REsources for Living
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The other day my internet went out. Eventually a guy from the cable company came out and determined that our cable had worn through from rubbing against a tree, and that really all of the cable from the main line to the modem needed to be replaced.
So it took a day before the repair guy came out, and a good chunk of time for him to get everything fixed. I might note that our internet cable not only provides my connection with the world of the internet (the world where the CLF primarily lives), it is also the source of my home phone service and the combination of Netflix and TV station websites that we use for watching TV. That same day a cell tower near my house was badly damaged, and I had no useable service on my cell phone, either.
My wife was gone for the weekend, my daughter at school or dance or her friend’s house where they have all the necessities of modern life. Like internet and cable. Now, I’m not someone who generally has problems with being alone. I like working from home, hanging out with only our pets for company. Except that I forget how rarely I truly am by myself. I meet with other members of the CLF staff in video conferences and we stay in touch through a regular stream of Facebook messages and emails. I follow the details of my friends’ lives, from life-threatening illness to what they had for lunch, on Facebook. While trolling the web I read political reflections from people I will never meet, and I share the lives of TV characters who don’t even exist. I might be the only person in the house, but I am far from alone.
I admit that I was more than a little bit grumpy about being cut off from all of my connections, unable to even call my wife to see how her trip was going. I felt isolated, and more than a little bored. But you know what? It didn’t kill me. The world managed to keep turning without my stuffing every little bit of it that I could in through my eyeballs at every possible second. And more than that, the very intensity of my grumpiness reminded me just how addicted I can become to constant hits off of other people’s lives: the chance to learn from or argue with or simply “like” what other people have to share—or to find affirmation from the fact that someone else is learning or arguing with or liking what I have to say.
In our modern world it’s easy to never truly be alone, with only our own thoughts for company. My daughter even takes her phone with her into the bathroom. It’s become incredibly simple to be in touch with anyone, any time. And I love that. I love coming to our CLF online worship and chatting with folks in Norway and Canada and Ghana and Germany and Denmark and all across the US. I love reading personal updates from my favorite authors and my friends from high school.
But I also know that there are some things that only happen when I’m alone. Really alone. Alone with the space that leaves room for my own deepest voice to speak. Alone with the silence that gives me room to sing. Alone with the discomfort that pushes me to address what is off-kilter in my life, and alone with the simple pleasure of watching the sun come through the window at the start of the day.
Maybe you, like me, could use a little time away from the addiction to constant connection. A little time to simply be with yourself. You could make a pilgrimage to a monastery, or commit yourself to silent meditation at a Buddhist retreat. Or you could just set your phone on the table and go for a walk, listening for the sounds of birds and what your heart might have to say. You could lie on the floor and breathe deeply, stretching your muscles in unfamiliar ways. You could turn off every electronic item in the house other than your refrigerator and look out the window, letting your body become in tune with the brightness of the day or the depth of the night. You could let your imagination wander out that window, following your thoughts wherever they might take you, exploring worlds that exist only for you. You could curl up in your favorite blanket and rest, allowing your body to feel whatever it feels.
You wouldn’t have to spend all day, let alone commit yourself to the life of a hermit. But for a little while, maybe even every day, you could pretend that all the wires that connect you to the stream of information from outside have been cut, and all there is—all there really is—is you.
- REsources for Living - December 1, 2020
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- REsources for Living - November 1, 2020
