How the Magical Becomes Ordinary

I’ve been thinking about ordinary things. Everyday objects we take for granted. I glanced to my left: there was my iPhone on the desk, sitting there reflecting the wall and ceiling, my little black mirror. I remember life before it. I remember everyone else getting one before me, it seemed. I remember my Palm Treo, thinking it was revolutionary, but frustrating.

And then an iPhone came into my life. At BlogHer 2009, the first giant blogging event I attended, a colleague got sick of me not having an iPhone. I was an early Whrrl user, kind of a precursor to a brand ambassador. But Whrrl worked better with an iPhone, so one day during the conference, the company’s rep marched me down the street to the Apple store in Chicago near the convention center, and bought me an iPhone. It was pretty great. I remember her picking out a case for it and swearing the case would prevent the phone from breaking. To demonstrate, she spiked the phone to the floor. It bounced.

Having an iPhone changed my life instantly. I could check email from anywhere in the universe. I could see my website, and other websites. And when the apps became available, I could use Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

Years later, I remember a day when I was in a training for editing software. Every single person in the room had a smartphone. We all put them on the desks next to our workstation. I wondered what an alien arriving on Earth would think of these small rectangular devices. “Do they power the humans?” they might wonder. What if they do power us?

Haven’t you ever had that moment when you panic, thinking “WHERE’S MY PHONE?!” You operate differently until you know where it is, until you’re reunited with it. Is it your power source?

In another example of “You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone,” I woke up this morning with a sore neck. A pinched nerve or whatever is causing great pain when I turn my head, starting at the base of my head and radiating to below my right shoulder. It happens to me often. Maybe the way I sleep, or the great percentage of time I spend at a computer contribute to this problem. I tried to power through it, but it’s Saturday, and I had events and chores and errands to run.

My beautiful, commonplace, completely taken-for-granted neck. Once it stops working correctly, I notice it. In the midst of my chores and errands and events, I am counting the hours until I can take a Vicodin and pass out, letting my body relax and heal.

That happened with my iPhone too, although it’s much less physically painful.

Eventually, instead of being a convenience and allowing me to do business from indoor playgrounds and the beach, my iPhone became invasive, distracting me from life. I turned off most notifications. I often mute text threads so that I don’t have to see every message as it comes in. I have access to my work email on it, but I try to check it rarely. I fall short of leaving the house without it, but as I write this, I am contemplating a no-phone day.

My iPhone. Something that was once so magical and revolutionary that I coveted and rejoiced when I got one. Something that is now such a commonplace item for me and so many other people. It’s an extension of who we are, an item we take for granted, but when we are parted from it, we freak out.

I ran into an avid hiker this morning. He talked about the months he spent on the John Muir trail in California, hiking and backpacking and living without the things we all take for granted. My friend asked him “What did you learn?” He said “That life can be so simple. All we need is food, water, and shelter.”

Amen. I would add “A working neck,” but still. Amen.