It was quickly dubbed the “Kegs and Eggs” boat. It was convenient because you were sure to never wander onto that boat for any other reason. You were either getting ready to make the night’s kegger happen or you were making an omelette. However, just as extended families should avoid all flying at the same time on the same plane, putting all of your kegs - and eggs - in one boat, may not be the wisest choice.

Because rafts can carry a considerable amount of weight, cooler manufacturers do not have to scrimp on thick plastic these days. Most coolers are back breakers before you add the ice and the contents. Though, as an added benefit, food remains fresh longer and beer stays cold longer. It was rare in the old days to lose weight on a river trip, and it is even more rare now.

So, you’ve arrived at the launching point with great anticipation and now the flotsam and jetsam of all the party members and the typical flotsam and jetsam of every river trip - tarps, pumps, jugs, boxes - are strewn before you like a haphazard Bear Grylls garage sale. You manage to puzzle it all out to fit into the rafts at hand, even if it means spreading stray cans of pop or beer into the bilge of your raft, as we once did on the Middle Fork of the Salmon out of desperation.

The author of a New York Times article once described overnight raft trips as voluntarily moving your buddy out of their two bedroom apartment twice a day. I cannot take umbrage to that description. But you can think of it as cross-fit training.

And then you cast away from shore and your boat is caught by the downstream pull of the river and you realize another distinct difference from backpacking - none of the weight is on your back! And the river - like one of those moving walkways at the airport - whisks you away. Occasionally you have to put a little effort into rowing in order to make any progress.

So, there you are. Surrounded by nature and all of your stuff and - depending on the time of day and the nature of your fellow companions - maybe a Stinker thermal mug of coffee or a close to frosty beer can freshly pulled from that overpriced cooler that ought to be measured by the tonnage rather than the volume.

Once the launch ramp disappears, so begins the fading of the cares and troubles in the world. As of today, cell service sucks in most of the remote river canyons. Therefore, your umbilical cord to the daily madness gets cut as dramatically as if you entered an underground vault or the world’s longest railroad tunnel. Your attentions have nowhere to go but toward your fellow adventurers, to the tasks at hand, to the most immediate needs, to the herd of bighorn sheep nibbling their way up the canyon wall, to wondering what the weather might do and whether or not you remembered your rain jacket.

Everything you need is with you. Afloat. So, at the least, for the next five days, week, three weeks, month, your world has been reduced to the river you are traveling on and the pack of humans you are traveling with. What’s the meal and where’s the camp and how am I going to be entertained this evening?

I’ve done hundreds of these overnight river trips and I can only remember one group’s dysfunction that soured the memory and even that river trip is memorable and edifying for its own reasons.

That (what I described above) is where I’ve been over past several days. Disconnecting to reconnect. Feeding off the positive energy of the natural world and the good-natured people who accompanied me. Contemplating nothing heavier than the health of my loved ones and whether those sprinkles in the middle of the night were the portent of a deluge.

No matter how you choose to disconnect, in order to reconnect - river trips, long distance running, meditation - if I am a ‘pusher’ of any advice, it is the value of taking that time for yourself.

Reclaim your time. I assure you, you will feel the better for it.