52 Instagram visits a day
Google search: Why do I sweat when it's cold outside?
Alarm set for 8:03 (because those three minutes mean so much.)
Yeah, my iPhone sees me at my worst; it sees the rawest, most vulnerable essence of who I am.
It saw me when I frantically checked my bank account last summer, waiting for my direct deposit to hit so my landlord would finally leave me alone about rent. It knew just how many times I listened to "A Drop in the Ocean" by Ron Pope while feeling emotionally unstable.
It's also observed me listening to my motivational playlist over and over on my seven mile run. The calculator app is overworked; I'm constantly adding up how many more hours I need to graduate. My camera roll is punctuated by my periodic lipstick checks.
You know, we have an exterior that we mold for the world to see, a slightly deeper version that our friends occasionally catch, and an authentic, yet not-so-embarrassing self that we are around our family. But only our phone knows who we are, insecurities, bad habits, and all.
My iPhone knows I'm insecure about my body and appearance. It knows my anxieties concerning my bank account. Yet, it also knows how hard I'm trying- how I wake up early to do yoga, how I check my balance before a purchase, how I text "I love you" to my friends at the end of a conversation. No one is perfect, and our mistakes are embarrassing, but we are most powerful when we are vulnerable. Strength is being completely open, not wearing thick armor. My iPhone knows where I've come from and what I'm trying to be, despite the tear drops that fall on the case (once a week, on average). My iPhone is my most intimate companion; it's my biggest fan. It's an abstract kind of relationship that only people my own age understand.
