Message in a Bottle 18
I’m still fighting for that balance. I can still be found in the virtual void far too often. Much more than I’d like. I’d like to get lost. I want to be hard to find. But I’m not. Perpetually glued. One day I’ll be better, and the next day my hand drifts to that damn little box over and over again. My thumb slides over the screen over and over again.
I’ve begun to associate it with a sense of purposelessness (that's a mouthful). If I can keep busy, I’m good. I’m great. But I have too much time on my hands. I hide from my stories, or the stories hide from me, or I simply can’t sustain writing that long, even when the words are flowing. Whenever I’m not typing or the words are running scared from my fingers, I feel purposeless. I drift, untethered. And for whatever reason, the current always pulls the same direction. It’s downright clockwork. I’m always back on that confounded app.
I wish it wasn’t an option. I’ve tried telling myself I’m not allowed on until certain times of day. But then I come up with excuses, one time exceptions, or “really good reasons.” A moment later, countless minutes have been wasted.
I’m addicted to something I don’t even like
Bad habits have clever ways of sticking around, blasted barnacles on the hull of my ship. Slowing me down. Keeping me stuck.
One thing I have held to is sharing less. I’m still online too much, but I’ve saved a lot more for just me, and that keeps wind in my sails.
This summer has been full of taking photos of wildflowers. Last year it was the moon. Difference is I'm only sharing these if I really want to. It’s been soundtracked to laughter that I don’t feel bad about selfishly keeping to myself. I’ve been trying to be outside more, even if that’s just reading outside. Time spent indoors is time wasted, as Miss Maudie would say.
Some moments don’t have to be documented, only cherished. I’m learning that. Somewhat against my will.
I saw a question recently— if you were a dragon, what would you hoard?
I joked and deflected as usual, but if I’m being honest, this weird, little dragon hoards (or tries to with her feeble claws) memories. I have a terrible phobia of forgetting a single thing. I obsess over little details and get genuinely upset when I’ve found I’ve forgotten something.
I think with the digital age, this dread is more common than I know.
Because we can immortalize moments so easily, we scramble to capture them all. But it’s just not how it works. Our brains can’t remember everything. Sometimes time changes exactly how we remember particular details. Sometimes another person remembers different details than you, and as you sit together and fit together the puzzle pieces, the joy is found in reliving the past together.
Sometimes memories grow pleasantly hazy and you remember smells and feelings rather than dates and exact words.
I love expressionist artists for how perfectly they capture how a scene felt rather than how it actually was. Vincent Van Gogh, my favorite artist, was the pioneer of this art style. Memories are precious like this in a way photos and videos will never be.
I’ll always be the girl who takes too many photos. I can’t see that ending.
But maybe if we spent less time with a lens and a screen in between us and the moment, maybe we’d take more of it in. Maybe if I stopped worrying about forgetting, maybe I’d start remembering what I should.
-Ellie
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