It’s Monday morning and I’m trying my best not to look at my phone’s screen. My nephew is on the couch next to me, fighting for his life to breathe through his allergies brought on by the trees around the neighborhood which have suddenly exploded to life, creating frozen firework displays of pinks and whites and lavender dangling on the branches above us.
This would be gorgeous if it wasn’t so threatening to our sinuses.
I used to be incapacitated when I’d visit my brother around this time of year, sidelined by the pollen that blankets the cars like bright green snow. One year I drove myself to an Urgent Care, convinced I had a horrible case of strep throat and terrified I’d pass it on to my nephew, who was an infant at the time. I was also terrified I wouldn’t be able to afford the visit or antibiotics because I didn’t have health insurance.
When I arrived, a tired nurse took one look at me, explained the symptoms I was experiencing were from allergies and mercifully sent me on my way without charging me anything.
My allergies are mostly under control now, thanks to three years of shots I was able to take after moving to Mexico, a fact I loudly boast about to anyone who will listen.
“Did you know Tiger Woods used to be allergic to grass?” I share with the guys in the steam room at the gym. “And then he got allergy shots. Just like me!”
Turns out we’re not so different, Tiger and I.
I’m trying to avoid my phone’s screen because, like allergies, it’s become debilitating. Lately I’ve found myself scrolling for hours through apps I loathe, only to look up and realize I missed the eclipse. (This is a joke because I watched the eclipse on my phone, obviously.)
In an attempt to make myself feel better about my mindless scrolling, I started following Spanish-speaking teachers and creators. This has been marginally helpful for my Spanish but doesn’t mean I’m staring at my screen any less; if anything, it’s increased the time I spend hunched over, telling myself this is productive and I am learning and not rotting my brain.
On Sunday I was chatting with a friend about our phone use and pulled up my screen time data, which was truly horrifying.
This data, displayed down to the minute and stacked in brightly colored bar graphs, showed me I had been spending the equivalent amount of hours one would normally reserve for a full-time job staring at my phone, plus overtime. According to these statistics, the only seconds I wasn’t engulfed in my phone was when I was asleep, which is when I have it playing rain sounds from the bedside table.
This week I am vowing to do better.
It’s Tuesday and I’m sitting on the front porch soaking up the sun after eating a quick lunch, trying not to think about my phone resting inside, facedown on the kitchen counter. I can just enjoy the day, I counsel myself, without a phone in my hand.
I read an article recently about technological implants; the idea that one day soon we’ll all be placing devices inside us. One expert interviewed for the piece noted most of us currently don’t stray too far from our phone, and how when we do, our anxiety notably increases until it's firmly back in our hands. In this sense, they’ve already become functional implants, serving as our shiny pacifiers; tiny square comfort blankets we can no longer go anywhere without.
I see a neighbor walking by with their dog and start to wave, but they don’t notice me because their head is tilted forward, drooped over their phone like a marionette doll whose owner forgot about them.
It's Wednesday and I decide to take my brother up on his incessant offers to try incorporating the cold plunge he’s set up in the basement into my daily routine. Like nearly every person who shocks their system with ice baths on a regular basis, he’s evangelized its benefits to me on a near-hourly basis since installing it.
“You probably wouldn’t be sick,” he cheerily told me the last time I had a cold, “if you cold-plunged.” I figure if I am trying to reset my brain, perhaps submerging myself in freezing cold water might help.
Removing the heavy gray cover off the top of the shiny white tub, I’m met with a blast of cold air rising up from the water and I instantly regret my decision. Why can’t I reset my brain with a warm cup of tea? I think as I stare into my icy reflection. Why do I always have to choose ridiculous things?
I’ve decided I will aim to last for at least one minute and will be joined by Beyonce on my inaugural dip. As I hover over the edge, I blast her latest album from the Bluetooth speaker perched on the tub’s filter’s engine, a squat black box sitting on the ground to my right.
“WE SNAPPIN!” Beyonce commands, and I lower myself into the frigid tank, fighting the urge to hop right back out like Wile E. Coyote extracting himself from another precarious scenario. I settle back and let the water rise up to my neck; I can hear every organ in my body questioning this decision, wondering what they did to deserve this particular form of torture.
After what feels like an hour, I check my watch and see I somehow have twenty more seconds left.
Well that can’t be right, my desperate brain argues, the cold water probably broke it. You should get out now.
I watch as the seconds tick down, knowing this probably isn’t the best strategy but I need to actually see time moving forward, requiring proof this will eventually come to an end.
At the one-minute mark I’m up and out, trying not to spill water everywhere but also entirely too cold to worry about it. I’m shivering as I wrap the towel around my shoulders, struggling to remind myself of all the benefits my brother mentioned. Something about cortisone and sleep and reducing inflammation?
I don’t know exactly what I feel yet, but I do know that was one minute spent without any screen time.
It’s Thursday night and I’m eating dinner with my two nephews, having agreed to put them to bed while their parents are both out at work events.
Uncle Travis to the rescue.
“When are you leaving again?” the older one asks while chomping on a bowl of rice that’s sprinkled with green and orange vegetables, chunks of sausage poking out like buoys in a foamy white sea.
“In a couple of weeks,” I tell him. “I’m going back to Argentina to make more videos.”
“Forever?” the younger one inquires, eyes wide.
“I don’t know about forever,” I respond. “But I’ll be there for three months this time.” I watch as he absorbs this information, thinking three months might as well be forever to a six-year-old.
“But why do you have to leave for so long?” the older one laments.
I explain how I’m curious to see the world, how big it is and how much there is to explore. We all chew our food in silence for a couple of beats and I wonder what they’ll grow up remembering about their strange uncle who always seemed to pop in and out of their house, like one of those Elf on the Shelf dolls.
We had this one uncle, they’ll explain to friends over drinks at a bar in their thirties, and we never knew where or when he was going to show up next.
We finish our dinner, do some homework and then jump on the trampoline before I herd them upstairs for bedtime. Teeth brushed, PJs on, stories read and lights out all before 8:00 PM.
Uncle Travis to the rescue, and he barely glanced at his phone.
It’s Friday night now and I check my screen time again. The brightly colored bar graphs tell me I’ve spent 20% less time staring at my phone so far this week, which feels like a good start but still nowhere near enough of a drop.
When I click through to see where exactly I’ve spent my time, I’m proud to report my social media use has been reduced to almost nothing. Most of the hours came from messaging and video calling; an hour a day with my Spanish tutor and calls with friends are a good use of technology, I decide.
I switch off my phone and let my eyes adjust to the room, reminding myself to be present in the moment. I settle into the couch and think about how lucky I am to get to share these days and nights with my brother and his family before I’m off again, living miles away where I will only be able to see this all through a screen.
Great story as always. I love waking up Saturday morning with coffee and reading your stories. You are the lucky one to be able fly like a butterfly and land where you feel the love.