I don’t expect it’s any surprise to regular readers of this blog that I sometimes complain about things like updates, apps, having to constantly log in and out, the way there’s never a human at the end of the line anymore (Tex and I both burst out laughing the other day when we suddenly became aware at the same time that I was scowling and demanding, “Human! Human! Human!” whilst calling the odeous drug store). (I got stuck in a loop anyway.)
And I’ve been talking a lot with friends lately bout the way covid has changed our lives and how we’re constantly holding so much, so much. Fear for our own bodies, for the bodies of our loved ones, fear of the unknown (how long is long and what would it mean for me/us/them?), just the myriad and still unraveling effects of the isolation, the lack of being able to see each other’s expressions, especially each other’s smiles, all of it. There’s a lot of it.
But I’m not sure I’ve really sat with how incredibly my own life has changed because of technology. I mean, I can remember when chains and box stores started – it felt like the death of community, individuality, art. When we got answering machines. Walkmans and boom boxes. Watches that beeped. Cable TV. VCRs. When people started being replaced with recordings and press this or that number to get where you want to go and how disruptive and frustrating it was. I remember the first very bulky cell phone I ever saw. When email came along, all dial up and seductive. On and on and on through fitbits and laptops and cell phones and AI all the rest of the technological onslaught.
It’s fucking exhausting.
It really is.
We all make a good show of it, asking Siri and Alexa to do things for us, patiently guiding them when they misunderstand, poking around at our cell phone keyboards for hours and hours just to figure out when the hell we’re supposed to get our RealID or pretending that google has the answer that’s going to satisfy us.
I’m practically tumping over typing about it.
I’m so tired.
The other day I met friends at a restaurant for lunch. I parked. I used my app. I ok’d the convenience fee of fifty cents. Of course I did. What choice did I have? It was Cambridge, after all, and they are very fierce about tickets.
It wasn’t convenient. It was forced.
I know we can’t escape, since there’s no escaping the here and now. But how do we care for ourselves, our poor burnt out hearts and brains and souls? We have to recognize it, first, I think, and not excuse it or pass it off as the price we pay for what? being able to park? being able to order a to go meal? being able to drive mindlessly from one place to another and forgetting entirely how to read a map?
When our niece visited this summer, she was able to work on a farm, and now she’s wild to come back and explore other farm-related opportunities. She admits to being addicted to her phone, but knew as soon as she got out in the field that it would be healing for her.
As for me, it turns out I do a lot of things to try and get away from technology, even though I’m as pulled in and trapped as the next person. I read actual books, do jigsaw puzzles, sit in front of the fire, play games with friends, listen to music while I’m cooking and cleaning, sing, take walks. These tangible activities, quiet and human, where I’m connected to my body and not to a screen or my phone anchor me.
I just haven’t really sat down and thought about it, put it into words.
My honeys, my sweets, my deep down dumpling desireables, how do you remember that you don’t have to let the machine eat you up and spit you out? How do you disengage and re-body?
Today take a moment, take a moment. Give yourself a small, satisfying uncoupling from the tinny voices nipping and nibbling at you at every moment of the day.
Big sigh. Big smile.
Quiet the roar and know they can’t have all of you all of the time.
Ahhhhhhh!
Every Monday I offer a Meditation for Queer Femmes, in the spirit of my maternal grandmother, Mimi, who was fabulous, and from whom I inherited her Meditations for Women.
At the Total Femme, my intention has been to post three times a week: Meditations for Queer Femmes on Monday, Pingy-Dingy Wednesday on Wednesday, and Femme Friday on Friday. Lately, I’ve just been concentrating on Mondays. And sometimes weeks go by… I’m here, though. I’m here. Do you have a post you’d like to share? That would be fucking awesome! Contact me at thetotalfemme@gmail.com
The Total Femme 