The Real Reality of Gravity

On breaking up with my smartphone. Or, trying to.

An hour in my art journal ❤️

It’s early morning, quiet. I’m sitting on my wooden stool, the one I discovered in the dilapidated shed behind the cabin we had snuggled into once the big house had been sold. I’m remembering the desk I’m at, too, from that time. It is a tall and well worn wooden table; we used it as a narrow countertop in the kitchen, tripling our usable work space. I sit here sometimes, before the day breaks, curious.

Curious about what I’m doing and how I’m doing it. Who I’ve been and who I’m becoming. What priorities of the day are truly priorities, and which of the seven massive items on that list could I realistically get even 45 minutes worth of movement on. Sometimes, I am encouraged. I consider my basket of filled art journals or my library of read and studied books. Other times, all I see before me is a never ending horizon line that moves like a mirage with every small step I take.

But then, instead of contemplating such things, I avoid the whole matter and delve into distraction. Like a sober woman who can still taste the liquor on her tongue regardless, I find myself forgetting the lessons I’d learned back in that rustic cabin— and applied and wrote about and published. Instead, I mindlessly savor the distraction, the escape. So I scroll. And scroll. That horizon never arrives, either.

Every now and again, however, God sets up the rock for me to trip over while I’m not paying attention. This morning’s rock—before coffee, even— was Katherine Martinko, and I flew over like a cartwheeling tumbleweed before landing on my knees. I had scrolled, I mean strolled, down the rabbit trails of Substack and found this stark and succinct truth from her newsletter: “In every culture, young children want the objects of grown-up desire.”

It was an excellent byline that reeled me in like the fish I was. My mind flushed film after film with every thing I wanted for my children, and, every thing I didn’t. I considered, my curiosity returning, How Much we mortal humans have been shaped by small lit handheld screens, especially in ways that at times come across as inhuman and quite frankly demonic. I feel embarrased. Angry at myself. My knees are bloodied by the reality of not paying attention. I now feel sick with desiring the courage of David to slay this temptation to deaden my real life work and personal relationships via finger swiping. I see it now. Again, perhaps. I hear you, Nathan. I am the man.

“Wisdom is the right use of knowledge. To know is not to be wise. Many men know a great deal, and are all the greater fools for it. There is no fool so great a fool as a knowing fool. But to know how to use knowledge is to have wisdom.”

― Charles Spurgeon

I think about this quote from Spurgeon as I’m now sipping my green tea, chamomile and mint and citrus on my tongue. The sky is now dusky blue, and I know children will be up soon. My body is suddenly very uncomfortable at my desk. I shift several times, unsure of what to do. I see my phone laying nearby, and it feels to me like a loaded handgun. What if it was? Would I be so careless? Would my children see it in my hand All The Time? Would my eyes caress its curves and continuously check on it? And yet, there my smartphone is: a pretty cover on a useful tool, but considering the mental and physical health crisis in our nation, just as deadly a consideration.

Widsom is knowledge rightly applied, as the great preacher insisted. I hear the firm conviction in my head, “APPLIED, WOMAN, APPLIED!”

I slide out my notebook from underneath my to-do pile, and start a list of the stories I tell myself regarding my smartphone use:

I need it in case of an emergency (in which I reply, “Excess use IS an emergency”.)

I need to be accessible (at all times, to everyone, forever and ever amen).

I need to keep up (with everything, the news, social media, my podcasts, every subscription…)

I use it to consume (buying stuff, reading stuff, enjoying stuff…anything for dopamine!)

I—with full knowlege, mind you—use it to trade all of the above with my location and personal data and allowance to mold how I think.

I can’t blame Katherine for my bleeding. Instead, I restack her newsletter hoping others will also consider their ways so that my children, when grown, will also have unaddicted human beings to relate to. And, I dunno, maybe we adults can care for each other’s wounds, learn from our mistakes, and become better people.

I decide to do without my smartphone for the day. It sounds ridiculous to me, but a more reasonable option than smashing it with a hammer. I laugh that it “sounds ridiculous” to ME, the one person in the house who GREW UP without these screens, who entered ADULTHOOD without access to the internet, who knew how to use paper maps and look outside to know what the weather was, who literally laughed out loud in my early 30’s when my mother insisted I get a cell phone (for said emergencies), and who WROTE A BOOK about overcoming the addictive nature of—at the time—BLOGGING. How. Quaint.

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Day One.

I put my phone on airplane mode, and set it in our private bathroom, the furthest room in the house. I wish I could say how freeing this felt. It didn’t.

10:30AM I am itching to check my phone. Literally itching. I am extremely uncomfortable. I decide to make a large pot of hot chocolate for the kids, prepare myself a mocha, and play Trouble with the 6 and 11 year olds. But the siren song of my phone is so loud in my head, I’m certain the walls are reverberating.

11:30AM I am feeling real stress, simply from not checking my phone. What if someone texted me? I try to comfort myself that I do have a landline, and the most important people in my life know the number. It is quieter in the house, somehow, and I recognize I am lacking the pings of dopamine. I also consider that for every ping, a response will be needed. There were will be an expectation upon me that I must meet, and every response I have will involve (1) thinking about the ping I heard (whee! dopamine!) (2) reading and understanding said ping, (3) making a decision about it (do I read it? do I answer? what do I say and how do I say it? do I use an emoji? which one?…..)

