It’s month two of parenthood. I’ve just held my screaming daughter for over 30 minutes as I tried to coax her to sleep — a battle of the wills I eventually won, at least for the next 30 minutes. I stagger out of her room, nerves fried, thoughts of my failures echoing around my sleep-deprived mind.
The stronger among us might have reached for a glass of wine at this point. I reach for my laptop. Fifty already opened browser tabs await me with blogs offering solutions to the naptime war I fight five times a day. I read quickly, looking for answers.
Each post links to a couple of others that I immediately add to the never shrinking queue. The more I read, the more my stress rises. One blog talks about a “window of time” you must hit to get your baby to easily fall asleep. For the next several days I obsess over watching for signs of tiredness, so I don’t miss the “window” and destroy my child’s life.
Another blog suggests staying home for 98% of naps in the early months to help your baby develop a routine. For a while every time I leave the house for a social outing, I worry that I’m somehow damaging my child.
I read obsessively until I hear the soft cries of my infant stirring. I close my laptop and slowly stand, hesitating over what to do next, trying to decide which advice might make the difference.
When I’m not obsessing over the advice of some blogger, I sometimes sit with my sister, a more experienced mother, and share my fears. In my distress, I’m hoping she’ll offer solutions to my naptime woes. And often she does provide practical advice. But the main value in these conversations is beyond the practical.
Seeing past my questions to the insecurity lying beneath, my sister looks me in the eye with her hand on mine and says, “You are a great mom.” Suddenly the number of minutes my baby sleeps seems less important to me as I am reminded that, big picture, Baby is doing well – and I am too.
My mom-blog obsession had caused me not only to be fearful but to miss the joys of new motherhood. Instead of spending naptimes resting and finding refreshment, I engaged in an activity that raised my stress. Instead of fully enjoying the precious newborn snuggles, I regularly questioned if there was a better way of doing things that I hadn’t discovered yet.
My mom-blog obsession caused me not only to be fearful but to miss the joys of new motherhood.
The internet was stealing something very precious from me. Thankfully, with my sister’s encouragement, I was able to see that what I crave for my daughter is not a perfect life, but rather a full life. She helped me to be more fully present in my first months as a new mother, rather than escaping to the internet to hear others tell me I could do it better.
I think my experience as a new mother can be instructive to others struggling to balance the good of what the internet has to offer with the ways that it sometimes detracts from life. All too often our internet use can keep us from present reality. It invites us instead into an alternate reality, weaving itself into our own vulnerabilities, aspirations, and hopes.
Instagram, for example, promises a picture-perfect life as an attainable reality. But what it can’t capture is that a life lived with other people — real people, not idealized ones — inevitably comes with discomfort. It tempts us to curate images of an idealized life instead of opening our own lives up to our neighbors and friends, messiness and all. It is in this in-person, present place that real life happens.
When my husband and I were dating, I asked that he plan a fun date for us, rather than taking me out to the same restaurant that we had been to five times in a row. So he planned a date for us to go roller-skating at a mall. Unfortunately, he didn’t do his research because when we got to the mall it turned out the rink was on the roof of a parking garage — not at all picturesque — and was tiny, crowded with small children, and about to close.
After watching children struggle to stay on their feet for a few minutes, we opted not to try it ourselves and instead went into the mall to find a movie theater. The only one available was a 5-D movie theater like the ones found in amusement parks. We chose a show, put on 3-D glasses, and took our seats where we were inundated with chair shaking, water spraying, loud noises, and all kinds of 3-D dinosaurs that seemed to pop out at us.
The chair I sat in must have been in direct line of the sprayer because when we walked back into the mall 15 minutes later, I was soaking wet while my boyfriend was almost entirely dry. We were still only 25 minutes into our date.
Word to the wise: a 5-D movie is probably not the best way to woo a woman. But if you know me, you would not be surprised to hear that it worked. It’s also given me ammo to tease my husband about for years to come.
Although I don’t recommend this multi-dimensional movie experience, a multi-dimensional life is the kind of life every human craves. In our boldest moments of imagination, we dream of a life full of real human connection, belly-laughs, and children at play. We dream of immersing ourselves in the beauty of nature, in the open land, under the night sky.
For my family and for my children, I dream of picnics in the park, kickball games, camping, and adventurous road trips around the country. What is strikingly lacking from my dreams are the very things now omnipresent in American society — screens, screens, and more screens.
Never in my dreams do I hand my child an iPad to entertain her while I cook, post about special times to Facebook, or spend hours camped in front of the television. My dreams are silent on our new technologies.
Choosing a full life requires leaning into feelings of discomfort. It means hundreds of hard choices every single day to leave the smartphone in the pocket, in the car, or at home.
Why is this? Am I behind the times, needing to catch up? Or does our very nature long for what cannot be satisfied by a two-dimensional life? I am inclined to believe the latter. Today’s technologies offer a life that is flat, that touches only the surface part of us and then easily fades. The life we truly long for is dynamic, social, tangible. We crave human connection — to know and be known. We want to laugh with friends, share memories with family, converse with others.
This multi-dimensional life can be painful and requires hard choices. It has become incredibly easy to hide ourselves behind our devices. Awkward elevator ride? Pull out the smart phone. Bored while your child plays at the park? Post a picture to Facebook. Fight with your spouse? Drown the feelings in Netflix while scrolling mindlessly on the smartphone.
Choosing a full life requires leaning into feelings of discomfort. It means hundreds of hard choices every single day to leave the smartphone in the pocket, in the car, or at home. It might also mean serious lifestyle changes such as getting rid of the smartphone or home Wi-Fi.
The radical invasiveness of today’s technologies demands a radical response. A response intent on protecting the relationships, creativity, and experiences that bring real meaning to our lives. It’s time to reach back to the silence and freedom of a less tech-infused time and experience the richness of life that an Instagram picture will never capture. These moments and what they produce are far too precious to lose.
Photo Credit: Andrés Nieto Porras via Flickr (CC BY-SA 2.0)
