Soul Coughing

I'm tired from being sick, a little tired of being sick, but kind of okay that my body has forced me into a bit of a stupor. Two days this week I have spent on our living room couch, largely confined to soul coughing, reading Anne Lamott, napping, reading The New Yorker, thinking, sniffling, blowing my nose, reading The Sun Magazine, listening to a bit of music (but not much because my ears are stuffed and muffle the nuance of most anything), reading Laurie Halse Anderson, napping a bit, and then reading Donald Hall. I've mostly stayed off my phone and been on the computer only to write and read a few good articles. These have been my days. Well, all that and the usual amount of existential panic. I get that whether or not I'm sick.

This panic (which a more reasoned observer would likely call anxiety) stems in part from the fact that I'll soon quit my job and need another job. I can't think of much I want to do for a job. This apathy could be the sick and tired talking or me just being so burned out by the job I have, but it is a feeling and way of thinking that I have had for longer than this illness, longer than this calendar year, longer than my daughters have been alive, longer than I have been married. It doesn't help to have so enjoyed these days of being sick on the couch, to have savored them more than most any other days this year. I've read an absolute ton, done some writing, and had some ideas become maybe a pixel or two clearer. I still live with my usual panicked anxiety, but if I could live like this, even with the terrible, wet cough, I think I'd be happy.

There are jobs to which I will apply, even some teaching jobs to which I might send applications out of desperation. My hope is that one leads to something more interesting and something more interesting after that. Maybe I'll trip into some connection with writing. It could happen.

This sickness started over a week ago and continues. I stopped taking medicine for it. Rest seems the only cure. I'll get better. That or I'll die. Those are the two choices. It will take some time to figure out which way things turn out this time. To quell my existential panic about these things I remember that I've always gotten better and that evetually we all die. It will all happen.

For now I'm going out for a slow walk. Winter, like this cold, is hanging on longer than it should. The sky is too blue for the cold, and yet there it is. I'll pull on a hat and my fleece. The dog will get excited and whinny. Yes, I'll tell her, let's go together. She won't care where we are headed, whether spring has truly arrived, the quality of my wet cough, or jobs. She feels not the least bit of existential anxiety. Not ever.

Home I'll return to the couch. She will stand next to it, lick my hand or feet, and wag her tail. I'll pet her neck and scratch her behind. She will go lie on her blanket, I'll read more. Or maybe I'll stare out the window, perhaps into the future. When it's all too much, when the soul coughing wracks my chest and will, I'll lie me down to sleep and pray for something my soul to keep.

Childish Contradictions

EDIT: I posted this late at night using a bluetooth keyboard attached to my phone. It did not go well. There was no alcohol involved, but five hours of driving, no sleep, a cold, and a bad keyboard took their toll. I've noticed and hopefully corrected the typos that were littered all over this.

I'm in a hotel room near the Univerity Of Vermont while my girls and wife explore the hotel in search of a bubbler for water. I woke this morning at 4:40 and wrote Morning Pages as always, had some breakfast, went to the job (last day before break!), stopped for gas, bread for sandwiches, and a book from the library on the way home, made sandwiches, helped pack the car, and drove for just shy of five hours from Syracuse. I'm tired now. Ready for sleep.

Tomorrow we tour St. Michael's College, an institution that has been heavily courting our girl. We will have to see what she thinks of the place and what our financial situation thinks about it.

There is also the question of distance. I'm not sure how she feels about being five hours from home. I know how my wife feels. I'm curious what it would be like for me. I've been thinking about distance and closeness throughout most of the drive.

Seems to me it's not that far away even as it is a long drive. It might be the sort of thing that would be good for her and therefore good for us. I like the idea of her going out into the world even as I hope that she will come right back.

I know this much about raising children (and probably not much more): I can't predict what tomorrow will be like even as I have some ideas. This is a good balance like being far away from and close to understanding. Raising kids is an act of faith and of discipline. It requires vigilance and turning a blind eye. It is holding tight and letting them slip out of sight.

Does parenting contradict itself? Very well then, it contradicts itself. it is large. It contains multitudes.

One other thing about taking our kid to tour colleges: watching our daughters grow up is heavenly wonderful and absolutely terrible. I suppose that's exactly how things are supposed to balance.

What Are You Doing?

Twice in half an hour I have had to ask myself, what are you doing? I have asked it out loud because it seemed important enough to answer. Both times I have been staring at the laptop on which I've opened a new tab looking to distract myself with...anything. What are you doing? Each time I have stepped away from the computer and done something more useful, but I'm still wondering about my answer to that question.

An old Genesis song begins with Peter Gabriel crooning, "looking for someone". I stare into the computer looking for something. Looking for distraction to take me away. This is why I had to quit Facebook and why I use Twitter only for writerly stuff. I kept looking at social media, news, and YouTube to relieve me of thinking, to deliver me from boredom, a thing which I realize scares me.

Why is boredom frightening? Does it frighten other people? Maybe that's why we stare at our phones in line at Wegmans. Don't tell me all those people are reading books.

A couple weeks ago I wrote about doing nothing and yet I don't let myself do nothing. It doesn't count to stare at nothing on the screen waiting for good news, watching YouTube to pass the time, or anything else that tries to dodge boredom. I'm talking about sitting still, doing nothing. Haven't done it. I haven't been able to stand it.

Even now, I'm too interested in writing this to stop. I looked out the window for thirty seconds but had to get back.

There are worse things, but here's what concerns me: my fear of boredom is an indication of dissatisfaction mostly with myself. I'm afraid to be truly alone with myself and know what the truth of that. Hmmm. Heady stuff. I would think about it, but I'm too busy worrying what you're thinking of me as you read that.

Duh.

Twice in half an hour I've gone to the computer for distraction. Then I came to the computer to write this. Those things all being done, I have ten minutes to stop, resist the desire to revise this or just open another tab. I have the chance to be bored and ask myself what are you doing? just to hear what the next answer might be.

Digital Minimalism: An Easy Hack

There are a lot of tricks to getting off the phone and into the world. Turn the screen grey, set timers for app use, shut off the data and only use the thing on wifi, leave it in airplane mode most of the day, turn off notifications, and more. I have a three-step tip that may be even more powerful.

1. For one day leave your phone behind, powered off, or on do-not-disturb. Whatever you can manage is fine but those three options are in the order of their power.

2. Watch people use their phones. Hear them blast music through headphones. Watch them text while their child goes ignored. See them read texts and email during intermission at the theater. Try to ignore them recording the concert you're attending.

3. Realize that we have met the enemy and he is us.

My phone is in my pocket. Notifications are off. I've been reading a book. My students are supposed to be reading as well. One next to me has his headphones blaring and hasn't turned a page in six minutes. He looks at the page then shifts to the phone. He's not just listening to music. He's got a video playing and can't look away for long. He has also, in six minutes, received 37 notifications. I've listened to the phone buzz.

How sad this makes me. He is a high school senior who cannot set his phone aside, cannot let it go. The phone often leads him into terrible, angry fits. I've watched him laugh at something on it, then look around as if to share before realizing no one else has seen it. He often asks, what? but is rebuffed because no one wants to bring him up to speed on the real world he chooses to miss.

Watching him I see me. God knows how much I missed when I was on Facebook. Has there ever been a tweet worth remembering a year later? I should never waste time learning what the big orange maggot has done today, who he has fired, for what he is being indicted. That way leads to regret.

The quickest way to get me off my phone is seeing others lost to theirs. Maybe I want to be better than them. I certainly want to be better than I am when I'm acting like that.

Take a phone holiday and observe all those staring into their screens as if that was the only world. As if that was a world worth living in.