Of Shepherds and Sheep

For a brief moment, James stopped and stared at the miracle, transfixed by a reverence that seemed to have materialized in his heart out of nothingness. He was late for his next appointment, but he wasn’t in a hurry. Or, at least not in such a hurry that he didn’t have time for admiring a miracle. After all, miracles were in unusually short supply these days.

“The leaves are beginning to turn,” James noted consciously, as his mind caught up with his soul. He loved it when the leaves turned. He liked to watch the slow, steady, and incomprehensibly-instantaneous transformation from green to gilt-edged, to gold and crimson and ripe barley. Something in the death-process of the leaves stirred that part of him which was still capable of feeling anything without first being exposed to a glowing screen.

It was good to feel.

Musing on nothing but feeling something, he reached the door that marked the entrance to the next scheduled block on his calendar: an appointment with his counselor.

As far as counselors went, so far as James knew, Mike Smith was decent enough. Mike’s office, which was also his house, which was also his cat’s house, (an order of descriptive priority that the cat, a tabby whose purpose for existence, it seemed, was to provide a perfect and living definition of the word “supercilious”, would undoubtedly have taken exception too if he could be bothered to give his opinion on the matter) was pleasant enough.

But James had about had enough. He was sick of counseling. He was sick of scheduling blocks on his calendar for being counseled.

And he was sick of the cat.

So, James’ presence on the stoop that day was not an exuberant one, his reverence pouring out from a hole somewhere near his elbow as he raised his hand to knock on the door. The steps he took inside, the return greeting he gave, and the manner with which he undid his coat’s zipper, could have been described as lackadaisical if they had not so effectively communicated his doneness with it all.

And James was done, he told himself for the umpteenth time.

And he was tired. He didn’t typically walk as far as he had to come here today. Mike had somehow gotten the idea that James’ walking to their next counseling appointment would benefit James somehow. James wasn’t entirely clear on the concept, but it included a great many words from Mike about “fresh air” and “change of scenery” and “consciousness” and other worn-out clichés about the benefits of eschewing convenience.

But James was not one of the iron-willed, self-deterministic members of society. Indeed, James was part of that significant subset of humanity that seems to exist for the sole purpose of doing what other people tell them to do. He liked to pretend that he was capable of independent existence. But he wasn’t. Like many others, James was only happy when he had someone telling him what to do. That way he could mentally complain about them while he did whatever it was that they wished him to do and thereby give meaning to his otherwise meaningless existence.

So James had walked to his appointment today.

And he sat down in the austere fabric chair across from Mike’s plush leather one. Mike Smith was one of those counselors clichéd enough to recommend walking to appointments, but he wasn’t clichéd enough to have a chaise lounge for his counselees to lay upon while he asked them about their childhood. And he certainly wasn’t one to scratch illegible notes on a yellow legal pad and mutter insightful “uh-huhs” at appropriate intervals while James was speaking either. He used a phone with a large screen and was strictly silent except for when he was talking.

It was James who supplied the “uh-huhs.” Mike was prone to long speaking fits. He would break out into one after every few answers James gave to his questions. James would maintain eye contact with Mike, nod appreciatively on occasion, and utter appropriate “uh-huhs” whenever Mike delivered some rehearsed line that he thought was smart and seemed to be trying out for the book he was writing. Mike fancied himself an expert on some esoteric branch of some field or another and, like most self-fancied experts, couldn’t resist at least a small amount of preening in front of the less-informed members of society.

James fit the bill. In fact, he barely qualified for “less-informed.” Like a boulder levered out of rest by external force and bounding down a hillside, James operated less on information than on sheer momentum.

He was in counseling because the sentencing judge in his drunk and disorderly conduct case had told him to be in counseling, along with completing 30 hours of community service.

The reason the case had been one of drunk and disorderly conduct with a sentence of court-ordered counseling and community service instead of the more serious charges of public nudity, defacement of government property, and drunk and disorderly conduct was because he did what his lawyer told him to do and pled guilty to the lesser charge in exchange for a lighter sentence and having the other charges dropped.

The reason he didn’t also have to negotiate a charge of assaulting a police officer was that he had done what the police officer told him to do and stopped peeing on the officer’s car instead of swinging at the officer like his friend Joey had.

The reason James had been peeing on the car that night was that he had been doing what Joey told him to do: namely, to go out on the town, then to drink more than he could handle, and then to urinate on a parked police car while Joey filmed the incident.

And the reason he was out drinking with Joey was that when James’ girlfriend, Amanda, had replied to his request for her to join him out on the town with an “I’m busy. Ask someone else,” he had.

“Uh-huh,” James mumbled, not because anyone had told him to, but because it felt like it was time.

After the hour was up, James left the chair, zipped his coat, replied to Mike’s farewell, and stepped back outside. He mindlessly groped around his pockets before realizing that he had walked here and would have to walk back now.

Grumbling vaguely to himself, he set back off in the general direction he had come from earlier. He crossed wide sidewalks and narrow streets before coming to the path through the park that stretched out across the lane from his apartment. He stopped there, ostensibly to catch his breath.

