To cell or not to cell

I sat in the waiting room, my purse hanging off my left shoulder, my backpack by my feet. The light bounced off the walls, making me notice how brightly they were painted. Was that big sign always there? The cabinet full of things for purchase? The candy under the chair that someone was either missing, or had disregarded as not fit for their pocket?

The reception desk was squarely in front of me. I didn’t want to look straight forward, lest the woman busy at work think that I was staring at her. To both my sides were people doing the same thing I was - waiting. I glanced at them both, careful not to let my gaze linger. 

I wasn’t entirely sure what to do with my hands. At the moment, they were locked together, my fingers interlaced as they held onto my knee. The clock hanging on the wall told me I had another ten minutes until my appointment, the one I had cursed myself for booking when I saw the snowfall warning pop up on my computer the day before, but the one I needed to go to.

I had been in this room before. A handful of times I had waited to see the chiropractor, hoping that whatever magic she worked would soothe the kink in my neck. I had gone a couple of months without venturing in here, but this time I was waiting patiently to see the Traditional Chinese Medicine doctor in hopes that she could explain away the symptoms that my regular doctor couldn’t.

My eyes kept wandering around the room. Everything seemed so new, as though every time I looked away, it morphed into something else. 

What was so different about this time in the waiting room? What was causing me to see things as though my eyes were laid upon them for the first time?

I wasn’t on my phone.

This was new for me. Two weeks before, I decided I had let my addiction take hold for far longer than it should have. I couldn’t be anywhere without my precious device. Walking from one room to another, sitting on the couch, eating dinner, going to the bathroom (I’m only now realizing how repugnant that is), and laying in bed were all places that I needed this tiny computer in my hands.

It came to a head one evening when I checked my Instagram screen time for the last week. 38 hours. 

THIRTY-EIGHT HOURS.

My jaw fell to the floor. I messaged the number to a friend. “That’s a full time job!”, she replied.

I was losing my life to my phone. How many times had I missed what my dear husband was saying to me because I was too busy scrolling for my next dopamine hit? Being so engaged with my phone had caused me to miss out on real life, and in turn make anything that wasn’t being delivered to me in an app seem dull. Worse, I knew I felt awful when I looked at my phone. The constant 24 hour stream of information bombarded my senses, and I invited it to do so.

“We need a home phone.”

Husband looked at me curiously. Perhaps he was trying to figure out if I was jumping on some new fad, or just finding a way to add to our monthly bills.

I explained that I needed to drastically cut down on my cell phone usage. This wasn’t the first time I had realized that I was addicted to it. There were many attempts prior to either leave it in another room, install an app specifically to block social media, or simply believe that I could exercise enough willpower not to pick it up.

None of these worked, of course. I found myself pining for it, as if there was something magical and lifegiving behind the locked screen. No matter how I approached my phone addiction, I couldn’t seem to find a method that stuck.

“Sure, we can get a home phone.” Husband was onboard with my idea after I explained part of the reason I felt the need for my cell phone to always be within reach was if someone needed to get a hold of me. What if there was an emergency? I couldn’t imagine missing something important because I had my cell phone locked away in my bedside drawer. 

The home phone eliminated this worry. Within a day, husband had called our service provider and gotten us a landline. That afternoon I ventured to the store to purchase a cordless phone, and chuckled as the store attendant had to climb a ladder and grab the dusty box that held it from the top shelf. 

A few days in, I felt lighter. This attempt at removing the shackle I had firmly placed on myself seemed different this time. My cell phone was now often tucked away in a Faraday bag, meaning no signal gets in or out. I messaged my family and friends my new home phone number and let them know that besides checking text messages a couple times a day, they could reach me there. 

This is, of course, a work in progress. It’s taking time to get used to not constantly having my phone in my hand. It was an extension of myself, albeit a toxic one.

For now, I feel as though I’m seeing things in a clearer light. I challenge myself to not reach for my phone out of discomfort, whether I’m sitting in a waiting room or in social situations. I’m also very aware of the urge to still grab for my phone throughout the day.

Most importantly, I’m realizing how much I used my phone to escape the present moment. The entire world should never be available on our doorstep 24/7, but that’s where many of us find ourselves now. I’m hoping with this new routine I can allow myself to feel everything in the here and now, whether that’s enjoyment, boredom, or somewhere in between.