It started with a purple slip of paper on which I’d penned one word.
“Distraction.”
“What is keeping you from growing in your relationship with God?” my pastor had asked at the beginning of the Ash Wednesday service. “What sin is standing in the way?”
I wrote the word “distraction” on my purple slip of paper and dropped it into the basket as I walked forward to receive the ashy cross.
Smart phone in hand, I spend a lot of my in-between time scrolling and swiping, liking and emoting, clicking and skimming. Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, email — I go from one to the other and back again, my eyes on a two-inch by four-inch screen. In line at the post office, in the dentist’s waiting room, idling at the curb at my son’s middle school, swiping and scrolling, liking and emoting, clicking and skimming.
Distraction.
I vowed to give up social media for Lent in the middle of the Ash Wednesday service. It wasn’t my intention. I hadn’t seen it coming. I haven’t “given up” anything for Lent in years, but the moment I scrawled “distraction” on my purple paper, I knew: social media had to go.
I did not go gently. I argued with God for most of the service. I bargained for Instagram. But it seemed pretty clear; it had to be an all-or-nothing fast. When I got home, I moved all my social media icons on my phone to the very last screen, four swipes in. I’d be less likely to see them there, less tempted to tap.
I noticed the birds first.
Sitting in a sunny spot in my front yard two days after Ash Wednesday, eyes closed, my face tipped toward the early spring sun, I heard the birds, an indistinguishable cacophony of twitters and cackles from the trees, the roof, the power lines. I listened as the blur of chatter began to separate into distinct calls — the screech of a blue jay, tap of a nuthatch on a tree trunk, scuffle of sparrows in the rafters, melodious house finch in the backyard.
More sounds announced themselves while I sat with my eyes closed.
Wind in the white pines, snapping cloth of the neighbor’s American flag, thrum of a bass from a nearby car, skitter of dried leaves cartwheeling across the concrete, chain saw buzzing in the distance.
It had been a long time since I’d listened to the sounds of my neighborhood.
There have been moments like this in the last two weeks. Moments when I listen and breathe. Moments when my soul is stilled.
But mostly, nearly two weeks in, I still get itchy fingers in those in-between times. I’m restless, a low-level agitation humming below the surface.
It’s a near-constant act of discipline to leave my phone in my purse.
Fighting writer’s block, I will myself not to check Facebook or Twitter. Instead, I look out the window. One day, struggling to write the notes for an upcoming talk, I spent most of the afternoon gazing out the French doors into the dull gray of my backyard.
This might sound like a lovely picture of peace. It wasn’t. It was frustrating and boring.
And lonely.
I hadn’t expected the loneliness. I don’t miss the politics. The caustic comments. I don’t miss clicking and skimming until my brain fogs with a swirl of facts and opinions. But I do miss my friends – the real relationships that have formed across the cyberwaves. I miss the pretty pictures of sunsets and vacations and birthday celebrations. I miss the conversations, the random musings, the bits of goodness scattered here and there.
I spend a lot of time on social media in my everyday, ordinary life. Some of it is necessary for my work. Some of it is good for my well-being. Most of it is not. It’s one thing to know this in theory. It’s another thing entirely to understand it in the day-to-day.
So for now I’m listening to the birds and the whisper of white pines in the wind. I’m looking out the window into my gray backyard. And I’m waiting for whatever, if anything, might rise from the depths to the surface.
I think a lot has risen from your depths, Michelle–recognition that SM is not necessary for life, that it surely distracts, that God and His creation can meet you more readily if you pay attention, that there is beauty to be seen and heard when we make space for it… but also that there are gifts to be had in a distraction that is directed. When you concentrate on the part of SM that has introduced you to friends and when you share in their lives, then it becomes a special benefit. You’d likely not know many of your current friends without it. I lived for years without SM and I lived a happy life. Only recently have I engaged as a way initially to connect to writer friends and to have some kind of small presence on the Internet. I had not expected the benefits you’ve found, like engaging with people all over the world that I genuinely care about or discovering long, lost relatives and friends. But nor did I expect how it has, from time to time, consumed my existence or how I easily I can be lured to the banal, and not the beautiful. I’ve engaged in dribble that, yes, has distracted, and worse, has wasted lifetime–mine! I’ve also engaged in political dialogue that has deteriorated into diatribe. Not a pretty picture, huh? You’re exercising the discipline of self-control, and it’s a way to honor God and the character He’s etching in you. I’ve not read blogs (which I love!) for several weeks as a way to control my time as I get ready to go on a women’s spiritual retreat to Scotland this Thursday. While I surely miss the beautiful words and insights of my friends, it has helped me focus better. I suspect that when I’m on the remote Isle of Iona, pretty much isolated from the rest of the world, I’ll not be tempted to use my new Android (which my husband bought for emergencies and so I could take the occasional snapshot while traveling). I will be too focused on the beauty of the Lord. Honestly (and I know no one will get this who reads your blog), I was very content with my sweet little flip phone. I really have resisted an upgrade. Maybe I didn’t know what I was missing, but I think it will be more likely that I come to realize, it’s not been much. I’m an easily distracted person who has missed you and your writing, so I really wanted to take time to read here this morning. I’m glad I did! All the best on your fast. I’m proud of you!
