The Joy of Less Page 10

  When I missed the toast at my friend’s wedding because I was “checking in” with my social media friends, I had to trust the eyewitness accounts of others that it was absolutely “perfect.” And I had been sitting right there in the same banquet hall!

  One evening as I sat on the couch, phone in hand, I looked up from the small screen to my husband and I was suddenly nostalgic. He sat there engrossed in something on his laptop monitor as a television program neither of us was watching played in the background. I found myself longing for the nights when we’d lie on the floor of our living room and play a mean game of checkers, laughing and sharing the events of our day after tucking our children into bed. We had a good marriage but it seemed like we were missing out on more and more opportunities to be truly present with one another because of time spent on the Internet. And I missed my friends, too. Not the thousand online friends, some of whom I didn’t even know, but the flesh-and-blood ones, the ones I used to share long phone calls with just to catch up on life.

  It seemed the majority of our interactions now consisted of “liking” each other’s pictures on various social media accounts. When I did manage to get in a lunch date with a girlfriend, it was painfully obvious by the numerous glances at her phone that she, too, had brought along all five hundred of her online “friends.”

  My self imposed social media blackout was met with gasps of disbelief but those gasps were almost always followed by wistful confessions that my friends, too, longed for the days of less social media and more heart-to-heart interaction with family and friends. “You know you don’t have to actually delete all of your friends, don’t you? You can just ‘hide’ them and then you won’t be able to see their posts,” a relative offered. I knew. And I also knew that desperate times called for desperate measures. With each click of the delete button I became one social media friend lighter. I was so light that I nearly floated into my friend’s home when she invited me over for coffee one day. I left my phone in the car and something surprising happened — I didn’t even miss it!

  I’d be lying if I said it was easy at first but as time went on I came to realize I was benefiting in ways I had never even considered. My adult ADD improved significantly without the 24/7 bombardment of information. I reconnected with my husband over dinners where no social media guests were invited. I even became more mature in my spiritual life in the absence of those one thousand voices, and I used this new quiet to draw closer to God.

  It’s been a year since I first hit the delete button and while I may be “friend poor” on the Internet, my relationships with those who really matter are richer than they’ve been in ages. And that, my friends, is pure joy.

  ~Melissa Wootan

  Goodbye TV

  If it weren’t for the fact that the TV set and the refrigerator are so far apart, some of us wouldn’t get any exercise at all.

  ~Joey Adams

  I am addicted to TV, mind-numbing, time-sucking, waste-of-a-good-day TV. I know some will say I should just be able to turn it off and ignore it, but it calls to me: Cindy… just come and spend a little time with me to wake up… watch the morning news… you have to know what’s going on in the world. An hour later, when I should be doing dishes or laundry or a million other things, I am intrigued by the promos and I have to watch the next show. Just a little, I tell myself, and another hour goes by.

  Finally, I make myself turn it off and get busy with the chores of life. I make lists and check off items as I get them done: make beds, clean bathrooms, unload/load dishwasher, file papers, pay bills, etc. I work for an hour or two, and lo and behold, it’s time for lunch. Who wants to eat lunch alone? I turn on the TV for a little “company.” I watch some reruns of one of my favorites and enjoy my hour-long lunch break with my “friends.”

  Then I decide to keep the TV on, “just for noise,” while I continue with my list of chores. I bring in laundry to fold, but end up watching TV and folding laundry only during commercials. I bring things into the living room so I can “listen” while I work, but once again, TV is too enticing and work is relegated to the commercials.

  Suddenly, it’s time to make dinner. I still keep the TV on while I cook, because the five o’clock news has come on and I need to “stay informed.” My husband and I eat dinner while watching TV, because he, too, wants to “stay informed.” After a long day at work, he wants to watch a little TV and relax. Who am I to deny him this privilege? Naturally, I keep him company, because I haven’t seen him all day. The evening disappears in a few sitcoms and a “made-for-TV” movie. I even force myself to stay up and watch the last show, although I am clearly tired from such a strenuous day of TV watching. Being enlightened is so much work!

  I calculate that the TV is on in our house for about fifteen hours a day! That’s 105 hours a week, 450 hours a month, 5,400 a year! Gone are the days of reading, sewing, painting, taking walks, or sitting on the swing in the garden talking to old friends on the phone. All are put off until the next commercial or the end of the show.

  It’s time to take my life back. I’m taking the plunge and disconnecting from TV.

  It’s time to take my life back. I’m taking the plunge and disconnecting from TV. Fortunately, my husband has agreed to this drastic measure. I have unhooked the cables, packed the equipment in the box, including the three remotes, and taped it up ready for shipping. No going back now.

  Goodbye TV, I will miss you and all the good times we had together. A little tear comes to my eye. There will certainly be a big void in my life now that you are gone. Whatever will I do to fill it?

