Friday Feature: Putting Your Phone in its Place

 Some of my current reading -- perhaps a disproportionate amount of it -- has been focused on digital diets. This material has ushered me into a lovely guilt trip about the amount of time I spend on my phone doing things that aren't necessarily productive. And, when I vehemently resisted Catherine Price's suggestion that I remove those apps from my phone, I began to wonder if I had a problem. Was I deluding myself, or do I really have it under control?

In truth, the answer lies somewhere in between. Do I spend too much time on games? Probably. Do I sometimes mindlessly scroll through social media? Affirmative. Am I doing this at times when I could (reasonably) be doing something more productive? Sometimes. 

Am I out of control?

No. Not even close.

While reading these books has nudged me to take a closer look at how much time I spend in digital pursuits (as well as what those pursuits are), it has also reminded me that being productive 24/7 is really not a goal worth pursuing. Could I theoretically put my phone down at 9PM and write the next great American novel? Sure. Am I likely to really be able to do that?

No. Not even close.

We need a break. And in the 21st century, that break might very well be losing ourselves in an online game that allows us to not have to be doing anything in that moment. What we really need to consider is how that time and those pursuits make us feel, how much time we're (really) wasting, whether or not we have the cognitive capacity to engage in more productive pursuits at that time and, finally, whether or not that engagement would actually be a win.

To be fair, the books I'm reading do address this, particularly Cal Newport's Digital Minimalism, which I'm finding to be more nuanced than other books on the topic, nearly all of which suggest a period of going cold turkey followed by a slow, thoughtful reintroduction of key apps. What I like about Newport's approach (so far -- I'm still reading) is that he explicitly raises the question of whether or not the way we're using our devices is the best way to accomplish what(ever) it is we want to accomplish.

And that strikes me as a question worth asking. As a result, that's the question that's guiding my analysis of my time on my devices. If it's 10:30 PM and I'm in my recliner watching The Golden Girls and playing a game on my phone, it's a safe bet that I'm not trying to accomplish anything except downtime.  

And that's okay. 

So, as I analyze my time on devices, I have to separate work (teaching-related, writing-related, e-mail, social media posts for author purposes) from play and, as has been the case since long before we held computers in our hands, whether or not the balance between the two is right for me.

If you feel the need for a change in your social media habits, you might enjoy Cal Newport's Digital Minimalism. If you're looking for an overhaul of your habits, Catherine Price's How to Break Up with Your Phone might be a good fit.

But, if you're happy (and you know it), put down your phone and clap your hands. Finding digital balance is definitely a feat worthy of applause.

The Best-Laid Plans

 Yesterday, I promised myself that today I'd spend an hour on my current class (the one that just started today), an hour on the new class I'm planning for fall, and an hour on writing.

It's now 6:30 PM and the day, though well-spent, has not adhered to anything resembling those guidelines. 

Fortunately, my husband is planning to mow the lawn, which means it's not yet time for dinner, so I can squeeze in a little writing -- oh, wait, there's my phone.

Yeah. One of the many reasons my days don't go according to plan but, to be honest, I can't blame family phone calls (the only ones I pick up when I'm working) today.

This afternoon, I spent an inordinate amount of time revamping one single assignment, something I'm trying not to do this summer as this is the last time I'll be teaching this particular class. But, with the advent of AI, the assignment yielded far too many robotically voiced articles the last time I used it, and I don't want to read those papers again this summer.

So, revamping it is. I got a great idea for a different way to approach the assignment, which led me down a rabbit hole of videos, all of which I had to watch before I could assign them. 

None of this is terrible. In fact, it's one of my favorite parts of my job. I love learning new things, and I learned something new from everything I watched or read today. It was fascinating, informative but, unfortunately, time-consuming.

It also led me to think about what my reading and viewing habits will look like when I'm no longer teaching. Will I want to learn new things about child development? Will that $1 virtual subscription to Scientific American still tempt me? Will I actually read The New York Times virtual issues I pay for, or just keep playing the games?