Love
Lynn
PS Thank you for the inspiration and courage you showed on your own pilgrimage. I thought last night I would love to reread your blog on your Tuscany insights. If it isn’t too much trouble, would you consider emailing the link/s to me? I’d be so grateful.
I don’t think it was silly at all to resist the lure of the smart phone for so long, Lynn. I did the same. I’ve had one for about 2 years now, and slowly, bit by bit, social media has encroached more and more on my life via that phone. This break has been hard but really good too.
Look for an email from me today regarding the Tuscany posts… xoxo
Hi Michelle:
Much of what you are saying resonates with me, too. I have taken the month of March “off” social media for several reasons: to regroup, decide how and why I interact; to get some deep thinking, reading, and writing done. My husband (an artist) and I are working on a book. And to deepen my walk with the Lord. Like you, I’ve missed my online friends who nurture and bring beauty through photos and postings, to my life; but I do not miss the acidic nastiness of attacks and responses, particularly over politics. I have read more, and just concluded two books by Ravi Zacharias. One I had read years ago, but needed to re-read — “The Grand Weaver”. C. S. Lewis said that he usually read a book 3 times to get everything out of it. I’ve also been catching up on “office details” — we have our own business — my husband’s art — and I process the paperwork. Like you, I was sensing more and more distraction, and things were beginning to fall through the cracks. I’m not sure what my return to social media will look like. I have cleared our schedules to have a “writing retreat” for the next two weeks, to get a lot done on the book. I am very much looking forward to this. I am feeling less and less the urge to check social media. I am in contact, via email, with two very close friends, whom I’ve known before and outside of social media. I know I will return to my social media friends, but I think in a different way. I may extend my “sabbatical” for another week or until Easter and reflect on how my online presence should be, spend time in prayer and seek God’s guidance. I know there is a place for it, and a ministry there, too. But I want God’s guidance to be more involved and I want to be more focused in line with His calling and goals for my life. Thank you for sharing your experience. Blessings! Jane
This is wonderful, Jane- thank you so much for sharing your insights gleaned from your social media fast. I think I am finding it particularly challenging because my husband and kids are out of town right now, so I am especially lonely (I am talking a lot to the dog). I also don’t have a major project on which to focus my attention – this would be a great time to be writing a book like you! 🙂 I am intrigued by your book – a combination of art and writing sounds absolutely lovely. Good luck as you continue with your fast this season – may God bless you richly.
Thanks for this, Michelle. I am also on a social media fast for Lent, and my soul feels lighter and more open to those around me. I’m more present to those I’m with, and to God’s activity in the day. There’s mental and emotional space for caring and compassion that is rooted in something deeper than just emotiv reaction. I’m not totally sure what that means yet, but I’m grateful for the space to reflect on it.
And thank you for sharing your wonderings with all of us through your writing. I’m enjoying your new book. We also used your recent article about that negative review as a piece of devotions at our spring Nebraska Synod Holy Land Accompaniment meeting. As we accompany those who are struggling in Palestine for peace and justice, it helped to be reminded it’s about God’s call to the work and not about success or failure. Thank you for the grace-filled encouragement. Peace, Megan
Hi Megan,
I absolutely hear what you are saying about the social media fast – I am experiencing some of the same over here as well. My people aren’t around this week, so I have a little more time and space on my hands than I am used to, which is making it even more obvious to me how much I rely on social media for distraction and entertainment, even when my people are present.
Thanks, too, for sharing the God Doesn’t Promise Success article with your Holy Land team. That message really resonated with people – apparently good things DO come out of disappointment. 😉 I’m glad you all found it useful.
