Zen and the Art of Losing my Phone

Yesterday my husband took me out to brunch for Mother’s Day as today I celebrated with my own mom. We took a cab to the restaurant – I left my phone in said cab. It was an iPhone 6 and it was too big for my pocket. It’s long gone. Not having a smartphone for coming up on 48 hours is seriously strange. I wasn’t able to take a photo of my brunch at Jackson Hole and make a reference to the fact that it was THE hang-out place for private school kids when I was in high school and how cool was I!? I can’t post today’s picture for my latest Instagram posture challenge. Although I did make my husband take a picture of me and my daughter doing tree pose in front of a tree in Central Park. He was thrilled, let me tell you. And I missed a text from my friend who was in town from LA this weekend.

I am so proud of myself for not going back to Facebook. But I am totally obsessed with Instagram and just recently rejoined Twitter. But with Twitter, some hacker made an account with my email address and I took it back. I’m posting about my blog on there to see if it helps with readership, but I will most likely close the account because the blog and Instagram are really enough.

My son did something cute just now and I lamented the fact that I couldn’t take a photo of him. But why not just look at him and smile. Why isn’t that enough. Why does everything need to be documented? Why do I need to show people I had soft-scrambled eggs with pancakes for my Mother’s Day brunch.

I went out for drinks with a great friend last night – wrote the address on a little piece of paper and stuck it in my purse. On the train ride down, I read a book. We wandered around mid-town looking for places to visit without checking first to see if they were open or not. We talked to bartenders and a strange guy who’s girlfriend was none too pleased to see him chatting us up.

The truth is, I need the phone for work. The reality of my job and of society at large is that I am expected to be able to answer emails/texts/whatever at a moment’s notice. So I have filed an insurance claim and a new, cumbersome iPhone 6 is on its way to me in 2-3 business days. For now I have a crappy little flip phone, no contacts and zero interest in tapping out text messages via it’s nine little keys. I feel disconnected. In the middle of NYC with a laptop and internet access, I feel disconnected. It’s strange. It’s quiet. I want to say it’s nice. But it’s not.

Losing my phone has shown me just how much I need to work on meditation.


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