My husband has been joking that since my iPhone broke, the house has gotten a lot cleaner. It’s been worth at least one chuckle a day (sometimes more)…but there’s a lot of truth in what he’s saying.
It’s not just the house, either. I’ve started the new pattern I’ve put off designing. I’ve blogged (twice). I’ve knit more. I’m back into the three books I’m reading (yes, three at once). I’ve been more present when I’m having coffee with friends, spending the evening with Marcus, having dinner with my family, and watching my kids at their after school activities.
I’m embarrassed to admit it, but it’s clearly true–I’m addicted to my iPhone. It’s instant gratification. It’s constant connection. It’s everything at my fingertips. I can’t miss anything.
Don’t get me wrong–there are some things that I worry about missing. What if the girls are sick at school or rushed to hospital with a broken arm and the school can’t reach me? I know people weren’t reachable years ago, but now, that seems unnecessary. For emergencies, I really do need (and want) my phone.
But do I need to worry about missing a text from a friend about a show I need to catch on telly tonight? Or something funny a friend did? Or what we’re all doing tonight? So what if I miss a Facebook status update from a college friend who lives across a continent? I don’t really need to instagram the pretty design the barista put on my coffee, do I?
There are problems with the age of constant connection. Maybe not for everyone. But for me. I can’t separate it all out. I’m all or nothing.
Or I was.
I’m glad I had this week without my iPhone. It was revealing. I felt like I was missing a limb. A limb? Without a phone? How absurd do I sound?
I waste time. Some time is meant to be wasted in “worthless” pursuits–we can’t be all business, all the time. But some time…some time is sacred. And I don’t want to waste those precious minutes texting someone about a funny bumper sticker I saw.