Two weeks ago, while movers carried two new wardrobes into my house, somebody walked up my staircase, into my lounge and took off with my handbag and two mobile phones. The robbery must have happened in less than a minute – the thief was professional and quick – and I think many of us South Africans can identify with the sick, sinking feeling you get when you realise the consequences of briefly having let your guard down. For many women, our handbags and our phones are veritable extensions of our souls. I did everything on my phone, and my handbag (I believed) contained my entire life. So it was the strangest feeling getting into my car to fetch the kids with only my keys; stopping at a traffic light and not reaching over to send a quick WhatsApp; not scrolling through Twitter while I waited outside Kumon.
I considered the things I had lost – sunglasses I liked, some nice makeup, my wallet containing every card and important phone number in existence – and the time and effort it would take to replace things like my bank card and driver’s licence, and I felt angry and more than a little violated. My husband was working overseas, so there went our connection. There went my favourite apps, two years of notes, SMSs from my dad, who died earlier this year, and all my music. So I wrote a small rant on Facebook sharing my woes and got the requisite sympathy and also a comment by a New Yorker friend who said – much to my deep annoyance – ‘They needed those things more than you. Don’t be attached!’ Once I had finished swearing at him in my head I found myself mulling over his words.
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While it wasn’t the most sensitive thing to say under the circumstances, I had to admit he was right. I was attached to my phone and my handbag to the point of being neurotic and now they were gone and, guess what? I didn’t die. While our phones are immensely useful, when we start believing they’re indispensable to our existence they assume a mastery over our lives. And in a way I could never have anticipated, when I walked back into my house later that day I felt oddly liberated. I couldn’t answer my messages; I couldn’t Instagram my dinner. And the world didn’t implode as a result.
Over the next few days, as I embarked on the necessary administrative chores, it struck me that, rather than resentment at the queues and wasted time, there was a surprising sense of gratitude that I could just get into my car and drive to where I needed to be; that people were helpful and kind; that I could borrow my 10-year-old’s ancient little phone and be in touch with the loved ones who matter. I could get the apps and the music back. I could claim from insurance and buy a better phone. I didn’t need old text messages to remember my darling dad. I felt lucky that they had taken things I could easily replace. And – while I’m certain the attachment malaise many of us suffer from will return once I have everything back again – the incident did force me to recognise my fixation with ‘things’.
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And not only an attachment to objects, but to outcomes. Our ability to control outcomes somewhat through our devices leads to the erroneous belief that we are in control of the world – and that’s a dangerous assumption to make. I’m particularly bad at letting things be and ‘going with the flow’. I need to know exactly what restaurant we’ll be eating at and what they have on the menu, and I’ll change tables three times until it’s ‘right’. It’s a sickness that thrives in our technology-driven society. I still haven’t managed to replace my phone. It’s irritating and very good for me. I don’t know what everyone is doing every minute of every day. I can’t broadcast my every thought, post endless photos on Instagram and gossip mindlessly with my best friend when I should be working. Maybe this was a lesson for me in disengaging and remembering what’s important. I really hope I learnt from it.
Susan Hayden is the voice behind the popular blog Disco Pants & A Mountain
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