World of Wonder

My small apartment contains a world of wonder in the form of books I have yet to read.

But I am losing my mind.

Not in the sense that I’m spiraling toward madness, but rather that my mind has come under the ownership of outside forces.

My small apartment also contains an abyss of distraction. Sitting over there on the desk, or again in my lap, or also in my pocket. An invitation to give over to someone else’s thought of the moment, some benevolent offering of information I didn’t know I needed until…now.

Nothing new being said here. When you are left to yourself, you miss connection.

I will fall asleep to the ASMR girl with the charming accent. I will feel smart by watching flat-earthers get debunked. I will empathize with those who are suffering from the hateful cruelty of others. But I won’t be connected, will I, really.

Even where good people gather online, it can’t replace the vibrational nuance of someone’s air transmitted voice close to your ear in conversation. And touch. What about the clasp of hands, the arm on shoulder?

My books won’t substitute for those things either, but certainly if I’m to stand a fighting chance of getting my mind back under self-ownership, changes must be made.

How much strength do I have for this? 
No YouTube?
No online socials? I’m putting this online right?
No bingeing downloaded shows to apply like a salve.
I haven’t had a television in years so that’s one less thing to turn off.

As I gaze around at the bookshelves, I’m asking myself, can I survive on these? Years ago there was a version of me that could. I can’t remember him very well.

Walking, reading, writing, and I must add helping. Some form of service. Walking, reading, writing, helping.

I so want these things to be enough.