Telephone
As I sit at my desk, setting about to write today’s blog, I can feel the weight of my cell phone in my pocket. Where do any of us go without our phones these days? But they’ve obviously become more than just the simple devices that let us talk to our long-distance relatives or best friends or mothers or the bank. Now they’re entertainment, miniature computers, games, cameras, televisions, radios, GPS devices, watches, calculators, and perhaps worst of all, distractions, all rolled into one. I routinely find myself scrolling, or worse, doom-scrolling these days, trying to numb out the negative feelings that seem to crowd around me, face illuminated by the blue light of my screen, waiting for me to grow tired of swiping through content on a never-ending dopamine dive, waiting for me to put the phone down so they can come crashing back in again. Like the nightlight in my bathroom keeps away Gary Oldman Dracula, who lives in my shower, my little phone keeps away the goblins that live in my brain. At least, for a little while.
But other goblins come out to play whenever my phone is in my hand. Boredom, exhaustion, dry eyes and bad posture, and a rollercoaster of anticipation: the joy doesn’t come from watching that cute cat video or reading that insightful poem: it comes as we swipe our thumbs up the screen, eager for the next thing, the next piece of ‘content’ (hateful word), hoping against hope that the next one will be the one to make us feel better. And then the next one. And the next one. And the next one. Somehow hours can pass by, and eventually this rollercoaster flatlines. If I’m perfectly honest with myself, the phone doesn’t make the bad feelings go away and leave space for good ones. It numbs everything, a sort of mental Lidocaine, turning down the volume on the noise and chatter in my mind.
And yet to put down this little hunk of plastic and metal feels nigh-on impossible. To give up a cell phone now seems like the same commitment an anchoress of old would make. Medieval women, ususally nuns or sisters, would offer to be walled up in a church or cathedral, sometimes an abbey, sort of a very intense version of hermitage, living out the remainder of their days with no contact, no interaction with the outside world -nothing. Usually, they would go quite mad and have visions of Christ and write metaphysical poetry. Without my phone, I couldn’t call my parents, or speak regularly with my friends, or get around my city easily, or know what the weather would be, or check my email, or listen to podcasts, or - and perhaps most pressingly - numb out the terrible feelings that sometimes follow me around. To be all alone with myself and my own thoughts, bricked up in a wall somewhere, sounds like a sort of torture. And yet an anchoress chose her fate willingly. Maybe I ought to put the phone down and walk away - perhaps poetry and visions of salvation wait for me on the other side of scrolling. Maybe that’s where enlightenment and fulfillment lie.
Ah, my phone has buzzed. I should really check my email. And a few minutes scrolling never hurt anyone…
Jennifer