fat tuesday

lenten logging off

I miss the old Shrove Tuesday pancake dinners at the church of my childhood.

Photo by Sperry Honey on Unsplash

I still think about them when this time of year rolls around and I realize, stunned at the passing of months, that Lent is already upon us.

Wasn’t it just Christmas?

I don’t feel ready for Lent. Like I never feel ready for Christmas.

Both are seasons that invite my most favorite thing in the whole world: reflection. Specifically of the spiritual sort.

But there always seems to be so much to do that gets in the way of all the reflecting and reading and praying and writing I want to do.

And you know what else gets in the way?

Photo by Georgia de Lotz on Unsplash

My stupid phone. Instagram. The algorithm.

This idea that I have that getting on my phone is a “break,” but then my brain just feels like mush.

And then I wonder how it got so late and I don’t have anything to show for it. And I wish that, instead of procrastinating on my phone to avoid work or chores, I’d just decided to take a break with something that’s actually a break. Like a puzzle. Or reading a book. A real one with pages.

And that’s not even getting into what it’s doing to my nervous system—the loop of getting on social media as a distraction because I feel anxious, but of course what I end up seeing only serves to make me more anxious. It’s basically designed to do that.

This is not an interesting take. This is nothing new. We all know that many of us have a problem with this. If we’re lucky and it’s not too late to prevent civilization from going full WALL-E, I wouldn’t be surprised if future generations look back on the phone usage of these days the way we D.A.R.E.-era millennials look back on smoking.

But why does WALL-E feel prophetic?

I’m always thinking about quitting, but I never do. Last year, I did actually delete Instagram from my phone and stay off of it for Lent, and I’ve been considering trying it again this year.

So tonight, when I sat down to scroll, the thought I had was “Fat Tuesday.” Like stuffing your face with pancakes on Shrove Tuesday because you’re going to cut out sweets the next day on Ash Wednesday, I watched all the reels I’ve collected in my DMs, clicked through stories, landed on a Taylor Swift analysis account I recently discovered and watched video after video of lyric deep dives (and actually, that was kinda cool).

But mostly it didn’t really feel like much of a celebration.

My love affair with social media is a bit of an abusive relationship. It’s mostly bad for me and mostly makes me feel like crap, but I keep hanging on for the parts that are nice.

I don’t like missing out on my friends’ posts. And social media has helped me discover all kinds of authors, books, podcasts, and songs that I love. I have a definite fear of missing out on a good share, a good recommendation.

And I also really love having a landing place for the random thoughts. As if anyone cares, I like to post a story that’s a screenshot of the song I’m hyper-fixated on, the podcast episode I enjoyed. Sometimes a thought pops in my head, and—even though I hate typing on my phone—Instagram feels like the place to publish it. And, for real, sometimes those little posts, whether lighthearted or theological or political, do make actual connections. A friend sends a message, reaches out, clicks the little heart that says, “me too.”

How do we keep the good without the rest of it—the rage bait, the doomscroll, the dopamine addiction?

Photo by Adrian Swancar on Unsplash

I don’t know if there’s a way or not, but I know I am tired and in need of intervention. And an actual break.

And I know social media break announcements are annoying. But I feel this urge to write about it because what I hate to lose is the sense of connection that can come from posting and seeing others’ posts.

So mainly, I write this as a plea: if you have something cool to share, please text me, tell me, email me, find me in the real world. I don’t want to miss the connections, but I do want to escape the brain rot and the time suck.

So here’s to another year of clicking delete and trying to reclaim some time and attention and, who knows, maybe even make some space for that reflection I’m longing to do?

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Anybody else trying to get out of Meta’s clutches? What’s working for you?

How do you stay connected and in conversation with friends without the convenience of social media? How do you find your next read and your new favorite song?