I was sitting on the porch of my school’s Student Center earlier this week. It was fifteen minutes before my next class, and I was faced with an awkward chunk of time. Fifteen minutes was too early to head to class, but not enough time to get started on any other homework. I wasn’t alone--across the porch was another girl, sitting alone like me, half-heartedly thumbing through social media on her phone. Other students were walking up the steps, talking and laughing. Some briefly glanced my way as they passed.
I squirmed for a moment, then it hit me: the compulsion to reach for my phone to pass the time.
Just the day before, I’d felt that same magnetic pull. I had been sitting in a waiting room before a visit with my dermatologist. The room was empty except for me, another woman, and the receptionist. It was so still and quiet, that after a day of trucking around campus like a remote control car, it almost felt wrong to be there. By name and nature, a waiting room seemed unproductive. Sitting in a padded chair surrounded by copies of Health magazine seemed like something I couldn’t afford to do, a few minutes I couldn’t stand to waste. Not with the amount of homework I had due tomorrow. I was desperate to do something. I started kicking myself for not bringing a textbook inside with me. Instead, I grabbed a copy of "In Shape" and started flipping pages.
In both of these situations, I’d reached for some numbing entertainment. I didn’t pick up my phone because I needed to check an email, and I didn’t peruse "In Shape" because I was riveted by "Five Ways to Burn Belly Fat." I felt that compulsion to have something in front me, to be doing something while I waited, because that’s what felt normal.
Today, simply sitting in a chair, completely unoccupied, isn’t just uncommon; it registers in our brain as something wrong. Constant movement and outwardly evident progress is what we call normal.
When I was sitting on that porch and people were passing by me, I reached for my phone because I didn’t want to be mistaken for a "creep" or a "crazy." I didn’t want to be noticed for my unusual stillness or judged for my lack of productivity.
During the day, we stress ourselves out, wishing we had just a moment to relax, but when that moment actually arrives, we don’t know what to do with it. When we’re stuck in the hamster wheel of our daily momentum, we deny ourselves a second to breathe because we feel like we have to keep going. We have to fill every moment, and a second of rest feels irresponsible.
This isn’t a rag on cell phones or magazines. It’s not even a critique of entertainment. It’s an invitation to look up while you wait.
Right after I reached for my phone at the Student Center and that magazine at the dermatologist, the same thought dawned on me: I had no idea what my surroundings were at that moment. I realized I could go to bed that night without ever noticing what the weather was like; I could walk out of that office and never even notice what color the walls were painted or the view from out the window.
My hand did a little twitch, and I dropped my phone back in my backpack. I closed the magazine for a second.
I took a slow breath and watched the leaves fluttering in the trees in front of me. Some cicada in a neighboring tree somewhere was losing its mind, creaking at the top of its bug lungs. It was a surprisingly cool day for Kentucky in the middle of August. I exhaled, a quick breath of praise to God for the pretty place around me.
I noticed an art display to my right in the waiting room; a cluster of colorful horses were racing off the wall. I glanced at all the empty chairs and realized I was content to be away from big groups of people for a few minutes. I watched the receptionist sort through files and thought of my older sister who would be working in a doctor’s office similar to this once she got her doctorate in Physical Therapy.
What do you see when you look up, when you resist your daily momentum to be still? Sleep isn’t enough to rest us. Our surroundings offer rest to us, too. When you put down your go-to entertainment, you’re not creepy or unproductive, even if the world sees it that way. You’re taking a second to breathe, which you need just as much as work and entertainment. Our brains are thirsty for a few moments of free space to observe and enjoy what’s going on around us and to wander long enough to remind us what we care about.
