E.B. White saw IT coming, careening our way, and IT’s here–the Moby Dick of modern times, Leviathan in proportion; the great white whale, beautiful yet destructive if provoked. And, IT’s been thrashing around leaving damage in ITs wake for a long while now. Give it up for Moby, though. He may be destructive, but he’s still glorious. He’s not that bad.
Flashback (I’ll get back to “IT” in a minute): last spring I woke up one morning, and reached for my smartphone just to check the time, still half asleep and bleary-eyed. Before I knew it, thirty minutes had passed. I was still in bed, lying on my side in a Jabba the Hutt pose scrolling through photos, texts and emails, on something that looked like I’d grown a third palm, and ultimately getting a kink in my neck. “Checking the time” had morphed into finding just the right emoticon to use for a text response, and checking/hoping for a few more likes on Instagram.
I got out of bed after that leisurely, yet surprisingly nauseating waste of time, shuffled to the kitchen to put the kettle on, my hair at an all-time Einstein, and went outside to enjoy a cup of chamomile tea on the back steps, forgetting my phone on the kitchen counter next to the stove.
The contrast between my earlier slug-pose in bed as I scrolled away on my phone, with the vibrant, grounded feeling of sitting outside noticing trees, dogs barking and the smell of peppermint and basil in the garden was shocking. When had I lost touch? I felt like the proverbial frog in the pot, and was nearly cooked. In that moment I vowed Continue reading