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Ok wtf am I talking about. Well, I’m mostly talking about leaving social media.
Even though I’ve read a million pieces online about this topic (see I’m online too much, that’s too many), when I try and write something about it —”it” being logging off screens and investing time irl—it feels absurd. Mostly because it feels preachy and because writing about getting off your phone and living seems like an over-generalization and in general, I don’t like generalizing. But generally speaking, I logged off social media about a week before the US election, and—shock—without it, I am bored. My muscle reflex to reach for my phone and look at a digital conveyor belt of wellness clowns (my drug/content of choice) is strong, so there have been many, many, many moments when I realize that in the absence of scrolling, I am just sitting still doing absolutely nothing. What happens in the stillness is that I am aware of things that were previously overridden by phone stimulation. Things and thoughts like: “I am ready to go to bed,” “I am thirsty,” “A bookshelf would look really nice in that weird corner of the apartment,” “I love the way Odette says ‘can we do Christmas’ when referring to decorating the tree,” “I miss my dad," “Why are so many cardigans v-neck,” “It is 2:30,” “I am bored,” “What should I do?” Personally, social media placed boredom out of reach for me. Even if I was bored while on instagram, I couldn’t feel it at all. But when I’m literally sitting, staring, listening to nothing, I feel the enormity of boredom. Which is good because it prompts me to question how I’m actually feeling, or use my mind to solve for boredom.
Mind My oldest daughter Odette is 3 years old. Her imagination is so expansive—she whips up a birthday picnic near a swimming pool with an apple pie that somehow is also noodles (?) and uses puzzle pieces for slices of the pie and blocks for cups and a silk scarf for a swimming pool. Her mind is so flexible, so ready to invent and imagine and whir to life. This is my end goal lol. Right now, I’m using boredom to stretch my mind and become more imaginative. I’m using it to write this email. Or rather, I’m using the positive side effects of boredom—creative thinking, introspection—to write it. When I use my newfound imagination skills to picture what Odette’s mind would look like next to mine, hours into zoning out over the Instagram account of a psychotic biohacker (do not engage), it is enough to keep me off social media for good. Instagram was making me the most uninteresting version of myself. And being bored, to me, is much better than being boring Mind + Body The week of the election, my younger daughter Ida got a cold that wasn’t getting better. She started developing some shallow, rapid breathing and it turned out she had RSV and needed to be hospitalized for oxygen. When we returned home after two days, Ida developed intense PTSD from the hospital experience. The mental distress was much worse than the physical impact of the virus—and it lasted longer, too. The immensity of her emotions—fear, anger, frustration, confusion—was so felt by Ida that she was literally acting out these feelings. Banging her head against the wall of her crib, shoving food away from her mouth, hurling objects onto the floor as hard as she could. She was demanding a response, asking for help. It reminded me that sometimes literally feeling out “pain”—election, death, grief, scary hospital experience—helps move you through it, especially when you don’t have to do it alone. It made me think about all the things I suppress when numbly scrolling online. It made me think about the cues my body sends me—need fresh air, need something warm, need sleep, need a hug—and how desensitized I’ve become to respond to them. + Soul You knew this part was coming! Here’s how this somehow also connects to my dad. The more I’m bored, the more I think about him. I was covering up my grief, subconsciously, more than I knew, by reading fan theories about the real housewives of Potomac instead of standing still long enough to notice a physical, framed photo of me and my dad together on the beach. And when I do the latter, I am consumed with emotion and it feels incredible. I feel alive, which is obvious and ironic. I honor what his absence feels like in that exact instant—not just as a never-ending missing piece, but what it would be like if he were at home, available, right then. I cry and listen for him in the air. I talk to him out loud. I think about the afterlife. I have time to do this when I’m bored. I have time to grieve more and ponder more and sink in to the marrow of what matters most. All Together Now What’s happening in the world right now doesn’t really make me want to feel more. And yet, as my friend Lacey so succinctly put it: ”I need all the reminders I can get to be more embodied and tend to communities, even in micro moments.” When Ida was hospitalized, one of the hardest part about it were logistics. It felt isolating and absurd that Michael and I had no support network for emergencies. And yet! At the mere inquiry of aid, my aforementioned earth angel Lacey and her fiancé appeared instantly to help care for Odette, and slept over at our house with her so Michael and I could both be with Ida. There is nothing more precious and calming than having a community who make something impossible, really easy. A community can be as small as me and my one-and-a-half year old daughter helping each other move through a scary experience. It can be as intimate as me writing to you now telling you that this penpalling around is a community; you and me. When I am bored—or to put it much more nicely—when I’m quiet and still, I’m reminded of this. When I try logging off, I find myself curious and emotional and inspired to think of what comes next, and who I get to share it with.
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