Maybe Tomorrow

My body was tense. My eyes fixed straight ahead. My breathing was shallow. I felt paralyzed, with the exception of a single limb that took part in orchestrating all of this. I was trapped, although I knew all too well these were self imposed shackles. While my mind was fully engulfed by the sights and sounds penetrating my retinas, there was a small part of me that wanted to break free. I couldn’t, could I? That would mean leaving this safe space, the same space that felt like a prison, the same space that was shrouded in comfort. 

I kept telling myself it would be easy. All I had to do was look away. Just look away.

With as much conviction as I could muster, I forcefully turned my head to the left. There, on my nightstand, was a clock. It told me with no uncertainty that I had spent the last ninety minutes locked into my phone, removed from this world and hooked up to endless videos, pictures, and comments. 

I lowered my phone to the bed and released it from my grip. My gaze was now aimed towards the ceiling, this time unobstructed by the bright, colourful pocket computer that consumes my life.

Slowly and carefully I lowered both feet to the ground. As I rose, a window revealed a crystal clear blue sky, something I hadn’t noticed laying beneath the bedspread. The bedroom door was to my right, and beyond that, a world of possibilities within the house. Exercise, meditation, reading, and eating all beckoned to me from different rooms. I imagined the satisfaction of engaging with all of them, and it filled me with hope.

With conviction, I stepped towards the door. I passed a television surrounded by plants, another device that stole my time for hours on end. Nearly at the door, I began to smile. I would have breakfast first, then exercise. After a quick shower, I would spend the rest of the morning curled up in my reading chair, choosing whichever book suited my mood. 

I started to dream beyond that. Perhaps I could get out of the house. Go to the park, inhale the scent of the cedar trees that lined the forest. Grab a coffee. People watch. Imagine what they're thinking. Read the lines on their faces. Are they worry lines? Did the creases that adorn their mouths come from an overabundance of joy? Where were they going on this chilly Saturday afternoon?

Maybe I'd call a friend.

The line on the floor that separated the bedroom from the hallway was squarely in my sights. I took another step, glancing up at the door frame that I was now nearly underneath. This was it, I was nearly out.

“PING!”

I froze. 

It had made a sound. I knew what this sound meant. It meant a text message. It meant an email. It meant control. 

It was just laying there. This unassuming, small device. It was indifferent to me. It didn’t care that I had plans, or that I couldn’t seem to control myself around it. It was just doing its job, delivering messages. Providing updates. Luring me in, in any way possible. 

I thought of my plans for the day. I couldn't let this overpower me. I wanted to be in the world, in reality. I wanted to feel the sun on my face and see the birds soaring through the sky. I wanted to have real life conversations, ones spoken in person and not manufactured over text. I wanted to stand in a crowded coffee shop, listening to the buzz of the espresso machine as I waited for my cappuccino. I wanted to sit on a tree branch, dangling my legs while I ran my hands over the roughness of the bark. Most importantly, and probably most desperately, I wanted to feel wholly available to everything life has to offer me - the good, the bad, the joyful, the gut-wrenching - I wanted it all.

“PING!”

I lowered my head. Filled with defeat, I made my way back to the bed. I laid down, threw on the covers, and picked up my phone.

Maybe tomorrow, I told myself.

Maybe tomorrow.