The power in our hands

Where is it, where is it... I NEED IT... I just need to... can't think without... well I can but then I can't... because it's my brain... my pacifier... my reality check-out... mental and physical dependence... even get my fix on the loo. Thoughts tell me it rules me, cannot live without it. Itchy fidget digits and junkie tics against cold turkey.

GIVE IT TO MEEEEE!!!!!

It's not heroin
It's not booze
It's not ciggies
It's not even doughnuts

It's my flipping phone.

God what a toxic relationship!

But one I am working on 🙂

And I have now learnt, for me, that the only way is for my fingers to physically switch its power off. Literally, switch it off and watch its power go. Stuff it in my pants drawer. A number of times a day and from 8pm until the morning.

Here's how it's going:

OFF. Pants drawer. Open. Under the pants. SHUT.

Me: "You see. I have the power. I did it! I can do it! Here's to my evening of Dead-Phone Bliss!"

Phone (of course it still communicates from the dead): "Psst... I hate to mention, but you just need to reply to... just need to check... ehem... they'll think you're rude if you don't get back to them... oh and you need to cook, I have the recipe you forgot to look up - see, you cannot even eat right without me. You'll so snuffle the doughnuts..."

Chiffon whisper: "No, Jo." (I'm not sure who's saying this bit, other than she's ethereal, floaty and wise -- and looks a lot better in white whimsical chiffon than me). "This is phone addiction talking. This is algorithm addiction talking. Your brain needs a break. This is part of why your life feels so busy and overwhelming. What Phone is doing with your neuroplasticity is the opposite of mindfulness. Stop. Don't teach this to your children. You have two shelves of recipe books, you know the Hairy Biker's Shakshuka off by heart - you've been cooking it for years."

Dead Ghost Phone: "You're itchy for me aren't you? Just one last check! Come on! Then turn me off. You feel a bit low... a little distraction never hurt anyone. You don't need to read bad news - just a little binge on the Meghan & Harry latest... trust me it's juicy... or I've got that Insta hamster having tummy tickles? You won't do it in front of the children. Plus, don't forget the Shakshuka recipe you can't remember so you don't eat doughnuts."

Me: "Oh, sh*t. Yeah. The doughnuts."

Floaty chiffon angel lady: "No, Jo. Let Phone's dead words float over. (The un-addicted you knows there's a splattered printout of that exact recipe: second shelf, third book on left, sandwiched between the sticky pages of Mary Berry's Vicky Sponge)."

Me: "Aha! I have a printed recipe! Stay in the drawer and die Phone!"

Dead Ghost Phone (now growing dead devil ghost horns): "But... what if the baby laughs when he wakes up in the morning?!! You won't have time to get me and turn me on! You'll need to take a photo - to share!! Or the memory will be lost to all eternity. YOU NEED ME NEXT TO YOU ALWAYS."

Me: "Oh no. I'll deprive others... of my baby... deprive my future self."

Chiffon: "No, Jo. Remember what your hero Matt Haig said the other day:

“It is not as good as eating watermelon in the sun. I don't want to take a photo of a watermelon. I don't want to think about what I could say about it. I want to eat the watermelon and feel a warm breeze and live in this precious fragile disappearing moment.”"

Me: "Oh, yes. This precious fragile disappearing moment.

This moment I won't get back.

This moment of sitting in the dark room. This moment of discomfort because my phone is in my pants drawer and my baby has just gone to sleep*. This moment of itch. This moment of - ah yes - reality. Of air on my skin and dark shapes in my eyes. Of emotion, bone tiredness, numbness - all at once. Yet a calm coming in. A soft knowing... of what's good for me and what's not."

* I can't open the drawer as it'll wake him up (which is exactly why I put it there).

Me (eyes closed and slow): "I don't want to turn you back on Phone, just to take a photo of my watermelon baby in twelve hours time. Just to share. To see him laugh, then get your itch, turn away to pick YOU up, only to turn back and him not be laughing quite as much... the fragile moment gone."

Chiffony whisper: "I told you Jo; just observe the thoughts and feelings triggered by Phone. Stop giving Phone power. Be mindful. The itch will go. The peace will come."

Me: "Ok. Thank you."

I feel the itch for Phone. But really, it's just a strange inner electric tickle in my chest.

I turn towards it. Allow it. Breathing.

Dead Ghost Phone: "Butzohserwhz… dough…n..eurpasudr……………………. ………… ……………… …… …… …………… … … . ..... .............ut................."

And then:

Quiet.

...tinsy tickle...

...presence...

...breath...

Bliss.

And strangely, no urge to google “floaty chiffon alternative for forty-something thighs”.

---

Sunday Times Bestselling author Catherine Gray cites in 'The Unexpected Joy of the Ordinary':

• "A US study found that the mobile phone has become the invention we hate the most, yet feel we can't live without (beating the alarm clock and hoover).
• The mere presence of ones own smartphone reduces available cognitive ability (University of Texas study). This has been backed up by a ream of studies, one by the University of California Irvine, which found that an interruption (such as a phone call, or message popping up on a notification box) takes a sloth-like 23 minutes and 15 seconds to recover from."

The power is in our hands 🙂

Love, Jo