I gave up social media for Lent. I knew that I needed a break from the endless scroll but I also needed the accountability of good old-fashioned Catholic guilt. I was honestly eager to delete the apps from my phone and though the grab-and-stare habit is still there, I’m slowly moving away from the crutch of constant entertainment.
After the new year, I found myself being inundated with encouragement to declutter, destress, and debloat all while taking back my mornings and signing up for the latest course/ebook/workshop that will inevitably help me to be more productive/creative/entrepreneurial. I was watching one sped-up video after another of people doing things that I could or arguably should be doing instead of just doing them. Worse though, I was letting the experiences that others were choosing to share make me question the way I was spending my time. Was it possible that I wasn’t doing nearly enough even though I felt maxed out?
This brought me back to the reminder that the most important things often happen in the moments no one sees. The moments in between the posts that are neatly stacked in a grid or the dots at the top of a story. Outside of the 30-second snippets or the two-line captions, we are all out here living our 24 hours each day; laughing and crying, sending emails, and joining forces around a dinner table. We are taking a few extra minutes in the car before we head in the house and forgetting to switch out loads of laundry. This much-needed, albeit short, break from social media is reminding me to mind my own business. To focus on my 24 hours.
I spent the morning being inspired by young perspectives found in college students early in their journey and ended it by reminiscing with a friend about the highs and lows of our careers. We talked about the misplaced arrogance we carried around as fresh-faced twenty-three-year-olds and the tough reality that comes with enough experience to feel the sting of no longer fitting somewhere. I thought about all of the times I had resisted changes that ended up making me better and the times I’ve fought for my place and won. If I’m being honest, the changes I resisted shaped me more than any time I demanded to be heard. The experiences I was least likely to share were ultimately the best stories.
I hope at the end of these 40 days, I have more stories tucked in the pages of the journal in my drawer, photos that capture sweet and wild moments with my crew in my camera roll, and a mind that doesn’t immediately reach for a distraction in the quiet moments.
-T-
