I was late to the team, getting my first smartphone last summer and sending my first text at 32. When I got it, it was everything I'd hoped. Photo-sharing was and continues to be a dream, and being able to check in and change plans on the fly beats borrowing the phone at the coffee shop. But convenience aside, I was happier before I got it.
The problem with me and my phone is that we can't lay off each other. We're like an ill-fated high school couple - too naive to think we're the problem, too desperate for acceptance to walk away. Where I used to stand at the sink doing dishes, allowing words to sometimes gather into sentences and then maybe even a blog post, I now stand rigid, glancing over at the phone, waiting for it to ding; even when I'm not actively engaging with it, I'm waiting for it to engage with me.
And so I gotta strip. Delete. Turn the thing all the way off and remember that sitting and doing nothing for fifteen seconds is an okay thing for a human to do.
Gotta find time, make time, be time.
Gotta strip it down to build it up.