Then We Broke the Internet

Based on Real Events

A world without Internet... what?  Luckily, Jaclyn and I grew up in the 90s, so we are familiar with how to live without it.  Remember those days of phone calls, landlines, TV antennas, Blockbuster, letters, and film cameras?  Us too.

At first, we thought, "Oh no! I was going to do a million things..." and in the next breath, we thought, "Oh... I don't have to do a million things."

So we made ourselves some whiskey ciders and sat down.

There are a million reasons why I love the Internet, the first one being that we were looking forward to watching the most recent episode of Fargo.  This world wide web makes my life as a graduate student, long distance relationshipper, photographer, and just plain human navigating Christmas shopping a million times easier.  We can keep up with others, endlessly socialize, and explore the world.  And, at the same time, when it goes out, I appreciate the reminder that I don't need it for connection.

In Wilderness Therapy, a client might ask, "What do you want me to do out here?" or "I don't think I'm making progress out here.  I want to go home to all my normal coping mechanisms." What is hard for them to do, is to sit with themselves.  "I want you to sit with these emotions," the therapist might say, "To me, that is progress."

And it's so hard to do - particularly in the everyday - especially when combined with the amount of guilt one may feel in certain contexts - for not doing anything.  In a culture that equates not taking your vacation time with being a more promotable employer, it can almost feel awkward and vulnerable to admit how many naps you take (and wonder if you're depressed?).

In a world with so many comforts often at our finger tips, you'd think we'd typically feel really good.  But it seems if you want to prove your value, you may feel a push to speak to a stressfully busy life (often I wonder if this is particularly in New England).  I can see how anxiety and depression have become so pervasive.  Setting up boundaries and saying no is such an art.  I admire those who can truly do it well.

I often try to view these dark Winter months as ideal for slowing down, enjoying a meal with a friend - or tea, or drinks - and indulging in the comfort of my space heater.  Somehow the low-lying sun sets a tone of contemplation.  I imagine I have bonded more with the people I've lived with in these moments when we are forced together, inside, and to sit face-to-face.

And so, Jaclyn and I shared our drinks together, and did nothing.

(And the world did not fall apart.)