Like most of us in this modern age, my phone has kept me up late more nights than I can count.
I put it down to go to sleep only to find it, mysteriously, back in my hands, lighting the room with it’s strange, modern glow.
Of course, it’s terrible for our brains and our capacity to sleep.
The first thing I did was to get an alarm clock that wasn’t my phone. And that helped. But the phone kept finding its way back into my bedroom. And then, somehow, turning on and cycling me through Facebook, email, Huffington Post and you name it.
I would curse it. This modern bane of my existence. This addictive entity. This seductive Don Juan of my pocket. This electric vixen slowly robbing me of my productivity and productive life force.
I joined everyone in helplessly bemoaning it. I grumbled.
I secretly enjoyed every minute of it.
I resented it in the morning.
So, I finally decided a different approach.
I decided to love my phone and care for it.
I decided to proceed as if it were alive, just like myself, and needed sleep too.
And so, I made it a nest to sleep in.
And now, each night, I plug it in, say some good words to it, thanking if for helping me stay connected to the world, finding my way around, finding important information and acknowledging how tiring it must have been. I speak these words out loud and then turn it off and rest it in this bowl given to me by my friend Jesse Hahn, cradled in the old Mackay tartan wool scarf I bought years ago.
And then I go to my room, lit by candle light now, and read a book, meditate, stretch or journal and go to sleep.