Over the past few days I’ve noticed with disturbing clarity the sensation that my smartphone is fucking draining the life out of me. It sucks up time, it sucks up energy, it sucks up memory…it sucks it all right out of my index finger.
I’ve known for long enough that I piss away hours scrolling Facebook and following YouTube treasure hunts, but lately it’s like I’m in one reality prior to picking up my phone to check a notification, and in another when I finally tear my eyes away to realise that forty-five minutes have passed and all I’ve been doing is blankly staring at a continuous feed of mildly engaging stimuli.
I wonder what would happen if I meditated as much as I looked at my phone. It sounds like an intruguing experiment, but also an infuriating one, so I’ll probably pass.
But I do need to address this problem. I don’t want to deplete my primary finite resource on pointless bullshit.
I think I’m scared. Scared of what I’d have to do with that time and energy and lifeforce if I didn’t sign it over to the devil. I’ve come to the saddening conclusion lately that I find it hard to live for myself. That’s why I’ve so habitually gotten myself into situations where I ‘need’ to devote huge amounts of my time and energy to others.
As I consciously strip away the opportunities for that tendency to endure, a vacuum is created, and I fill it with noise to make myself feel better. It’s a good sign, really – it means there’s space for me to clear and grow into, should I be brave enough to do so.
When I was younger, I’d put the TV on whenever I was alone in the house. Without it, the existential fear that was my constant companion would bloom and unfurl and cast terrifying shadows on the walls. It’s a similar thing. I need to turn off the TV and sit with the shadows.