  I think about the friends I have ignored and the things I loved to do and “never seemed to have time.…” Well, now I’ve got the time. Where to start? I think I’ll dig out my scrapbooking materials, turn on the radio, and put my time to a little better use. Where’s that book I’ve been meaning to read and when was the last time I spoke to my sister? Hmmm, so much to do, and so much time. I’d better get to it.

  ~Cindy O’Leary

  The Freedom of Shabbat

  A being is free only when it can determine and limit its activity.

  ~Karl Barth

  They had Shabbat at the sleep-away camp I went to when I was ten, and I wanted to take it home with me. I made a pretty challah cover in arts and crafts, and carefully packed it in my suitcase to try to take Shabbat home, but it didn’t work. The challah cover just stayed on a shelf in the linen closet after I unpacked it.

  Years later, I found the lavender and white carefully needlepointed cover neatly folded in the back of the closet, after I returned from a trip to Israel one summer. I pulled it out and tried to bring the Shabbat I had experienced in Israel into our home. This time it lasted for two sweet Friday night dinners. Then I must have forgotten about the challah cover again. Other stuff seemed more important.

  It wasn’t until I lived within a community of people who observed Shabbat that I finally got to experience it on a weekly basis. For a person who is very driven, it is a healing oasis. I don’t think there is anything but a higher spiritual purpose that could get me to stop wanting to accomplish more things.

  When I finally began to welcome Shabbat on a weekly basis, I heard the expression that Shabbat is the “pause that refreshes,” and that just fit so perfectly. It fits even more now than ever before. Now, it’s a chance to unplug from all the ways in which we are wired. This past Shabbat I was pondering how Shabbat becomes even more noticeably distinguishable from every other day of the week as we progress technologically. Shabbat moves in, and we lay down all the gadgets that accompany us all week long. We are left with just ourselves — and the people right around us. It feels so gloriously natural and old-fashioned — but there is no way I would free myself up in this way without a strong spiritual incentive motivating me.

  It’s ironic, because from the outside it may look like those of us who are observing Shabbat are curtailing our freedom, but I know there is no other way we would release ourselves from all our gadgets. W
e are actually choosing to “disconnect” in order to more fully reconnect spiritually one day each week.

  Shabbat moves in, and we lay down all the gadgets that accompany us all week long.

  It’s fitting that we use the expression, “observing Shabbat.” Shabbat becomes the only chance we give ourselves each week to slow down and observe the people and places that are beside us. It provides us with time to more fully appreciate and savor all the blessings we can see (like candles shining) and feel (like welcoming hugs) and taste (like warm challah) and smell (like chicken soup simmering) and hear (like singing together, and even conversing with a real live person next to us).

  We’re all here on our unique spiritual journeys — searching for different missing parts. Shabbat gives us the time and space to be mindful and observe where we are on our journeys. When we slow down to a Shabbat pace, we can pause to reflect upon the week that has passed, what its highlights were, and hopefully, reconnect with our purpose.

  That challah cover I once made in camp got used so many times after I got married and was blessed with children that it became irreparably stained — with lots of spilled cups of wine and grape juice. We eventually replaced it, and for a while our little ones played pretend “Shabbat” with my old stained challah cover — on regular weekdays.

  We get lost from our purpose again and again in our lives. It’s coming back to it that is miraculous.

  ~Bracha Goetz

  Why I Gave My Smartphone a Lobotomy

  Your cell phone has already replaced your camera, your calendar and your alarm clock. Don’t let it replace your family.

  ~Author Unknown

  I prided myself on being unattached to any device. Then, I got a smartphone.

  It’s not a very fancy smartphone. My son figures it is the last iPhone 4S that Apple ever made. I bought it for ninety-nine cents at a Verizon store. It has eight gigabytes of memory, two-thirds of which the operating software needs to run. I figured there wasn’t enough memory left to make this phone all that important to me.

  I was wrong.

  An early warning sign was the water-resistant, rubber-coated, shock-absorbing, plastic case I bought for the phone. Clearly, I intended to carry it with me, not leave it in the glove box.

  That first night, I logged into our family’s Apple ID and ferreted out my favorite apps: Gmail, Google, MLB at Bat, the Enquirer, the Free Press, NPR, Michigan Radio, Audible, Kindle…

  These apps used hardly any memory. A few downloads, a few passwords, and ta-da! All my self-control issues with the Internet were now in a portable box.

  Getting lost online wasn’t just for procrastination anymore. It was for commercial breaks, the line at the bank, the three minutes it takes for popcorn to pop. I even checked my phone while on the phone with someone else.

  I broke the most sacred technology rule I have with my kids — no devices in the bedroom. I didn’t just take the thing in the bedroom. It charged there.

  Soon that device was the first thing I grabbed after waking — checking the weather, the news, my e-mail, my messages, all before going to the bathroom or letting out the dog.

  Eventually, it moved from my purse to my pocket. I knew its weight and I knew when it was missing.

  There is a lot of sporadic downtime as a parent. I used to keep a book with me for these times; now I kept the smartphone. Some apps I opened without conscious thought — swipe, tap, tap, refresh, refresh. Remembering to move up in the pickup line or look up on a sports field became a challenge.