Worse, I consider what if no one texted me. I think I would feel relieved I didn’t miss anything (and didn’t disappoint anyone), but to be honest there would also be a tinge of *set in here diagonal smile emoji because I’ve lost the ability to use words to describe such an emotion*.

I don’t use many notifications at all, but if any were showing on my home screen, the whole decision making progress would ignite again. And, if there weren’t any notifications? No worries—I would just OPEN THE APPS to make sure! *emoji of my hand upon my face*

At this point, I know I need to use the kids’ bathroom to relieve myself instead of my own. Sort of like avoiding my favorite pub, I have to take a side street. I also think about this afternoon. Will I take my phone to my girls’ vision therapy appointment? Yes, potential of emergencies and all that. I tell myself maybe I will turn it off before checking. I already know I am fooling myself.

I homeschool with Ruby, one of our daughters with Down syndrome, using Spelling to Communicate. When finished, I decide NOT to get onto my desktop to “only check email” so I don’t get highjacked. I will, in fact, check in. Just not now. After all, in my day (I’m old enough for that now), I only got mail ONCE every day *emoji of shocked ghost face*.

12:30PM I am stressed. It is a real eye opener to my dopamine dependency and I am trying not to curse the rock I fell over. I also notice time is dragging. Draggggggggging. But. Is it really? Couldn’t someone else call that “stretching”? “Slowing Down”? Isn’t this what I say I want? Isn’t this what my heart longs for? To be present and to live slowly and simply and thoughtfully? Paul rings in my head, compassionately, doing that which I don’t want and so forth.

I consider playing a vinyl record, but Ruby is on her headset and I don’t want to disturb that. I decide to spend 15 minutes in my art journal. I learned long ago from Fly Lady that I could “do anything for 15 minutes”: chores, tasks, producing results. I wonder, could I actually do something restful for 15 minutes? The kids are all playing or doing their own reading and projects. I set the timer for 15 minutes.

1:25PM An hour passes. I vaguely recall turning off the timer. I feel irresponsible, and terribly tired. Is this what rest looks like? How yet how can irresponsibility and well rested be the same? It can’t be. It’s not. It’s another story I’ve either made up or accepted as true. Somehow, mineral violet and kyanite genuine mixed with words bubbling up like champagne and I was intoxicated with the pause. I’m pleased with my art page.

I purposefully get onto my desktop now. I check my email (a conference in Florida I am tempted to attend, an opinion requested, various advertisements). I buy myself a replacement fountain pen (Lamy sky blue) that will arrive in time for my birthday, and order textbooks for my next classes (Phytochemistry and Pharmacognosy). I put together and order a wedding gift. I check my Substack activity and decline further discussion on another author’s comment thread. I check my social media feed (Nostr), group feeds (Telegram), and even my text messages. I find responding to them easier from my keyboard.

I spent an hour on the computer and now nothing is tempting me on my phone. I turn it off easily to travel with the girls, but I habitually glance at the darkened screen several times as I get into the car.

5:30PM I homeschool three children at our dining room table, and read aloud to the youngers. I enjoy having my older daughter prepare the evening meal, and join my family for supper.

6:35PM It’s a bit of downtime, and I want to check my phone! I forget what it’s like being bored, that hazy and wonderous time of my youthful heart and mind ruminating and imagining. It dawns on me how youth today have been robbed of such, and again I clarify to myself what a gift boredom actually is. I also wonder, indeed, How Many Times a day I really do check my phone. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to find out. I want to throw up just thinking about that. I take a walk instead on the treadmill. I walk a mile, the plodding rhythm of my feet soothing my angst, watching Benita Larsson on YouTube.

That evening, I look into purchasing a small digital camera because I miss using my phone for that purpose. On my desktop, I check Nostr once more, text a friend back, and answer an email. I am snuggled into bed by 10:00PM.

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The next few days, I kept my phone on airplane mode in a drawer in my bedroom. At least once, I swore I heard my phone ping in the kitchen, while I was cooking, where my phone wasn’t. I continued to research cameras, and thought about what I would do for the podcasts I listen to—how could that be a more thoughtful time, and how many of them truly blessed and encouraged me. I took notes of the apps I found myself wanting to use (the weather again? Really?!!). My mother at one point told me to look at something on Instagram. I relay to her I left Instagram months and months ago. She never even noticed.

——————-

Today, a whopping six days later, I am in a better place of using my desktop instead of my phone for communicating with people and for keeping up with the news and subscriptions I enjoy. This is a far, far better choice for me as I am better able to schedule my time at the computer. My phone use, in comparison, had NO scheduled use.

I appreciated this quote by Katherine so much that I printed it out as a reminder for me to read as often as I need to: “…this whole societal catastrophe of excessive screen time eroding real-life interactions and experiences has very little to do with kids and everything to do with the adults who raise them.”

And of course this as well; perhaps it will be a good reminder to you, dear reader, as you consider your own stumbles over the rocks God sovereignly places in your paths to get your attention?

I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable service. And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God.

Romans 12:1-2

Yes, our knees get a little bloodied at times. But if wisdom is knowledge applied, sometimes a little conviction is good to get us out of our heads and recognize the very real reality of gravity. The time is short. Walk wisely.

1. You can read Katherine’s post here:

It's the Adults, Not the Kids!

2. If you didn’t have your smartphone, what would you be doing more of?

4. Hit any rocks in your own life lately?