My cell phone broke yesterday. I dropped it while reaching for conditioning cream to put on my daughter’s hair, which was badly tangled. Darn phone. Darn day.
I was out of step all day yesterday. My husband isn’t sleeping well (the campaign life is a grind) which means that I’m up, too, worrying about him and thinking about when I’m going to run to the cleaners to pick up the coat that’s been ready for two weeks. And where exactly is that horrible workout video I borrowed from the library that has mysteriously disappeared? The kitchen drawer broke – one of the roller-balls busted – so now the whole drawer is sitting on top of our counter, adding to the clutter of homework and mail. I had trouble writing sentences yesterday; the words just didn’t come. I never looked at my calendar either, so wouldn’t you know I forgot about a play date I’d arranged for my kids with family friends they rarely see. We set the date weeks ago. Then there’s my accountant, who is so exact that I’m just waiting for him to ask me how many times a day I went to the bathroom while conducting business. Finally, the denouement: my phone.
Somehow…there’s a little divine messaging in yesterday’s situation. Because I’m pretty sure that I needed to disconnect. “That’s why your phone broke,” my friend, Robin said when I saw her last night at a Denver event with the psychic Rebecca Rosen. For me, the whole evening was about spiritual engagement. It felt good to disconnect from myself and bear witness to the stories of others.
I still don’t have a phone. But you know what? I’m surprisingly unbothered by the incident. I’m enjoying the break from the calls and texts and calendar and tasks. I feel a little freer today, less encumbered, less overwhelmed, more present, more aligned from within.
Sure, I’ll get a loaner phone later on, when I’m ready to charge back into life.