Yesterday, as I walked down the sunny autumn street, headphones on, I realized I was smiling. I also realized I am never so happy, so expansively filled with magnanimity as I am just before I leave for a trip. It seems at those moments that it is what I am meant to be doing all the time.
And so, I leave this quick missive to let you know there will be photos and experiences to share on my return.
Ciao, friends!
Ever since I can remember, summer to me has meant barefooted days spent stretched out on a blanket reading. I’d get lost between the pages, traveling through imaginary worlds for entire days, preferring to keep my eyes cemented to the book during lunch than to break the spell for even the few moments it took to gulp down a PB&J.
When I started working summer and evening jobs, then went to university out of high school it started to change. I still read fiction for my English lit classes, and squeezed in a few pleasure reads where I could, but it wasn’t the same. I’d pick up the book and get the little buzz I always did from starting a new story, but I’d get through a few pages before either feeling guilty for enjoying myself instead of studying, or just passed out from exhaustion. There was no more losing track of time making friends of new characters, weaving my way through serpentine plot lines, breathlessly reaching the climax of the narrative, enveloping myself in the afterglow of a freshly finished book. Instead, I read with purpose. Absorb. Retain. Dissect. Synthesize. Regurgitate. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
Over the course of the past few months, though, I’ve come back to fiction. Certainly at nowhere near the pace with which I used to consume books (and I still pass out from end-of-day exhaustion after just a page or two), but a lot more than I have in recent years. Even though I write and edit for a living, I find that I still have the energy and desire at the end of the day to drift off into another world. Maybe it’s the heat, the late sunlight, or maybe it’s just that I’m calmer and ready to revisit the time in my life when I wasn’t too busy to just venture off into new territory.
Now that I have a real summer vacation coming up, one that doesn’t involve much travel and therefore too much sightseeing to squeeze into a what seems like a minuscule period of time, I’m excited about what books to dive into. I have two weeks of time to once again slip between the cool pages and visit someone else’s mind for a while. So, I’m taking suggestions. What’s your desert island book? A must read that maybe I haven’t heard of? Or the newest thing you’ve come across–a hot new author or title? Give me something strange, something precious, something funny or something sweet–or all of the above.
Gripped by a crippling ennui caused by heat, stiff muscles, restless sleep, stagnant work projects, and the knowledge that vacation is still a month away, I’ve been unable to write much of anything.
I’m heading to Nova Scotia for my vacation this summer. Airfare has been purchased, details are being cared for, now all there is to do is wait for the time to leave the city to arrive. I haven’t been back for almost 5 years, and I’ve never returned in the summer since I left home. The time is so filled with the promise of walking the beach, catching up on reading and writing, meals with old friends and family. The anticipation is so delicious that, in a strange way, I almost don’t want the vacation to actually come.
For me, going home is always a strange affair. Equal parts excitement and anxiety, so blended that it’s next to impossible to tell the two apart. The comfort of being in a place that knows you inside and out (and you, it) juxtaposed against resentment that comes from that very knowing. Peeling back the layers of nostalgia generated by distance in both space and time and not knowing whether what you’ll find underneath will be a soft, ripe fruit or a hard kernel. The place has a hold on me somehow. One that goes beyond just being where I grew up. It’s almost like a living being on its own, with a personality and emotions, the drunk at the party who’s boisterous and happy one moment, sullen and bitter the next. I’m hoping that when I peel everything back there’s a little of both.
A quiet evening spent sitting on the front step.
It rained today–a real, air-cleansing rain, one that soaks into the soil a good inch or so, leaving it spongy and clean-smelling. Now it’s stopped though, and the sky has cleared along the western horizon. But there are still places that threaten rain, where the clouds hang like wrinkled bedsheets put out on a line to dry on a still day.
I can hear the neighbors across the way unlocking their door, creaking it open; dogs and masters walk together, neither in a hurry, both smelling the air; a trolley hums by at the end of the street. Normally each of these things would steal my attention, but tonight I let them Doppler by as I sit.
I like the calm that settles in on a night like this. Though I’m in the city, I really could be anywhere. The delicate balance between content and resignation at another day’s passing has been struck. No need for deep thoughts tonight–best that they be allowed to slip in then fade like the evening sounds.