I’m right there with you, Michelle, as I have given up Facebook for Lent. It had, indeed, become a terrible distraction and, in many ways, a waste of time I could spend better otherwise. However, as much as I miss my friends and their photos as you’ve mentioned here, I’ve really seen the stats for my blog suffer incredibly. There were multiple sites where I would share it twice a week, and it generated much more traffic than I had ever imagined. That was a bitter pill to swallow, but I’m trusting God has everything in His hands and has better plans.
Blessings as you keep your Lenten vows!
I’m right there with you on the plummeting blog stats, Martha. I get the majority of my traffic from FB, so if I don’t post the links to my blogs there, forget it – it’s only the forever faithfuls like you who still show up. 🙂 It’s okay…the numbers will perk back up after Easter, and in the meantime, we can revel in the peace and quiet, and remind ourselves that it’s not all about the stats (I keep telling myself that anyway!).
Hye Michelle,
Yet another who has given up FB for Lent. I snickered at you bargaining with God over Instagram and heard you say that you had stopped listening to the birds sing, but lonely. I was surprised at that, I live alone, with pets, and sort of thot I would find not having the snappy chatting tid bits a real source of discomfort, but in fact I don’t miss it at all. I have no smart phone, only a laptop so I’m not hauling it along with me all day long. I turn it off at 6 PM in the evenings so I have the evening to focus on one thing at a time and get relaxed enough for bed. I’ve given my email address to those who want to keep in touch that way, getting some good newsy letters. Others said ‘see you at Easter’. Maybe. It could be that I don’t blog, I just journal on my own, that makes me not feel the pull of turning it on. I did give myself permission to go back online if I have a distracting struggle with it. God understands that our humanness will fight to get what it wants. I created 2 projects to work on during this time, plus way too many books to read properly, doing a book study with an email friend. I definitely like the idea of going back in time and having a more relaxed pace with technology.
T hank you for this. I’ve not given up social media for Lent, though I know it would be good for me. What you said about the fogginess that social media produces in you really speaks to me because I suffer from that as well. NPR is great to listen to in the barn but it too fills my head with others’ thoughts and I lose track of my own. I think you’re brave and wise to do this. I heard on On Being that we can cultivate more empathy by listening to nature. So glad you’re hearing the birds. I’m glad you’re keeping in touch through your blog too, so we can hear your voice.
Michelle, I already know this about myself–I am highly distractable. All the time. And I want to be connected to people and say all the things…. Little by little I realized that Facebook was a rabbit hole I could easily fall into. And Twitter. I took the apps off my home screen on my phone and turned off all the notifications. I’ve managed to cut way back on the scrolling and trolling not because it’s so bad, its just such a waste of time. I’ve become more intentional about email paying attention to communicating via that. (and reading posts from people like you!)
Your discoveries are a breath of fresh air…and sound.
Interesting that you identified and names loneliness. I wonder how often we do experience this emotion when in solitude and is that part of our uncomfortableness so we fidget with social media and escape into that? don’t know. just thinking. I admired you trying this, then sharing this. I gave up impulse buying and in general impulsive behaviors. So far has work in helping me pause before deciding BUT has been an epic failure in impulsive eating. LOL. BUT Lent isn’t over yet… hope yet..
Thank you for sharing the real-ness of your social media fast. So often in these stories we jump to the end, the completed writing or idea or… and yet to pause in the middle and to sit in the discomfort, that is the truth seeping between your words.
I’m on a snack fast. Doesn’t sound like much, does it? It’s not, really, but it is oh-so-interesting to see my automatic responses to boredom or the merest wisp of hunger. It’s about paying attention I think!
Grace and peace as you continue your fast.
Kelly
Reading your comments on “listening” to the sounds in your Neighborhood and your backyard reminded me of my former home on a hilltop in Neligh, NE. The slope behind my house was a haven for birds, and I enjoyed sitting on my patio, when weather allowed, listening to their chatter.Now I live near a stream that Canadian Geese and a blue Heron frequent. Robins are the dominant bird species, but I hear the sounds of other birds when I walk my dog..
I’m writing not just to comment on your blog, but to say that it was a pleasure meeting you yesterday at Christ United Methodist Church in Lincoln. I apologize for asking you if you had written about Priscilla because I mistakenly assumed that you had written about 50 women in the Bible. It seems to be a popular topic these days. When I came home and examined the book’s cover, I realized my error. Again, my apologies. I’m familiar with the lives of several of the women you researched and am looking forward to reading the book, your blog, and your newspaper column. Also, I enjoyed your talk yesterday.