“The rise and triumph of the internet—the neurological network of the Machine—has meant that there are now few places on Earth to which we can escape from the incessant noise of this state-corporate ‘growth’ and the incessant urge to contribute to it by clicking, scrolling, buying, and competing.” Paul Kingsnorth
My spring break this year was lonely. So many plans could have made it amazing, but I squandered the week off of work like a good consumer stuck in the machine, addicted to screens. I didn’t fly out to Ohio to see my grandbabies because they are doing so well. After I left, Esther and John Ben had a lot of help from John Ben’s folks, and now they are back to classes and thinking deep thoughts. We didn’t take a family vacation because not all the kids have the same spring break this year. Sophia proposed a day trip, but the teens weren’t interested. Justin and Xenia spent most of their vacation in hibernation, coming out of their lairs for meals. I hoped to at least go to the zoo, but most of my friends with the week off were traveling or taking care of other things. After being rejected a time or two, I quit asking.
Without work to get me out of the house, I spent my time on projects, watching television, and reading novels on my phone. The projects were worthy of spring break dedication. Cleaning out the pantry was a fully two-day affair. I had seven bags of expired food to haul away and a box of rejected but good food to give to friends. We have so many people living in the house that the pantry tends towards chaos between the twice-annual clean-outs that prove the shelves can have a system in place. It had to be a solo affair because it’s the group mentality that disrupts the system and makes each horizontal surface a free-for-all. Worthwhile but a little lonely. I learned how to attach headphones to the laptop via Bluetooth and streamed a new show on Netflix. Whenever I needed to put my feet up, the den let me continue the show in decadence with chocolate, a bottle of Topo Chico on the side, and a bowl of popcorn…even though popcorn always makes me feel icky later. Shorter breaks were spent sitting in the great room reading a new YA novel that someone recommended to Xenia. Every so often, I’d wake up from my mind-numbed state after a chapter or an episode and wonder where everyone was. Then the anxiety of wanting to know what happened next would coerce me into buying the next episode, or book in the series, and away I’d go again.
I spent the second half of the week with the television running in the background while I formatted and uploaded a rewrite of Syra’s Scribbles II. It has the same stories as the original, with a few more details added and updated grammar. Best of all, it has a new cover that matches the rest of the series. You can now line up all six Syra’s Scribbles on your shelf in an aesthetically pleasing manner. It took a multitude of edits and converted PDFs before the manuscript was ready between which I would stand up and stretch and look around at the seemingly empty house where everyone was off doing their own thing.
My show devolved into silliness in the second season, and I despaired of ever finding out the source of the mystery in the premise. I began to doubt that the writers even knew themselves, and wondered how many seasons they were going to stretch it out. Once I saw the hand of the writer behind the actions of the actors, all was lost for enjoying the show, and it was easy to stop midway through. The kids could see that coming from the beginning and had had no desire to binge-watch with me. I couldn’t take even one episode of whatever they were watching either. We have too many choices and too many screens for television to be the group activity of my youth.
My social life is so planned out that it didn’t occur to me to call anyone in the lucid moments of loneliness that were soon pacified with another chapter in the YA novels on my phone. The breaks between chapters and novels in the series gave me a pang of anxiety. Stronger than the need to connect with other people was the demand to see how the heroine would manage her latest crisis. Mom used to lose herself in her murder mysteries when I was growing up, but somehow it felt like we were always living at other people’s houses. We ate dinner with her friends, and the adults talked through the evening or played cards. She had her everyday friends that needed to be seen in person all the time. After she moved in with Mike and the kids and me, she and I were our everyday people. As the anniversary of her death comes closer, I miss her annoying daily tea parties and the way that every trip to the pharmacy or dialysis was like an adventure with music blaring through the speakers and both of us singing at the top of our lungs.
Appointments lured me out of the house over spring break, and I loved the twenty-minute drives to the chiropractor or specialists, which offered a chance at connection. The kids or Coryn and I talked there and back again and chatted in the waiting rooms. Still I was more than ready for connection by Friday when I had lunch with Christa and Kelly before Christa, and I headed over to Dorothy’s for music practice. The pirate party this summer is a great reason to meet up with friends throughout the spring to practice. The three of us were great together!
Saturday was the best day, though, because it was the Lenten retreat at St. George Greek Orthodox Church. Six hours without a computer or phone was the medicine my soul needed most. The topic of the retreat was the cross since it was the weekend of the cross. Between the television series and the YA novel that Xenia was reading, and I had to read too, my thoughts that week had been of aliens and superpowers and dystopian worlds. The speaker asked us to spend time with the rest of the people at our tables, sharing what the crosses in our lives looked like. At my table, which included my friends Lynda and Lew, we all happened to be parents of adults and/or teenagers. After a moment of reflection, concerns for all six of my kids came rushing at me. We talked about the power of praying for our kids, and my heart broke at the way all my worries about life had been smothered by illusion and fantasy. Aside from presanctified liturgy on Wednesday night, my prayers had been on vacation, and I hadn’t made more than a minimal effort at connection with the teenagers who shared this spring break. Where had all that time gone?
It’s good to be back at school, back to a healthy daily routine. Spring break was a wake-up call, though. I can’t let summer break lead me down such depressive paths. Having the grandkids around will help, but when the kids are off traveling to their conferences and visiting friends and family, I must have a new normal thought out. As alluring as fantasy is to me, I must resist the siren call and embrace reality. Life is good. The cares and concerns for my family and friends are signs of my love for them, and I don’t want to mute them or drown them in electronic imaginations.
In his book, Against the Machine: On the Unmaking of Humanity, Paul Kingsnorth says, “People, place, prayer, the past. Human community, roots in nature, connection to God, memories passed down and on. These are the eternal things.” Then he asks, “What will we do amidst the rise of the robots…”
When I think to myself, “I have free time now! I should do something fun,” I hope I will think of playing musical instruments with my friends or walking outside in nature, praying an Akathist, or spending time making memories with the kids and grandchildren. May God give me the strength to hide the remotes, close my laptop, and put away my phone.
If you haven’t read it yet, Esther has a good review of Against the Machine
Syra's Scribbles 