Accept no substitutes

The sound of a Hammond B3 is unmistakable. (Image credit: ArtBrom, CC BY-SA 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons)

Like a lot of people, I can get lost in my phone.

I’ve noticed that this happens most often when I’m tired—first thing in the morning, late in the evening, or when I’m finishing up an onerous chore and wondering what to do next. The default “next” is to pick up my phone if I’m not being thoughtful about how I’m spending my time.

My phone—or any other quick source of dopamine— can easily mask what I really want. It can even make me forget what I wanted. In my pursuit of the short-term reward, the long-term gets lost. This may be a means of finding pleasure, but it’s no recipe for joy.

Therefore, amidst the seductive bells and whistles of the digital world and the sugar-coated distractions of the real one, I have to continually return my attention to that which will bring a deeper satisfaction, and accept no substitutes.

In that moment when I wake up but haven’t yet summoned the energy to get out of bed, I can push through the discomfort and arise instead of picking up my phone.

When I’m getting hungry and cranky and having trouble concentrating, I can stop working and prepare myself a healthy meal instead of grabbing a sweet snack.

When I feel bad about not having texted someone back right away, I can take the time to just do it instead of tapping over to a different app to avoid the discomfort.

As I rack up these little wins, I find opportunities to make larger adjustments. I might realize that I’m zoning out on a TV show when I really want a nap. I’m wearing a shirt with a hole in it instead of throwing it out and getting a new one. I’m complaining to a friend about a problem instead of solving it. I can replace each of these behaviors with a more beneficial one.

And then, there are the really big shifts: moving to a new city, getting a new job, starting, ending, or improving our relationships, and so on. Some of us will eat a lot of junk food, drink a lot of alcohol, buy a lot of stuff, and spend a lot of time on Facebook in order to avoid acknowledging that what we really need to do is massively overhaul our life.

Having made some of these big, scary changes to my life, I can attest to the peace and clarity that can be found on the other side. But I find that even little victories, like discontinuing an episode of revenge bedtime procrastination to finally turn off the light, can strengthen my confidence and make it easier to keep working toward a life that feels more like the one I imagined for myself.

Truthfully, after over a decade with a smartphone, I don’t really wanna look at at it most of the time. I don’t care about social media anymore, and the latest headlines are not exactly beguiling, either. It’s just a habit for when I can’t think of something better to do. But once I pick it up, I find texts and notifications and a bottomless pit of possibilities. So the best thing for me to do, if I’d like to find more peace and productivity, is not pick it up in the first place, or at least to do so with intention.

Of course, the phone is not the only obstacle in my path toward a more conscious life. There are browser tabs galore. There’s candy and clutter and convenience. I can find a ready escape from difficult work and uncomfortable feelings pretty much anywhere. But if I reflect on it before, during, or after—preferably before—I can figure out what’s behind the shortcut I’m taking and what would be a more sustainable, joyful route to where I want to be, even if I’m not sure of my exact destination.

I seek a lasting happiness. And I know it’s not to be found in a quart of ice cream, but I’ll at least get a variety with no artificial flavors, gums, or stabilizers. I’ll always listen to Little Richard’s version of “Tutti Frutti,” not Pat Boone’s. And when I find myself feeling kind of listless and aimless, I won’t just find a way to dull the feeling. I try to listen to what it’s telling me about what I want and what I need. I might not be able to have exactly what I’m looking for in that moment, but I can get closer. That’s okay. In the seeking itself, I discover joy.