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Losing Your Phone Is A Gift.

January 29, 2021

These endless office days and weekends just extend a vacationless year with each task. This weekend was, again, mostly in my office.

In Plague Times, tasks are all I have. I attacked home efforts that were so pre-emptive that it made work in the office impossible, let alone site visitation. In lieu of smelling the coffee, I justify my doing anything. I live by doing. So a life built on performance has never ending opportunities for failure.

Did I fail when I took Christmas off? No, I worked every day since, except the day we de-Christmas-ed the house. I could have read a book, but I started two. I could “hike” – to nowhere, and ended up where I start. I could binge watch. I could Zoom. No. I make an occasional dinner, but no bread.

So I am in the office. (I take my 9th road trip in 10 months tomorrow). Saturday, I get this letter:

Quite ironic as I simply work. I fail, often, to do what I had hoped to do, but sometimes I fulfill my hopes. And I know that is never enough, even when a Plague ends any opportunity to shirk.

I have the meetings, the sketches, the cooking, the workouts, even a Zoom call that says: “At least I can do this.” Things this weekend we’re going as hoped. I even had a Zoom Dinner.

Then I failed.

And the end of a fulfilled script weekend, I lost my phone.

My phone. The link to Everything, Everyone, my insomnia relief and creator, my cell phone, was completely missing. Alone, in my office on Sunday evening, I yelled, rampaged, went to my car and bathroom thrice called to hear the vibration in silence (ringer off) went on my hands and knees, and rediscovered that I am totally, completely, incompetent, out of control, hopeless.

No Zen. No humor. No trusting in a loving God. No, I was drowning in a sea of incompetence. Despite all the endless “on time” everything. I can try doing everything that I can do.

But I do not do the things I want to do.

I do not want COVID. But I could get it any moment. I do not want to die, but no one gets out alive. I can be the envelope’s “Great Architect”, but I fail to see the miraculous things or I focus on the wrong things every day.

And I lose my phone.

I lose it until I find it.

It is always where I last put it.

In my fourth trip to my car, it was tucked into the cup holder I use when it is my GPS,

This morning I lost a half hour of my 90 minute daily work to sleeping. But I will work out again this evening. I will control that. Unless I can’t.

And I will curse, shake my head, and know that no matter what, I am just what we all are, not who we want to be. Like everybody else.

So losing my phone is a gift. A painful, humiliating, simply dispiriting gift. The glass is not half full, I lost my Goddamn phone. That half of the glass is completely empty. It always has been.

Why do I want to fill it?

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