There's much to be said for structure but also a lot to be said for flexibility. I've learned that, for me, flexibility is often where creativity dwells. The harder I try to stick to a routine that's not as well-conceived in reality as it is on paper, the less likely I am to come up with something new or to hit that lovely flow state where one idea begets another.

Today was a day well-spent, even if it was a little off-kilter. Now,  my brain is tired and ready for some leisure. I wonder what form that will take.

And I wonder what tomorrow will look like. 

Graphic credit: Image by Moondance from Pixabay

Yum-Yum

 Last weekend, I had the opportunity to visit the town that I consider my hometown, though in point of fact, I lived there only as an adolescent. My daughter was going to an event in Philadelphia and her idea was for her father and I to be her chauffeurs. We'd all drive to Haddonfield, and she would take the train Philly (and back after the event) so we could chauffeur her home again. Her selling point was that we'd get to spend time in my favorite South Jersey town. Kind of an impractical plan unless, of course, you’re the parent of a young adult who chooses to seize every opportunity to spend time with them, even if it’s just while they’re in the backseat of the car. 

Translation: I'm a sucker for both her and the town, so I took her up on her "generous offer."

Her main reason for the visit to Jersey, to be honest, was not her love for the town – although she does like it quite a bit, which makes me happy – it was to patronize a gluten-free shop. We'd first been there when she I took the trip (minus the Philadelphia detour) a year or so ago, and I shared all my stories of all the places. This time, she wasn’t around for the storytelling, but my husband was. 

It’s amazing how much a place can spark memories and emotion. Chief among them was pride, not just in the person I was then, but also in the town itself which still feels like a charming little hamlet -- one that was much more abuzz on a random Sunday afternoon than I expected it to be. This pride (and a bit of amazement) also extended to my mother, who did not drive, and walked back and forth to work every day dressed in full professional garb, as only she could. She was not that much younger than I am now, and the fact that I could definitely feel the difference in that journey now compared to traveling the same sidewalks as a teenager was what put me (once again) in awe of my mom.

I’m grateful that my husband chose to make the trip. Of the three of us, he had the least amount of interest in the destination, but opted to join us anyway. He also had the greatest amount of patience in the journey, not only in being the principal driver, but also in listening to my endless stories and letting me lead the way, which is not something that always comes easily for him.

It was a nice day, albeit a warm one. There were many wonderful memories, but perhaps the best one caught me by surprise. We were hot and tired and thirsty, and we stopped to sit, and my husband went to a little ice cream spot, ostensibly to get a beverage. He returned instead with an Italian water ice. 

I’ve had many versions of water ice over my life, but the one that’s stuck with me as the best was called Yum-Yum. It was a concoction I don’t ever recall having in Haddonfield, but rather in nearby Pennsauken where I spent my childhood. A man would go up and down our suburban street pulling a wagon with a tub of Italian ice in it, singsonging, "Yum-Yum, Yum-Yum." Parents would hand their children a few coins, and we would dash out and take this treat from a stranger dishing it out of a tub in a wagon. No one thought anything of it. In fact, it was just life in our neighborhood, another version of the ice cream truck that drew the same reaction.

Sitting in the gazebo in Haddonfield nearly sixty years later, my husband offered me a taste of his Italian ice and I was shocked to discover that it tasted exactly like the treat from the Yum-Yum man. Suddenly, I was eight years old again, and if I could have gotten my own tub of Yum-Yum/Italian ice safely home without it melting all over the car, I would’ve done exactly that. Even funnier, when I told my dad the story, I discovered that he was himself something of a Yum-Yum man, purchasing his own tub of the sweet treat and selling it at a profit.

It’s funny the memories that places stir up. And it’s lovely sharing those with the people we love now, sharing a history that precedes our current lives. 

I’m grateful that they listen to my stories. 