Instead, he pulled out his phone. No badge icons to indicate a new message or notification. He pressed the calendar icon and stared at the screen blankly while a swirl of colors in the center indicated that it was thinking about his request. After a few heartbeats, his schedule finally swung into view. Nothing. It was blank until tomorrow morning’s shift at the shop.

He hit the home button and then gently tapped the icon for his favorite social media app. It leaped at his touch, springing to into action and almost immediately flinging updates from friends, both real and digital, against the glossy glass screen. He scrolled for a moment, saw nothing going on that captured his attention and pressed the lock screen button.

He looked up at the trees lining the park, marshaled like barbaric champions pressing back against the encroaching urban hordes.

A bit of reverence slid down from the crook of a branch, entered just at the top of his spinal column, and suffused his being. He slipped the phone back into his pocket. He had time for a walk in the dying woods. After all, today was a day for miracles.

Was it this one? Or this one? Or this one?

What about this one? Maybe this one? Or it might have been this one?

I don’t know which article first made me aware of my phone addiction, but I’ll tell you what really brought it home: my kids. It wasn’t that they had to keep interrupting my train of thought to get my attention.

It was that they had stopped trying.

Oh, sure, they’re kids and occasionally couldn’t help themselves. But, generally, if my cell phone was in my hands, they would ignore me as completely as I was ignoring them.

Yes, that’s terrible. But I’ve started to change. I’ve tried to conscientiously keep my phone in my pocket or on a shelf when I’m at home and the kids are awake.

And I thought I was doing great until recently. We had friends over for dinner and stayed up later than normal. After we realized what time it was, our friends hurried off with their kids and we rushed to get ours in bed.

Once the kids were down, the last dishes cleared, and food safely stored away, my wife and I sat down at the table, held each other’s hands, and, maintaining eye contact the whole time, had a deep and meaningful conversation before retiring to our own rest.

Wait. No, that’s not what happened. It actually went something like this:

Once the kids were down, the last dishes cleared, and food safely stored away, my wife and I sat down…and I pulled out my phone.

Yes, I did.

After a day in which I’d been away in meetings and concerned with my own projects; during which she made sure the kids were cared for, educated, and getting plenty of fruits and veggies; ensured the house was spotless for our guests; planned and prepared a delicious meal for the evening; took care of the ever-growing menagerie that is somehow accumulating on our property; and was a pleasant and gracious hostess…

I pulled out my phone.

Obviously, I wasn’t paying attention but I’m sure that if I had been I’d have seen the look of resignation on her face as she, following my lead, did the same. Not because she’d rather do that than have a conversation with me, but because I wasn’t available for that conversation.

I realized my mistake while waiting for another article to load. But by that time, it was too late to do anything but go to bed and try again the next day.

I woke up the next morning, ready to put the phone down and lift my family up.

Not so fast.

I typically get up earlier than the rest of the crew, so it was just me and the dog. I took her out, wandered around the backyard while she, well, you know, and went back inside. Got her kibble bowl filled, made sure she had fresh water and plenty of toys, and…pulled out my phone.

Do you ever get that feeling that someone is watching you? I got it about five minutes later.

I glanced down from my screen and there’s the dog. Staring at me. With those sad, puppy eyes.

Even the dog knows when a set of glowing pixels is more important to me.

And the fact that even the dog knows that makes me want to radically rethink my relationship with my technology.

I hope that I’m the only one who struggles with this problem. It’d end up being a pretty terrible world if more than one person were walking around giving more attention to a hunk of glass and metal that beeps occasionally rather than to the living, breathing, feeling beings surrounding him.

But in case I’m not the only one, and to avoid that terrible, distracted world from being our reality, here are some tools that have been helpful to me in cutting the umbilical cord attaching my face to my screen. Maybe they will be helpful for you too.

Accountability

Like just about every other life change worth making, overcoming a phone addiction is easier when you don’t try to do it alone. In a previous post, I mentioned a statistic: 8 of 10 commitments fail without some means of accountability.

We need accountability. I need accountability. That’s one of the reasons I’m writing this article. That’s why I’ve talked to my wife about my commitment. I shared my intentions with my small group at church. I’ve enlisted others who will bolster my commitment to changing.

You should too.

Freedom App

You know that device you’re carrying around that you’re addicted to? Did you know that it can be fooled into actually helping you break your dependence on it?

There are apps that will remind you to not be on your phone so much. There are apps that help you slow down from time to time. And, if you’re like me with the self-control of a single-cell amoeba, there are apps that will block your use of those apps that are most addictive to you.

My choice was the Freedom App which I use to block social media access on my phone, but there are others out there. Find the ones that put the power of your smartphone to work for you, instead of against you.

Friends, IRL

One of the addictive aspects of your phone that is often billed as a feature is the virtual friendships you can have on social media. People get a high from interacting with other people’s online personas through likes, retweets, shares, etc.

