Logging Off to Log In

Lately, I’ve been quieter online.

Not because anything is wrong.

Not because I’ve disappeared.

But because I’ve been very present somewhere else.

There’s a difference between scrolling through moments and living them.

John looking up from his phone with that half-smirk when I invent a new sentence mangle.

Hunter doing a perimeter patrol like he’s guarding the kingdom.

Maverick and Marshall silently judging the entire household from their thrones.

The Osbourne tweets chirping like they own the air.

These aren’t things I want to multitask through.

I don’t want to half-hear John while half-reading a feed.

I don’t want to miss the way Hunter leans into my leg.

I don’t want to look up and realize I watched a screen more than I watched the life I built.

So if I’m not as active on social media, it’s intentional.

It’s because I’m choosing coffee at the kitchen counter.

Car rides with music too loud.

Inside jokes that don’t translate to captions.

Quiet evenings that don’t need documentation to matter.

Land of Osbourne was never meant to compete with my real life.

It was meant to reflect it.

And right now, the best stories are happening off-camera.

I’ll still pop in. I’ll still share.

But I’m protecting the space where the good stuff actually happens.

Because someday, I won’t remember what I posted.

But I will remember the way John laughed.

The way Hunter looked back to make sure I was still there.

The soft hum of birds settling for the night.

And that’s the timeline that matters most.

The algorithm can wait. My life can’t.