Maybe it was the damn phone
As I’m writing this, Masha, one of my dogs, is curled up on a folded blanket on the desk. If I move my hand from the keyboard ever so slightly, I can stroke her fluffy ears, and feel that sweet, gentle warmth fill my heart.
James Vincent McMorrow’s album ‘Wide open, horses’ is playing in the background; it’s the first time I’m hearing it, even though it’s been out for a year.
I used to listen to James obsessively, back in 2013 when I moved to the UK for the first time. Somewhere along the way I discovered more and more new artists, and the album ‘Early in the morning’ drowned in a sea of noise, as Spotify shoved more and more new music down my ears with their ‘Discover weekly’ playlists. Slowly, along the years, listening to music has stopped being something intentional, an activity in itself; it’s rather a buffer that softens mildly annoying or boring tasks, such as exercising, walking to work, cooking, folding laundry.
But then again, many of the things I used to enjoy deeply have faded in color. Life got busy, I got depressed, and thus the best part of my 20’s crawled painfully through an air of thick, muddy gray atmosphere whilst I tried to make sense of being alive, dealing with burnout after burnout and staying occupied to avoid feeling.
Things have changed quite a lot since December last year. Well, I have changed them. I started saying no.
No to extra work, when I’m already at capacity. No to social events, when my battery is depleted. No to any last minute change of plans that disrupt my thoughtfully planned days. I stopped letting other people’s emergencies (resulted from their lack of accountability or preparation) become my problem. No to the distractions, to the pull of wanting more, newer, better. No to the pressure to do more, be more, every damn minute of every damn day, with no respite.
I withdrew from the chaos of life, but not in a sad, ‘hurt bear who hides in a cave to lick their wounds’ kind of way.
I withdrew, in the soft, self preserving way a tulip closes its delicate petals in the evening, saving the best of its display for the daylight hours.
I turned down the volume of external noise, and started listening to the the quiet, almost inaudible murmur from within. The more I ignored the outside world, with its distractions and debilitating noise, the more clearly I could hear that hushed voice in my heart, asking me to slow down, sit in silence for a bit, try to decipher what its trying to say.
I know, you might wonder - what in the American Psycho, voice hearing lunatic are you talking about it?
Make it stand out
I’m talking about unplugging, signing out, turning off, taking a god damn break from everything that is non-essential, like, say… social media?
All the trends, influencers, people on holiday in places you can’t even afford to dream of visiting, new cars, outfits, jewelry, perfect smiles, perfect moments, perfect lives… It all gets to you, at some point, whether you’re aware of it or not.
This constant… noise (yes, this word again) of everything you are not, everything you don’t have, everything you lack as a human - sapping your brain and soul of creativity and energy, and feeding you quick fixes to this feeling of emptiness, paired with despair and a lump in the throat that you don’t remember when it settled there.
If you have no idea what I’m talking about, you are one of the lucky ones.
If you do… I’m sorry. I know what that’s like.
These days, I find myself noticing more and more the immediate shift in my mood, as soon as I switch on my phone: the immediate sense of inadequacy that rushes over me. The slow & steady loss of confidence over my work, my looks, my whole life.
It's so damn hard to filter through the ads, when immense powers are at work to hook & influence us.
Our confidence takes a kick in the teeth, and a solution is sold immediately after.
It's debilitating.
Maybe it really was the damn phone, all those times I had a good day, and lost my spirits by the end of it.
Maybe I was always enough, but I lost myself in all this noise.
We’re the generation that got screwed by the rapid development of technology. We walk around with these little devices literally built and designed to get us addicted. There are studies done about it - I’m not some conspiracy theorist asking you to wear a tinfoil hat and move to a forest (although that would be so cool!).
I’m telling you, next time you feel lost, overwhelmed, and reach out for your phone to numb those feelings with some funny videos, try turning it off instead. Go on a walk, without the headphones. Listen to the birds. Feel the breeze, or the sun rays on your skin. Or brew a cup of tea or coffee. Drink it slowly, with small sips, whilst you look out the window and observe whatever is going on out there. Allow yourself to feel things, without any distractions, unhurried, even for as little as a minute.
Then let this mindfulness practice become your new addiction… because once you go through a day of small moments like this, of being present, of being enough, you stop craving the emptiness and the hollow, mindless scrolling. You start cultivating a different lifestyle; one that celebrates small, every day moments over flashy, curated aesthetics.
At least, I hope with all my heart you do.
I am, much like a drug addict in recovery, still working my way out of this obsession with reaching for my phone every few minutes. I still crave the easy fix of checking notifications, instead of starting a new, laborious task. My leg still feels the phantom buzzing of my phone, even if it’s been on a shelf all day.
… but my mind is so much clearer. My heart is fuller. I have more clarity in who I am, and what my vision for my life (or, at least, for the next few months) is. I am more patient, more grounded, more content, more… at peace with the space I take up in this world, and with the way I am living my life.
I feel enough, because I no longer spend the majority of my day comparing myself with others, in literally every aspect of my life.
Maybe it was never the work, the house, the weather, my weight, my face, my predisposition to saddnes.
Maybe it was that damn phone.
