Disconnecting in an overly-connected world...

Technology is a wonderful thing... until it takes over.

I'm reminded on a fairly regular basis that, these days, people are so attached to social networks, television and cell phones that they're beginning to lose their personal connection with everything around them.  I always think "how sad that someone could be so addicted to TV that they don't spend time with their family, so connected on Facebook and Twitter that they're unable to perform a single action during their day without letting their 'friends' know what they're up to, and so in need of a constant connection to the outside world that they can't even part with their cell phone during dinner." 

And then I remember... I'm one of those people.

Heaven help me if I haven't read every single post in my Facebook news feed.  And there are just some shows I can't possibly miss.  I pretend it's not so bad... it's not as if I stay home on a Wednesday night because I don't want to miss my favorite show... that's what a DVR is for!  And think of all the time I save by fast forwarding through the commercials!

Don't get me wrong, there's no harm in watching TV, keeping up with friends and relatives online or being connected to the outside world.  The problem is when Facebook feels like a lifeline.  When the fate of television characters starts to feel as important as the real people in our lives.  When the misplacement of a cell phone causes panic to set in, as if it's the worst possible thing that could ever happen.

Of course, I can't just deactivate my Facebook account... too many relatives rely on me to post pictures of my son and keep them apprised of the goings on in his life.  It's not for me, it's for them.  And as far as TV is concerned, who doesn't deserve a little down time... a little break from reality... a chance to lose yourself in the lives of nonexistent people? 

Still, I find myself wondering... what would life be like if I could just disconnect for a while.  Would I be more productive?  Would I be bored enough to workout on a regular basis?  Would it allow me to take more time to reconnect with the people I call friends?  Sadly, I'm not sure I have the willpower to find out... the very idea of disconnecting makes me nervous... I break out in a cold sweat... now that I think of it, where is my cell phone?  Maybe I should make sure I haven't missed a call.

As I finish this post, my cell vibrates to alert me of a new text received and I drop everything I'm doing as if this will be an earth-shattering matter that I must attend to immediately.  An 'I love you' text from my husband.  Sweet?  Absolutely.  Earth-shattering?  Debatable.  I may not be up for the challenge... but I'm certainly a prime example of someone who should give it a shot. 

The acknowledgment of a problem is a step in the right direction... right?

You can't call it writer's block...

Writer's block would suggest an inability to come up with an idea, a character, a plot... a lack of inspiration.  These are all things I have.  My characters are intriguing, the story line interesting.  I have imagined the smallest details of a New York City apartment, the meager belongings of a man on the run and the quiet surroundings of a cabin in the woods.  I know the physical features of the characters... it's as if I'd known them my entire life... we'd be friends if they actually existed.  Instead, they nag at me from inside my head, wanting me to share their story... or at least try.

What I have is writer's fear... apprehension... anxiety... trepidation.  Of course, I'm not even sure you can call it "writer's" anything when I'm not actually a writer.  I've never written before, have absolutely no education on the subject and have only made the smallest of efforts to put my thoughts to paper.  Within hours of putting something down, the file is deleted, the dream stashed away for another day.  And somehow I still think of myself as a writer. 

I don't know where it came from... it just snuck up on me one day.  The smallest seed planted deep in the back of my brain, watered sparingly and offered little light.  Then suddenly there was an uncontrollable desire to be something I'd never been... my little seed has become an overgrown weed... not entirely unpleasant, but quickly taking over every thought in my head.  And now it's as if I'm cheating myself in some way by not trying.  Is it a fear of failure?  An inability to commit to the work it would require?  It's hard to say.  But either way, it's anything but writer's block.

Falling in love with something new

I hurt.  A lot.  But it's a good hurt.  The kind you get when you try something new physically and it kicks your ass.  The sign of a good workout.  The stretching of body parts you were sure would never be flexible again.  The use of muscles you weren't even sure you had.  The reminder that you aren't as young as you once were.  It's the kind of pain that comes from one's first yoga class.  It hurts.  And I love it.

Monday night was my first yoga class... thank you, Mel, for suggesting it; thanks, Jenn and Aaron, for forwarding the groupon that made it insanely inexpensive; and thank you, fine yoga instructor, for convincing us that our bodies were capable of strange positions that I'm still not sure are completely natural.  Running a marathon proved I had abilities I didn't know I had.  Yoga forced me back to the reality that there are still a few things my body is currently incapable of.

It was a good reminder.  It's time to dust off those muscles I'd forgotten about and take advantage of 80 minutes of totally calming me time.  It's time to learn something new.  And it's time to make that transition from downward dog to cobra pose my bitch.