New Year, New Problems.

Hey Siri, play Swim Good by Frank Ocean.

I actually don't have any new or pressing problems with the onset of this year, but I thought that sentence to myself earlier and it made me giggle, remembering when my friend Liam once said "Mohair, mo' problems" while knitting.

I took Instagram off my phone in an attempt to spend my time in ways that feel more intentional to me. More luxurious. I still have an account and have opened it for at least a small amount of time each day from my laptop, but without the app I don't open and scroll as a compulsion, a habit encouraged by muscle memory. 

In some ways, I don't believe in wasted time; we all have the exact same amount each day and the conviction that we must use it purposefully and always striving for more is probably a weird and gross side effect of Capitalism. I don't need to use my hours to get further or do more. But I would like to go through life enjoying the real world around me. I don't like the feeling of stacking myself up against others and coming up short (which is entirely too easy to do with glimpses into other people's world as we get on Instagram). I don't like the feeling of realizing I've spent an entire evening scrolling through snapshots of other people's lives. 

In the first few days I kept having moments that I would have normally been inclined to share with others but in the weird, impersonal and indirect way that social media opened up for us. I wanted to post a close friends story complaining about some small annoyance. I wanted to post a video I took of the three tiny snails (think peppercorn size!) I plucked off my Christmas cactus and watched slide around on a shopping receipt, leaving little trails behind them for a few minutes before depositing them into my yard. The world is full of tiny wonders. Days- all of life even- are made up of moments where we seek commiseration or approval or recognition. Moments of approval and acknowledgement. 

It's the desire to feel seen and understood. Deeply human and in some ways satiated by social media. But in other ways cheapened by instant gratification, by validation made supremely impersonal. 

So instead I've tried to appreciate these moments just for myself. Take a few extra seconds to note how delightful the reflection of rippling sunlight the pool casts on the ceiling is. To watch the impossibly small antennae of tiny snails wiggling. To appreciate the way the rosy tinge of indirect light right around sunset bounces around my neighborhood and feels almost corporeal, as if the dwindling sunlight is a real presence hovering in the thick air around me, just about to settle on my shoulders but disappearing before it gets the chance.