  Recently, I was waiting for my youngest child’s soccer game to start, trying to answer e-mails, text my husband, and update a website. The phone lost its signal, but not before I made a mistake updating the website.

  I broke the most sacred technology rule I have with my kids — no devices in the bedroom.

  I couldn’t correct it until I had a real keyboard and reliable Internet. Knowing that didn’t stop me from refreshing the screen throughout the game.

  I drove home and made a beeline for the laptop. Coat still on, I started troubleshooting. My oldest sat across from me.

  It was the first time we had been together since breakfast. I asked the standard Mom-questions half-heartedly, half-listening as she responded. She was talking about some music opportunity, something she was excited about….

  I glanced up from my screen and saw her looking right at me. My fingers froze. An awful feeling crept over me. I realized it was the first time I had looked at her.

  I started apologizing, but she just laughed.

  “My friends are much better at multitasking online.”

  Ouch.

  The next morning, I did something that was more painful than I’d like to admit. I deleted my apps. When I finished, my smartphone was just a phone again — something I could forget in the car.

  Hopefully, I remember how to do that.

  ~Nicole L.V. Mullis

  Trading Bandwidth for Bonding

  A family is a place where minds come in contact with one another.

  ~Buddha

  At our house, we can watch TV shows and movies on four television sets, two tablets, two computers and five cell phones. We can play games on all thirteen of these “smart” devices too.

  But when I walk into the room and see my children, who are six, twelve, and fourteen, with their heads bent over screens, faces awash in artificial blue light, it doesn’t feel “smart” to me. It feels unnatural.

  I’ve read the blog posts by “experts” wagging their fingers at parents who allow their children hours of butt-sitting, game-playing, social media-scouring and television-watching time on screens large and small. “It’s unhealthy,” they say. “It promotes sedentary lifestyles. There’s no brain enrichment.”

  I’ve read the other blog posts by “experts” claiming time on electronics is time well spent. It can be a time for learning, a time for socializing with friends or expanding creativity and imagination. My six-year-old would gladly testify in a court to defend Minecraft as more than just a game. My older girls would swear social media is the best way to get to know their friends, “No different than you, Mom,” referring to when I spent hours talking on the phone with the cord stretched all the way into the closet.

  I’m no judge and jury. I find myself guilty of too much time on social media and news websites. What I do know is that a time came when I felt disconnected from my children. Perhaps this is where the unnatural feeling originated. Buried in their online worlds, my children were not poking their heads out to breathe. Or say hello. Or say anything to me other than, “I’m hungry.” They were growing, changing and making new friends, deciding on a new favorite color or maybe even developing a new skill. They were finding a new online celebrity to follow. I’d ask questions, but get no answers. “Fine,” doesn’t really describe how one has been doing lately.

  The hours of screen time had to be cut. Our family had become more connected to the online world than to each other. My motherly instincts screamed at me to fix this.

  Our family had become more connected to the online world than to each other.

  One afternoon, I walked into the living room to find the kids with their heads bent over their various screens like plants in need of water. “Listen up, family,” I said. “I think it would do us some good to have time when all electronics are turned off. We will call it a blackout night, and instead of our noses in screens, we will make art and play games. We will talk about whatever you want. We can plan our summer vacation or be silly. I don’t care what we do and I’m open to suggestions, but absolutely no electronics, including cell phones, during this time.”

  I braced for the whining.

  “Cool! Can we paint bottles? I’ve seen some designs online I’d like to try,” Mackenzie, the middle child, responded.

  “I have an idea too. Let’s do a fire in our fire pit with outdoor games,” said Madison, the oldest.

  The youngest chimed in, “Can we color together? I’d like that.”

/>   I was stunned. This was not the reaction I expected. Instead, my children agreed, and we made a list of several fun ideas for our blackout days. We decided Friday evenings would be a good start since we rarely had plans.

  For our first blackout Friday we built a fire in our fire pit, roasted all beef hot dogs on sticks and made ice cream s’more sundaes, played football, and talked about space travel, stars and planets as the sky began to darken and sparkle. No cell phones or other electronic devices were allowed.

  The second blackout Friday we colored in coloring books, but not just any coloring books. I purchased a nice set of colored pencils and “adult” coloring books, which are full of small details to shadow and take a long while to complete. We ate homemade pizza and talked about our favorite colors, our favorite seasons and our favorite classes. I taught them about the color wheel.

  By the third blackout Friday, my children were turning off their tablets and cell phones ahead of time. I found them, dark and abandoned, tossed about the house.

  It hit me. They were enjoying this as much as I was. They needed time to connect as a family as much as I did.

  Spending less time in virtual reality strengthened our family bonds. Now we spend more time updating the status of our relationship with each other than any of our social media accounts. Who knew unplugging could lead to feeling so plugged in?

  ~Mary Anglin-Coulter