The after dusk cool sets in and the clouds start to move. Then so do I.
For a little background on what the heck I’m on about, please see:
http://www.thenoun.ca/2009/06/02/facebook-free-the-first-24-hours/
http://www.thenoun.ca/2009/06/02/into-the-facebookless-void/
Common symptoms of withdrawal include confusion, disorientation, and agitation. Check, check, and check.
I now understand why Day 1 wasn’t so bad. And let me assure you, it was not simply because I was too busy to look at Facebook.
It’s because every urge to creep, and snoop, and indulge my voyeuristic tendencies, and make snide remarks, and publish witticisms in my status field, and procrastinate and distract myself all swarmed me at once. The index finger on my right hand has a serious case of PCS (Phantom Click Syndrome) and I actually feel physically off. I fidget. I open browser windows for no apparent reason, stare at them, then remembering what I was about to do, I close them again. Yesterday I thought to myself, “Maybe I’m not at bad as I thought. I’ve probably just overreacted.” Wrong. Today is a completely different story.
Something that bothers me that I hadn’t expected was all the email that FB sends me, notifying me when a friend engages in some activity on my account. It’s all directed to my oldest-ever email address (my 15 year old Hotmail) and gets sent to the ‘junk’ folder. Even so, when I emptied the junk box as I do every morning, I couldn’t help but notice them. Trying not to read them, I hit the delete button, but not before I noticed that Jane invited me to… I’ll never know. At least not if it happens within the next 334 hours. I should probably resist the temptation to look at that folder again and let the junks take care of themselves. But for a brief period, I did try to justify to myself that reading the notifications was not cheating–I was simply checking emails. The lies we tell…
I just hope the idea that withdrawal symptoms generally only last 72 hours is not a lie.
For the background on the torturous experiment I’m embarking on, please read yesterday’s post.
Day 1 - I changed my Facebook status to say I’m going to be under the radar for the next while, and to phone or email to get in touch with me. I felt a little nervous, oddly, because it’s a pretty vague message. But if anyone really wants to talk to me that much, they’ll now know how to find me.
The Background
To further explain why I’ve decided to do this, I should probably explain a little more about who I am, and how I behave and interact with my electronic devices. For those of you who don’t know me, I’m from a rural area on Cape Breton Island. We didn’t have cable television (or anything more than the national broadcaster, for that matter) and though I left home just when the web was gaining popularity, my parents back home still can’t get high speed internet unless they’re willing to spring for their own orbiting satellite. I spent entire days outside in the yard, by the lake, or in the woods near my house. I read books as if their very existence was threatened and generally did kid things.
But later, once I’d embarked on more career-oriented jobs (as opposed to the myriad service-oriented jobs I held until I figured out what I wanted to be when I grew up), I found myself in front of a computer to do my work all day every day. Just as I do know. I spend eight to ten hours of each and every day in front of a monitor. Between that, and my mobile phone, I spend a lot of time in what I perceive to be my virtual life. They’re my primary means of communication, but at the end of the day, I find it a bit much. I find I can no longer keep a thought in my head for more than a few seconds, and just a few seconds later, I can’t remember what the thought was.
I started what I’m affectionately terming my “adventure in analogue” with Facebook because I can’t give up being online wholesale because of work. So, unless I’m on vacation, I have to be online. But the ‘Book is something I normally spend way too much time looking at. I click on it without even thinking about it, without consciously having something to look at. I just click around as if my finger needs the exercise. And trust me, as an editor, it does NOT need the exercise. My backside? Yes. My mouse finger? Nay nay.
Today’s Results
My friend sent me a link to a photo of the new guys she’s making out with these days. My finger hovered over the mouse button, about to click, until I saw the root of the site: Facebook. This would mean I’d have to log in to look at it, and I’m quite sure the temptation is too great. I’ll somehow justify a reason to “quickly look at my own profile, just this once, to make sure people get what I mean from my status”. So I let it be.
I was tempted quite a few times to log in and see if I have any new full messages. Not wall posts or invitations to listen to punk rock singles or send gifts to people. But real bona fide messages. Believe it or not, I didn’t succumb. Although my mouse most assuredly hovered over the link.