Book-By-Book, Part 2

 Last month, I kicked off a book-by-book feature with the story of my first two books, written primarily for school counselors. Keesha, described below, was originally in the cast of characters for Acting Assertively, but didn't make the final cut (read on for more details). Today, Keesha's story (Jersey Girls Don't Rule) and the final book in the MAC (Marita, Angel, Charli) series (Courting Peace) are on sale, so I thought it might be a good day to share part 2 of this feature.

Once upon a time, a school counselor wrote a book of scenarios for adults to use with children of divorce. Each scenario featured different characters and situations and each character had his or her own voice. Some were compliant; others were strident. Some were sad; others were defiant. Some spoke properly; others saw grammar as merely a guideline. 

As a result, some were more easily accepted into a book written to be used by school counselors who, after all, worked in schools where things like proper grammar and a lack of defiance were valued.

One of these characters, a girl named Keesha, had a good heart, but lacked not only the finer things in life, but also the polish that comes from having those things. This lack of polish led to her exit from the book.

But Keesha would not stop talking. She knew she'd found an audience in the author who had created her, and she insisted that the author make a place for her, ideally in a book of her own.

The author tried to honor Keesha's wishes, but other editors and agents were similarly put off by Keesha's voice, which frequently hid the tender heart that she went to a great deal of effort to keep a secret.

Or perhaps they didn't like the writing. Or there was another issue. In any event, Keesha remained homeless, at least in the publishing world, and eventually her voice grew faint, even to the author who had created her. 

Then Amazon, who had made a home for Marita and her friends, started a platform called Vella. Because Keesha was written more for children than adults, a serialized platform seemed like a good place for her to try out her voice, one chapter at a time. 

And, for a while, it was.

But eventually, Kindle closed down the Vella platform. Once again, Keesha was homeless.

And once again, she refused to be silenced. She's pretty determined that way.

So, on a January day, Keesha moved out of Vella and into a home of her own between the covers of an ebook. Her voice, still as strong as ever, could now be shared all at once, or a little at a time, depending on the preference of the reader.

But, because not everyone likes ebooks, Keesha insisted on another format as well. And so on Monday, January 20, Keesha's story will also be available in paperback.

Keesha is very happy with this ending, as is the author who created her. 

Keesha is also pushing for a sequel.

We'll see.

Whose Future is it Anyway?

 Last week, I had the opportunity to be an interviewer for my local high school’s mock interviews. Genius idea, by the way, and one I wish had been a part of my daughter‘s high school experience.

I live about a block from the high school so, despite the rain, I walked not just literally down the street, but also figuratively back in time. My daughter graduated from this same this high school, and I used to work for the district as well, albeit at one (and eventually two) of the elementary schools. 

I arrived 20 minutes early, which, if you know me, you know to be quite out of character. I was unsure of how much preparation I would need to do (none, as it turned out – the whole thing was a well-oiled machine) and I knew that the entry into the building had been upgraded so I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. Everything went quickly, though, and being ushered to my table in the gym brought back a variety of memories, most from my daughter's high school basketball games. But it definitely had the feel of stepping back into another life.

The students I interviewed – two sophomores, two juniors and one senior – were much bigger versions of the students I had worked with during my tenure in the district, and smaller versions of my current college students. Some were nervous, but all were prepared, and it was great fun to talk with all of them and to listen to their plans for the future. 

On the walk home, it occurred to me that my impending retirement will give me the opportunity to do things like this more often, something I found both comforting and exciting. Teaching only one class this semester has given me a taste of what a more flexible schedule with more actual free time looks like and feels like, and I've realized that, despite the fact that I vow and declare that white space days (those days with nothing on the calendar) are my favorites, I need some structure in my life as well. White space days are wonderful but that's because they're the exception. I'm fairly certain that making them the norm would get old much faster than I think. 

My retirement timetable is still in flux, but that date is no longer in the distant future. Consequently, I'm getting my ducks in a row -- applying for Medicare, considering supplemental health insurance choices and, just as important, supplemental activities. I think last week's experience with mock interviews was as informative for me as it was (I hope) for the students I met. I know they got me thinking about my own future -- an unexpected bonus -- and I sincerely hope more events like that one have a place on the agenda.

