I am so distracted. (I am SO distracted.)
After writing that sentence I stared off into the middle distance for, well, I didn’t look at the time because I was thinking about pizza- but I’m sure it was longer than either the staring or the pizza thoughts warranted.
Anyway.
I am distracted.
This post was originally going to be a grab bag of thoughts regarding social media rabbit holes and the constant noise of Awful Things…but it’s not that. Not only that, I mean.
Because yes, I click on scrolled updates and sidebar deals and- oh, that’s a good deal- and get lost in Facebook memories like everyone else. (When did Suzy’s hair lose its springy curls? Let’s head back through the gymnastics baby class photos and see…)
Before I know it, the evening (and the better part of that rosé) is kaput and I don’t feel like I contributed to the world in any meaningful way. And maybe I don’t have to save the environment every single night but like, maybe once a month would feel nice.
Besides, what am I looking for when my thumb muscle-memories its way to Twitter? Connection? Something to stave off the boredom? Because unless it’s “self-loathing,” I’m sure as heck not finding it online at 11pm.
So then you download apps to remind you to stay offline at certain times. And mindfulness apps to, you know, solve your brain.
And then those apps ping you all day long, and soon you have that bizarre, visceral, not-so-calming guilt that can only come from ignoring your meditation app- which is something our forefathers could not have prepared us for and, frankly, is Brave New World territory.
But that’s not my point.
My point is…
I’m the problem. Me. Until I get a handle on my own neuroses and hair triggers and iron intake, I’m wholly unable to process the world and will interact with everyone in a thoroughly distracted manner. And it’ll always be that way. (And so will the world. The news and the state of our country is terrible. But the news and the state of our country has, for the most part, been terrible for a long time. And it’ll continue to be! This is the not the Good News portion of the post, I promise.)
You know that whole “put on your own oxygen mask before putting your child’s on,” right? It’s a superbly overused metaphor, but a truthful one. (Also a vaguely unsettling one. I know I’d do it, but I can only imagine my kids’ judgmental faces as it was happening, like, “Oh, how’s that air flow treating you? Good? Good for you.”)
That said, you’ve gotta do it. Take that walk, enjoy a few deep breaths (without someone coughing directly into your mouth), and maybe turn off the ol’ cellular data as you go to bed slightly early. Make that therapy appointment, go for a long workout (or a short workout and a long session curled up at a bookstore), and kiss your partner.
It’s not “checking out,” not really. It’s more acknowledging that the time spent on Instagram wasn’t really saving the earth or the children, either.
So many metaphors, you guys!
Cautionary Tale!
Here’s what it looks like when you don’t take that time!
Two nights ago, I wiped out on our cats’ food mat. Wiped. Out. Sure, I was carrying a couple of things, but I was so distracted and rushed by The Heaviness of Life that I completely disregarded the bright blue and green mat in the middle of the kitchen and flew through the air like a Tom n’ Jerry cartoon character. (I think a couple of pans crashed offscreen for further effect.)
The next morning? I full-speed walked into a wall. I’ve lived in this home for over nine years now. The walls have not changed. Neither, except for a few trimesters, has my girth.
I drove past my own alley- which houses my own garage- more than once this week. (I played it off to the kids that I wanted to see the nonexistent foliage. “Maybe there’ll be a red tree by the front yard today? …No? Ah well! Let’s try again tomorrow!”)
And just today I was scared into actually yelling at the sight of a man I thought was trying to murder me, a man who turned out to be the vacuum cleaner I placed in the hallway and saw out of the corner of my eye.
I yelled at this “man” twice.
(I never ended up vacuuming, either.)
It’s pretty clear that being distracted is the problem. (Either that or early onset cataracts.)
Last night I dreamt that I walked into the ocean, carrying my laptop, my tablet, and my new iPhone. I tripped (obviously), and dropped every last electronic device into the water. I found and dried most of them (obviously) but couldn’t find my phone anywhere. SO. Obviously I did what anyone would do! I rented some snorkeling gear, and spent the rest of the time searching underwater for that dang phone.
Guess what? I even enlisted neighborhood children to help me find it.
SO I’M NO PSYCHOANALYST BUT.
(I really have nothing to add to that. It’s pretty self-explanatory. Slightly pitiful. And more than a little bit something I would actually do.)
And now…
If you’ll excuse me, I just received an email alert that a puzzle game I pre-ordered on Kickstarter has a digital download ready for me (once I upgrade my software). And as soon as I pick up the kids from school, I can scoot the game over to my iPad account and can sit in relative darkness and semi-quietude to disconnect with possibly too many blinking lights on a tiny, tiny screen.
Me Time.
(As long as I find the keys first.)
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