I honestly thought today would be terrible, but despite a few near misses, I’m okay. Iam extra busy at work these days, with deadlines hurtling themselves at breakneck speed towards the wazoo, which might explain the lack of FBDT’s.
Or maybe it’s just too soon.
My name is AnnMarie MacKinnon, and I have an attention span of approximately 2.24 seconds. Like most people, I often feel pressed for time, rushing from one thing to the next. I’m in constant contact for all of my waking hours (and for some of my sleeping hours). I tweet, read aggregated RSS feeds, text message, IM, and never go anywhere without Google Mapping it first. But when I found myself online at work looking for “lifehacks” to help me become more productive and ended up, an hour and a half later, at a Wikipedia entry about the naming customs of Taiwanese aborigines, I knew I was in real trouble.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not interested in becoming a complete Luddite. Nor do I want, metaphorically speaking, to henceforth shun Velcro in favor of the good old fashioned button. What I am interested in is regaining some of my ability to focus on one thing at a time, and with any luck, stop experiencing the intellectual equivalent of a bull-ride in my daily life.
But, baby steps. It takes time to wean oneself off these sorts of serious compulsions. So I’m beginning with Facebook. Not full-on FB seppuku. My account will still be there. I just won’t log in. For two whole weeks. I’ll chronicle each day, and any insights or blinding rages I may have at not knowing what the hell is going on in everyone’s life and what incredibly mundane photos they’re posting.
I’ll keep you posted…
I’ve often heard that if you put your trust in the universe, good things will happen. For the most part, I’ve always viewed that idea as a little too ‘rainbows and unicorns’ for me. But there’s also something very compelling about it. You mean, if i take the lazy way out, things will work out for me anyway? Sweet! But I don’t think being lazy is what’s intended. What’s really going on here is a friendly reminder to not worry about things over which you have no control anyway.
So, with that in mind, I’ve been attempting to carry out my life in such a way that I don’t worry about all the things that normally get to me: the rude or insensitive comments, what appears to be a population imbued with a giant sense of entitlement, the external pressures to be a certain way or to achieve certain things. Instead, I decided to only offer my precious brain power to the service of working on things I can control: keeping a positive attitude, fulfillment of wishes and dreams, helping out friends.
And as soon as I did, something weird happened. I got a phone call that would change things for me. It felt great. I was elated. I thought to myself: That was just what I needed. But after a while, when the initial excitement wore off, I started feeling anxious and not at all sure. Things weren’t really meshing with my original plan. I got another phone call. And the situation rectified itself. I was off the hook.
I started to attribute this to the universe, I have to admit. Sometimes she just throws you a bone, I thought, and I’ve been between bones for quite some time. And while I normally believe I make my own “luck,” such as it is, it’s tempting, and sometimes even pleasant, to believe you’re being cared for by something else.
Maybe it’s a bit of a cheat, but to break the pattern of not posting, I offer you this. A song that, without fail, always makes me happy when I hear it.
I’d like to bring your attention to a crippling disorder that is afflicting millions of North Americans every day. It’s called DOA–Delayed Onset Adulthood. You’ve probably never heard of it, but neither have 99% of the people who are suffering from this heartbreaking disease.
DOA is a spectrum disorder that most commonly strikes men and women between the ages of 25 and 40. Its symptoms, which range in severity from only occasionally noticeable to completely debilitating, are varied. Some DOA sufferers are incapable of self-regulating or of making even the simplest decisions on their own without checking in with their entire Facebook or blog cohort; others have completely lost perspective on reality, preferring instead to continue to believe they are as special as their parents told them they are, and that they will indeed eventually become the next big thing on the indie music scene despite the fact that they work in an office and haven’t touched their Casio keyboard in over 18 months, and then only to look for some rolling papers.
But there is a cure. A simple procedure, called a cranio-rectal extraction, relieves virtually all symptoms of DOA. So if you or someone you love is suffering from DOA, don’t hesitate. Call now. We can help. 1-888-HEAD-OUT.
This public service announcement has been brought to you by FUCUP (Federation for Underachievers Coping with Unrealized Potential).