I’M AN ADDICT…AND LIKELY SO ARE YOU
I’ve known for a long time that I’m an addict. I imagine like most poor souls suffering from addiction I have felt the same mix of emotions; denial, shame, disappointment, resignation.
What am I addicted to?
Not drugs, no, I’ve never been interested in them. In high school when my friend group started experimenting with marijuana and the like I was immediately turned off and subsequently turned into a bit of an outcast. Not that I minded, I have always viewed drug use as a disgusting habit and one that makes people dull and boring…two things I have always tried not to be.
Booze? Not anymore. Looking back on my military career I definitely believe I had a drinking problem, but I don’t believe I am an alcoholic. I now drink sparingly enjoying a cold beer at a brewery once in awhile, a Coronarita at a Mexican restaurant if it’s evening and I’m not driving, and I’ll try a cocktail on date night with my husband (of which our last date night was in February of this year to give you any insight into how often that happens).
I am addicted to my cellphone, like 99% of you reading this whether you wish to admit it or not.
The upcoming publication of my debut novel hasn’t made that addiction any better either. A few weeks ago I noticed I was constantly checking Instagram, TikTok, and Facebook to see if anyone had posted about my book yet…only to feel disappointment when there hadn’t been a post followed by mindless time and soul-sucking scrolling. I’d grab my phone in any spare moment to go to Goodreads to see if an early reader review had posted yet, and again, fall into despair and self-doubt when there would be no new reviews from the 20 minutes ago that I had checked…followed then by you guessed it…mindless time and soul-sucking scrolling.
So, I’m trying to do something about it because I’m afraid to have to report I’m slowly becoming dull and boring.
But first…
Earlier this year I decided to try out an experiment in predictive math. I know I’m a nerd and perhaps had I applied myself more in high school I’d be a scientist instead of a hopeful full-time author. My plan was this: using my medical data from a recent full panel blood draw and examination, my family history and my occupational history, my current habits, socio-economic status, and various other factors I wanted to see if I could predict how many Mondays I have left in my life.
I had 2,015 Mondays left to live (at the time).
Break that down further and I had the following (at the time):
38 years left to live
39 summers left (8 of those as “peak summers” with my kids and 15 of those as “peak active summers” before I get too old)
14,150 total days to live
My numbers weren’t bad, without giving away my age those numbers have me living into my early 80s. Not a bad life.
However, when the numbers of years you’ve lived is larger than the number of years you have left you start feeling some things and thinking some things.
I asked myself this question and I have it on my desk to remind me everyday, “How do I want to live the next 38 years?”
I have a few answers to that question, but the one I want to focus on is related to my addiction. I don’t want to live the last 38 years of my life dull, boring, and detached from my life.
Back to my addiction…
I recently started a book titled The Meaning of Your Life: Finding Purpose in an Age of Emptiness by Arthur C. Brooks. I saw him in an interview on television discussing his book and something made me think I needed to check it out. As I type that last bit I can’t help but chuckle, because it implies that I didn’t and still don’t know why I wanted to read the book which isn’t true.
Like many people particularly the younger generation and I think a lot in mine, I don’t know what the meaning is of my life and I want my life to have meaning. I used to think I knew what the meaning of my life was. When I was in the military I thought the meaning of my life was to serve my country and be one of the best at doing it. Full dislosure; I didn’t feel that way on day 1…it took a few years for me to drink that kool-aid…but suffice it to say I had.
But, near the end of my career, when my service required me to apologize for my skin color, when my service told me that even though I was the best candidate for a job I wouldn’t get it because of my skin color, that meaning disintegrated almost over night. Adding insult to injury watching the unfolding of the withdrawal from Afghanistan I have to say I still struggle with believing that my 20 years of service meant anything at all to anyone.
I’d like to believe and I hope that the meaning of my life is to leave this world better than it was when I arrived, bring joy and laughter to some, and set my children up for a slightly easier (albeit not easy because I think an easy life isn’t one that’s been lived) go of it than I had. But, truth be told, I’m not sold yet.
What this book so far has done is dive into the addiction that is keeping me from having the deep fulfilling thoughts that I used to, and it has been humbling and exciting to read. Tonight I read a chapter that filled me with hope for my future. In it, Mr. Brooks pulls back from an OG in common sense, Ralph Waldo Emerson.
When I was a teenager and a young adult I was an Emerson fan, and reviewing his seven steps from his essay “Self-Reliance” made me miss my grandfather who put me onto Emerson and reminded me that most of the time the simplest solutions and paths are the right ones. The seven steps are roughly these:
Reclaim your privacy
Stop conforming to others’ thinking
Be true to yourself
Defer gratification: choose to pursue long-term purpose with passion and perseverance
Devote your attention only to what is edifying and uplifting
Be willing to change your mind and say you were wrong
Speak the truth
Pretty easy stuff, right? Not so easy with social media, 24/7 news, and a culture that wants to group us all into “us” and “thems”.
Besides re-reading Emerson because it is always a good time to re-read Emerson, on my path towards meaning I am going to attempt to detox myself from my addiction. Am I going to get rid of my cellphone and become a prepper living in the woods perhaps perfecting my fruit leather skills? No, not a surprise at all for those who know me well.
But I am setting some boundaries.
To be fair I already had invested in what is called a Brick, a small device and app that allows me to shut my phone down from everything except calls and text messages. My phone is “Bricked” at all times except from 8AM until 5PM everyday.
Adding to this I’m no longer going to have my phone on me when I’m at home. Instead it will stay on my desk in it’s cute little pink holder with the ringer on. If I really need to check it for something I’ll have to come to my office area and at that point I might as well get some writing in while I’m at it.
When I do use my phone I’m going to try to use it mindfully, meaning before picking it up I am going to force myself to write in my little notebook I keep on my desk what it is I am hoping to discover and if it’s something I really need and can only get from my phone then I will press forward.
Finally, I’m going to plan a 1 week “No Phone Getaway” next year.
Am I going to disappear from the world altogether? I hope not, after all in order to achieve my dream of being a successful full time author I certainly need to be present in the world…but instead of keeping that presence to the digital realm I’m going to make sure I am present in the real world.
After all, what’s the point of living if the moments of your life are made numb by an addiction? I’d rather live 5 more years of vibrancy and fulfillment than 38 more years of dull and boring.
