Topic : Daily Glimpses

It took me some time to realize
I needed to quit drinking

Months of convincing myself I could control my intake,
wanting to will myself into not buying more vodka,
trying to resist another glass

But I’ve never been a person who wanted just one.

And then I stopped.

It has not been easy, or comfortable.

There’s been some longing,
I walk by my favorite wine bar and remember sitting on the patio
Sun in my face,
glass in my hand.

But alcohol is black and white for me.

My phone is another story.

A hazy area of needing
and hating.

To get the validation of a “like”.
To daydream about someone’s vacation photos
And stay up too late to make sure I “don’t miss anything”.

This longing to see what’s happening in other people’s lives
and because of that
missing out on my own.

Will my kids remember their childhood with me on the phone?

“Come and eat at the ice cream store I made, mama.”

“Just one moment, honey.”
I’m reading a piece written by a woman I deeply admire
about being present in your life.

It’s always in my pocket
or  in my hand as I go down the slide with a child on the lap,
not wanting to squash it in the fun.

My son wakes up in the morning
“Here you go,” his baby voice mumbles as he hands it to me.

It’s a part of our ritual.
I hate that.
That the phone is in our space

That he associates it with me.


“Happy Mother’s Day, Mama,”
My daughter’s voice and video come up on my husband’s phone.

She was 18 months old,
I would have forgotten her voice were it not for the recording,
if not for the phone.
They’ve done a recording every year since,
this past one with my son standing next to her
babbling his baby words.

These are my generation’s VHS recordings.

Where’s the balance?

I took the kids to the park,
phone left in the purse to purposely be present
My daughter helped my son down slide for first time.

I would have missed that,
Had a friend not snagged a picture for me
But the moment still happened whether I have photo documentation or not

At what point do we miss everything because we’re trying to capture it?

How distorted does reality become with a phone always held up to your face?
I imagine my son looking out at the crowd at his birthday party
instead of faces,
he sees phones.

No eyes looking at him, only skinny black squares.

And yet, I’m on the phone.

Always with me,
pulling at me.

How do you leave your addiction when it’s your lifeline?



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