Untethering from my phone

In my year of no, here’s where we are so far. In January, I said no to sugar. It was not nearly as difficult as I thought. I feel very much like I did when I became an alcohol-abstainer and when I decided to go full-time vegetarian. I might eat a pancake, like I did last week, but that would be enough—plenty even—for a very long time. There’s space in my head, now that the sugar voices have quieted down, space for the very real possibility of pausing. Of looking into the place where true hunger resides and asking her what she needs.

Now it is February. I began with a new no, another good-bye, at least temporarily, to watch what happened. And this has been a surprisingly difficult nineteen days.

I wanted to untether from my phone.

First, no social media. That thumb scrolling thing I do, paging paging paging through posts and tweets and updates on my phone, is entertaining for sure. So there’s that. I must say, too, in social media, I see such life. The photographs, the essays, the news stories, the babies, the prayers, the hopes, the disappointments—these matter to me. These are people and things close to my heart, and how very cool it is to spend time with them even when they are not in my zip code.

But the time suck is real. And I cannot be present with the folks sitting across from me at the table if my face is in my phone.

So I said adios to social media on my phone.

The second rule I set was to stop checking email, either work or personal, from my phone. Here’s why:

A couple of months ago, I hung out in the food court at a mall in Brandon with my Robyn. We were supposed to be knocking out the last of our Christmas shopping, but we sat and chatted for a long, comfortable while, perfectly content with our giant Chick-Fil-A styrofoam cups and a noticeable absence of little girls’ voices.

And what we talked about that day was, of all things, email. How incessant it is, especially at work, and how dreadfully it commandeers the day.

Robyn had recently attended a professional conference, and a breakout session about Microsoft Outlook stood out for her. Around the same time, I’d read a couple of web articles on managing email, as well, so our heads were full of ideas.

We lamented that email—not priorities—drove the speed and direction of the workday. We noticed that colleagues expect immediate responses to messages. And we shared that, even though our work is different, we struggle to get the right things done in the face of an ever-burgeoning in-box.

Robyn told me about a tip I hope I never forget: only read a work email once. Once. That’s it.

I think I actually went silent when she said that. “Once?” I finally asked. “How so?”

She explained that every email essentially requires some action, even if it’s only acknowledgement and filing. When we read an email and take no action, we are forcing ourselves to read it again later—possibly many times until we finally do something with it.

Returning to an already-read email creates stress, background noise, an ever-lengthening to-do list, and ill-placed focus.

I sat so still. She was absolutely right.

As I approached February and my decision to use my phone far less, I remembered Robyn’s tip and decided to stop checking email from my phone. I can almost never deal with an email from my phone (eesh—typing takes forever, especially because autocorrect is almost never auto-helpful). So reading an email from my phone creates a little “ding” in my brain, a little, “Oh, good to know, I’ll have to do something-or-other later to follow up.”

Lord, God. Like my brain needs more to-dos floating around in there. No wonder I forget half my grocery list every time I go to the store.

So, there were my two rules for my phone: no social media and no email. Just those two.

And while I can say the social media abstinence has been fairly easy, the email thing has been impossible.

Because here’s the thing. We humans want to be needed. In fact, I’ll go so far as to say, we need to be needed. Part of what makes our lives rich and full, I think, is to be entwined in a nice Twistee-treat of a delicious, melty mess with someone else. Lots of someone elses. I’ll be the chocolate, you be the vanilla, and together we fill up that cone.

And for whatever bizarre-o reason, emails are a validation of that sweetness. For me, anyway.

My finger hovers and pecks at the mail button on the bottom of the phone screen, and I tap over to Safari to look at work email, too. About one million times a day.

So in the spirit of baby steps and progress not perfection and the disappointing thud that healing takes crap loads of time, I stand here and say, I’m not doing all that great with saying no to looking at email on my phone.

In fact, I’m failing at it. Miserably.

Which just makes me smile. Know why? Because God is smiling, too. I swear, I feel actual warmth on my skin when he and I talk about this. He says stuff like, “Oh, it turns out grace is for you, too?”

See what I mean about the smiling?

I went back to the drawing board, which for me means reading. I picked up The Making of an Ordinary Saint: My Journey from Frustration to Joy with the Spiritual Disciplines. In this book, Nathan Foster (son of the rather gigantic Richard J. Foster who’s written deeply and wonderfully about many matters of faith) explores spiritual disciplines, the fasting, the confessing, the meditating, and such. It’s a fabulously accessible book, and I highly recommend it for Jesus-followers and Jesus-curious folks alike.

The younger Foster quotes his dad in the book, here and there. This one seemed especially apt for my phone/email situation:

The moment the disciplines become an end in themselves—they have failed (84).

And this one:

… more important than how frequently or intensely we practice the disciplines is that our intention is to always be available to God (84).

Oh.

It’s not about whether I look at my email from my phone. It’s about to whom and to what I’m making myself available. Do I want to please people? Why, yes, yes, I do. People-pleasing, a long-ingrained habit born out of humiliating rejection, drives the Melissa bus up and down many not-so-helpful roads. The ding of an incoming email provides the quick affirmation that I’m needed, I’m wanted, I’m sought.

When, in fact, the Father stands patiently by, saying, “Melissa. You are needed. You are wanted. You are sought.”

This is a lesson it might well take me an entire lifetime to learn, or even many, many eons in the hereafter. I wish with all my might I could snap my fingers and release my fear to the heavens, and exchange insecurity for knowing.

Perhaps the day will come.

Perhaps, in this lifetime, it will not.

Right now, it looks like this: I’m considering—just considering—what life might look like if I gaze upon myself with the same tenderness as the One who made me.

I went on a short trip, recently, to see my dear Sunni in Gettysburg. Because I traveled on work days, I felt a responsibility to check email and respond to urgent messages. There were only a couple. The rest waited patiently until I returned. I also wanted to stay connected to Matt. When we are apart, he writes me two emails a day, one for me to read when I wake up, and one he writes just before he goes to sleep. Reading these, as I arise and as I turn in, they center and calm me. They wrap me up in the peace and laughter of our love.

I am sure that God is not calling me to be irresponsible in my work. I am also sure he is not calling me to reject his presents. Can you imagine?  That would be like him saying, “Here child, is some clean, crisp mountain air, but I’d actually prefer you hold your breath, turn shockingly blue, and call it spiritual discipline. And when you gasp for air, be sure to confess to me your failure.”

Nah. He is life and light, winsome and free.

I’m still saying no to email and social media on my phone. I’m just trying to be less exact and legalistic about it. And far, far more aware of the deep need for affirmation I rely on my phone to fill. This one will take time.

February has been difficult here in the land of no. As with sugar, I imagine I will want to take the lessons and habits from it right on into March, imperfect as my practice of them is.

But I’m smiling, dear ones. Broadly. And so, assuredly, is He.