Is a sense of contentment so rare that I feel compelled to blog about it? Maybe it's because this time of contentment was unexpected. I expected to be anxious and sad--anxious about the future and sad about my boyfriend returning to another state.
Just as our half a summer together was a gift, so too is the peace I feel now that it's over. Earlier this month, I considered buying a computer game to lose myself in after he left. But I haven't felt the need. Partly because I realized that as a Christian I don't numb pain. I walk through it. And I'm coming to see the ache of parting as something of a blessing. As Winnie the Pooh says, “How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.”
I haven't figured out how to channel this unexpected peace. I know I should be delving more deeply into prayer, Bible study, and the other disciplines. I have several books left on my To Read in 2013 list and a workbook on handwriting improvement. For the moment, though, I am getting reacquainted with myself. By that I mean enjoying afternoons when I can settle in with a cup of tea or clean out my closet or have a long talk with a friend. It's good.
Saturday, August 24, 2013
Saturday, August 10, 2013
Goodbye, iPhone
Today we had a funeral for my boyfriend's iPhone.
Last Sunday we visited the pool, and he waded in with the unfortunate device in his swim trunks' pocket. It took a few minutes for him to discover the disaster. Or at least I thought it was a disaster; he was unfazed. When we got back to my apartment we stuck in in a plastic baggie filled with rice to draw out the moisture.
After almost a week, he managed to turn it on long enough to download two hundred some-odd pictures. And today we drove to Best Buy to return the phone and order his replacement. But before we left the car we took a moment to say goodbye to the old iPhone.
We knew we were being silly. But there was a real sense of loss, I think because so much of our communication is mediated through this device. It is the physical representation of all those texts and phone calls that make up a long-distance relationship.
A slightly different example of the personalization of impersonal things: last week I faced a large service bill for my truck (a 2001 Dodge Dakota). Someone mentioned that I should think about getting a new car. Quite aside from the hassle of car shopping, I realized I don't want to part with this truck. My dad drove it before me, and it has been my friend "through many dangers," if I may borrow Gandalf's line.
Thankfully, my boyfriend was able to replace his phone at no cost, and my service bill was much lower than estimated. But I realized that it's more than money that ties us to phones and cars. They become invested with part of our lives. I suppose it's a hazard of modernity.
Last Sunday we visited the pool, and he waded in with the unfortunate device in his swim trunks' pocket. It took a few minutes for him to discover the disaster. Or at least I thought it was a disaster; he was unfazed. When we got back to my apartment we stuck in in a plastic baggie filled with rice to draw out the moisture.
After almost a week, he managed to turn it on long enough to download two hundred some-odd pictures. And today we drove to Best Buy to return the phone and order his replacement. But before we left the car we took a moment to say goodbye to the old iPhone.
We knew we were being silly. But there was a real sense of loss, I think because so much of our communication is mediated through this device. It is the physical representation of all those texts and phone calls that make up a long-distance relationship.
A slightly different example of the personalization of impersonal things: last week I faced a large service bill for my truck (a 2001 Dodge Dakota). Someone mentioned that I should think about getting a new car. Quite aside from the hassle of car shopping, I realized I don't want to part with this truck. My dad drove it before me, and it has been my friend "through many dangers," if I may borrow Gandalf's line.
Thankfully, my boyfriend was able to replace his phone at no cost, and my service bill was much lower than estimated. But I realized that it's more than money that ties us to phones and cars. They become invested with part of our lives. I suppose it's a hazard of modernity.
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