Did you know you can get the same endorphin rush, and an even better one, from interacting with friends, in real life?

Invite some people over for a phone-free evening. Commit to one another that you won’t check up on your digital friends when your flesh-and-bone friends are hanging out. Play games. Eat dinner. Make something. Listen to a music album from start to finish together. Do something that doesn’t involve you being in the same room looking at different screens.

Try it. You just might end up liking it.

Read Books

Phone addiction is built on hundreds of tiny bits of focus being diverted to “just check it real quick.” One way to combat this segmentation of your attention stream is to focus intently on something else.

I recommend books.

Books require you to engage your attention both deeply and over longer periods of time. They require the ability to not just get caught up in the moment but to simultaneously retain previous statements even as you anticipate future developments.

A good book is a great antidote for your phone’s poison.

Let The Battery Die

Turn your phone off. Unless you’re reading this post on it right now, then just pretend. Look at it without the glow of the screen. It may have a nice cover and sleek lines, but I bet you wouldn’t be tempted to stare at it for hours on end, right?

I didn’t think so.

You can achieve this same effect by not charging your phone from time to time. Let it die on occasion. The first time it happens, you will panic, but it gets easier with practice.

Eventually, you’ll want to remember to charge it, but letting it die can help cut the tether it has attached to you.

Your Turn

These are just five ideas for breaking a phone addiction. I’m clearly no expert here, so what is working for you?

The title looks like clickbait, but it’s not. Seriously. These three questions will change your life (if you let them):

1. What is the most important time?
2. Who is the most important person?
3. What is the most important thing to do?

Those questions, and how you answer them, will go a significant way towards determining the nature of your life.

Of course, I can’t claim credit for them – that belongs to this guy:

In fact, you should stop reading this post and go read Tolstoy’s short story, “Three Questions.”

Go ahead, I’ll wait.

*unconsciously hums the Jeopardy Theme*

Ok, you’re back.

Or maybe you never left. Maybe you’re a rebel and don’t do what every random blog post tells you to. Or maybe you’ve already read it.

Whatever the case, I don’t want you to miss the significance of those questions. Let’s look at them one at a time:

1. What is the most important time? 

Most people would answer this one correctly: the most important time is right now. Pop psychology, YOLO, living in the moment, etc. etc. have taught most of us that much at least.

But verbalizing the right answer is not going to change your life.

In order for that to happen, you’ve got to live like you mean it.

We can all say that now is the most important time, but few of us live that way.

Some live in the past.

Some live in the future.

But you can’t control either of those.

The only time you can control is right now. So plan accordingly: is NOW really best spent binging another forgettable series on Netflix? Do you honestly believe that NOW is best given to mindlessly scrolling Facebook?

Instead of wasting it, do work NOW.

Instead of consuming it, start creating NOW.

The most important time is NOW, so changing your life starts with rethinking how you use NOW.

2. Who is the most important person?

Me. Myself. I.

Be honest, that’s how you’d really answer.

How do I know? Because that’s how I’d answer. That’s how every single human being on the face of Planet Earth would answer if they could be forced into a single moment of brutal honesty.

Tolstoy understood that because he saw it played out around him. A member of the Russian aristocracy who joined the army, he saw both the excesses of wealth and the depravity of war. These are both glaring symptoms of humanity’s self-obsession.

But Tolstoy found a better way when he started studying the teachings of Jesus, particularly the Sermon on the Mount. Central to Jesus’ teaching was the idea of self-denial.

Practically, that means forgetting about yourself and focusing on someone else.

The most important person is not you, it’s the person you are with right now.

Why? Because in a world of self-seekers, someone looking out for someone else is a major disruptor of the status quo. You don’t change your life by doing what everyone else is: you change it by doing what no one is.

That requires putting your little, self-curated, instant, digital, egocentric universe (your smartphone) down, maybe for more than five minutes (gasp). There’s lots of data on the impact of smartphones on real relationships: read some of it.

It takes intentional questions and actual listening. Most of what we call conversation is simply waiting for the other person to stop talking so we can start. That won’t fly in this new paradigm you’re establishing.

Deciding that the person you are with is the most important person in the world takes effort. It requires sacrifice. But it’s worth it.

Strangely enough, when you shift from a me-centered focus to an others-centered focus, you’ll find happiness, purpose, and meaning that you never had before.

But don’t take my word for it: try it.

It will change your life.

3. What is the most important thing to do?

“Ummm…”

(See, I told you that you should have gone and read the story.)

This question brings it all together.

Now is the most important time.

The person you are with right now is the most important person.

And the most important thing you can do is…(drumroll please)…

Do good for that person.

Obviously, that will look different depending on the moment and the person.

You don’t engage a gunshot victim in philosophical conversation.

You don’t bandage the mouth of a verbal sparring partner.

But you do in the moment for the person you are with what is going to be best for them. Sometimes that means being nice, sometimes that means being harsh, but it always means that your action is focused on benefiting them.

And it will change your life.

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