Unless I'm jetting around the world, of course. :-)

Photo courtesy of Pixabay

Taking Time

 Today's post is a re-run from two years ago and proof that I do, indeed, repeat the same mistakes. This past semester (the one that's currently drawing to a close), I taught only ONE class for the first time in a very long time. I also worried about not getting to used to it, just as I did when I wrote the post below two years ago, while simultaneously taking advantage of it by doing trips and taking actual days off. 

Next semester, I'll be back to my usual three classes, followed by only two classes in the spring. Who knows what the following fall will hold?

Every once in a while, I have a semester where I teach only two classes instead of three, and this semester is one of those semesters. In addition to having one less class, one of my classes is much smaller than usual, cutting the number of students I typically have in a semester almost in half. 

While teaching one less class is not a boon to my bank account, it provides me with the gift of time. For about the first third of the semester, I sternly reminded myself not to get used to this, as I'd return to a full course load in the fall. Enjoy it while it lasts, I told myself, but don't depend on it.

Then one morning, I realized how silly I was being. Holding my breath and tiptoeing through a lighter course load without enjoying its benefits was rather like telling myself I shouldn't enjoy a week at the beach because next week, I'll be home again and back to reality.

From then on, I began treating my days off more like the gifts they are. While I rarely take non-teaching days off completely, I do limit the amount of schoolwork I do on those days. My guideline for those days is personal and flexible: I do enough to keep myself from stressing over the work that needs to be done. The line between not enough and just enough is blurry (mostly because it's a moving target), but it's working for me.

After my realization, I began to really appreciate the benefits this gift of time has provided. My house feels less out of control because I have more time to keep after the day-to-day tasks that slide when my teaching schedule is more demanding. I have space for my writing, and space to do the creative part of course planning that so often gets pushed aside. I've created new assignments and lecture materials, revamped things that were stale (I hate it when I bore myself because it's a sure sign I'm boring my students as well), and had the luxury of adapting some of my materials to be a better fit for the students who are actually sitting in front of me. I've had time to read, connect with friends, and relax in the middle of a weekday -- all guilt-free.

The gift of time is something to treasure. We can be practical with it, tackling something that's long overdue, or we can splurge, reveling in the opportunity to do something we don't normally have time to do. Or maybe a little of both.

But the one thing we can't do is save it. The gift of time arrives when it arrives and departs on its own schedule as well. We can't bank it, and perhaps that should be reason enough to give ourselves license to be impractical with it when we're lucky enough to be its beneficiary.

What would you do with the gift of time?

Metacognition

Last month, I decided to engage in some reflection about my writing and writing habits. Each day, I jotted down a sentence or two about writing -- obstacles, feelings, thoughts, observations -- whatever came to mind. Some days, I reported on what I did (or didn't do); other days I just jotted down my thoughts or feelings about writing. 

It was cool and revelatory.

When you've been doing anything -- even something you really love -- for more than 30 years, it's inevitable that rough patches will pop up. Even though I still enjoy writing, I've been feeling disillusioned about the business of writing, and that has leached into my daily practice. Last month, I wanted to see if at the love was still there, what its traveling companions might be, and to better understand my writer self.

The journaling shed light on all three elements. The love for the writing itself is still there, but the frustration and disillusionment over what it takes to get work out into the world and how much mental and creative energy it requires is at an all-time high. I don't want to give up, but I'm also confused as to where the road goes from here. It feels as though wanting to get my work from my hard drive out into the world shouldn't be as hard as creating the product itself.

I may not have the path fully figured out, but this journaling practice definitely gave me some insights as I started to separate actual reasons from mere excuses (and a pity party here and there). Perhaps even better, I enjoyed this practice, making it something I want to continue.

And, as I've told many aspiring writers, any writing counts. Even if it's writing about writing.