Who would have thought that my broken screen could represent healing?
For me, there is something satisfying
about the brand new. When it’s yours, you feel as though you have started over,
that you have a clean slate with no mistakes.
I remember, specifically, the day I
got my brand new iPhone 6. The box it came in was sleek and shiny, but not as
shiny as the phone itself. I marveled as I ran my finger over its polished
surface not finding a single defect. As I held it in my hand, my attention was
drawn to how perfectly it fit there as though it had been custom made for me. I
imagined that only the hand of my soulmate would fit better.
From the moment I got my new phone, I
was determined to keep it from getting scratched. I dressed it in a white and
gold case, not wanting a bulky one to take away from its beauty. Throughout a
given day I would move it from pocket to pocket, sometimes sticking it in my
backpack or putting it on my desk. This dance with my hands was my way of
ensuring that my phone was always in the safest place possible.
Let me explain the circumstances that
surrounded me getting a new phone. Just like the phone itself, my life was
seemingly perfect. I was a freshman in college about to finish my first
semester. I had great grades. I was serving in a student leadership position
where I felt like I was making a difference. I made good friends with the girls
in my hall. I had high standards for myself that I consistently met.
I was dancing through life without
missing a beat. I planned meticulously, making sure I made the right step at
the right moment. Many times, to avoid a misstep, I would choose a different
dance move, one that I was sure that I could make. That didn’t bother me much
though; I was still able to do a lot of things. I might have been critical of
my dance, but I always got where I needed to be.
Then, one day, I made a mistake: I
got a scratch across my crystal black screen. I didn’t know how it got there.
Had it rubbed against some rough surface as I stuck it on my nightstand? Or was
there something in my backpack pocket that pierced its clean screen? I never
figured out exactly how it got there. I eventually gave up, cursing my
carelessness.
Most of the time I pretended it was
not there, that my phone was scratch-free just like that first day I bought it.
Every once in awhile, though, when I held it at a certain angle or looked at it
too closely, I could see that thin line. It haunted me and always brought a
sinking feeling to my chest.
The scratch on my phone wasn’t the
only thing that was haunting me during this time. I had begun to make mis-steps
right and left, and they were adding up. Sometimes I would forget to do a
homework assignment. Other times I would say something stupid in front of peer
or be too scared to say hi to someone I knew on campus. Sometimes I would eat
too much ice cream or skip going to the gym. Sometimes I would waste too
much time on my phone and miss out on social opportunities. Once, I even failed
a test. All of these things began to add up, throwing me off my rhythm. To
combat this, I pretended these moments didn’t exist and I would push harder. As
I moved forward, I could almost believe that I was still without a scratch.
A few years went by and I had not
incurred any additional damage on phone. Though I do remember once, when I
dropped it while crossing a busy street in Greece. It landed face down and I
was sure it had shattered. I picked it up and shoved it back into my little
gray bag, too afraid to look. Despair and hopelessness found space next to my
fear as I contemplated the consequences of a cracked screen. What was the value
of my phone if it was not flawless?
Though my phone didn’t crack that day
in Greece, I had hit my breaking point. The feelings of despair and
hopelessness that filled me as I watch my phone spiral out of my hands and fall
onto a foreign road had not left. Now they were fueled by me feeling as though
my life was spinning out of control. Each day this past year I watched it fall
further and further into unknown places. Places where I felt there was no point
in going to check and see if everything was okay, because my life was over.
Every day I made plans, I committed to achieve them, and then I watched them
fall apart. Often, I pleaded for these feelings to be removed.
“I can’t keep feeling this way,” I’d
pray, “I need you to take away my weaknesses. Give me resilience. Help me move
forward and accomplish all of my goals so these feelings will leave!”
Eventually, I realized that I was
looking at myself and my life through a cracked screen. This meant some parts
of my vision were blurry and other parts I couldn’t see through at all. Often,
parts were separated by long crooked lines that made it hard for me to see how
they all fit together. All of these things made it impossible for me to see my
life clearly.
It took time, but my perspective of
myself and of my life began to change. I realized, as the great Alexander Pope
once said, “To err is human, to forgive is divine.” As I acknowledged the
problem and forgave myself, the cracks began to mend. It took time, but
eventually things started to clear up.
A few days ago, while beginning my
morning run, I heard a thud as I neared the end of the crosswalk. I looked
down, but not before I felt my foot kick a small item forward. Perplexed, I
realized that my phone was a few feet in front of me. I quickly picked it up
and noted that a thin spider web of cracks now covered my screen. Unfazed, I
moved my phone to a different pocket, because the original one had not been
deep enough. When I finished my run, I began to get ready for school. As I
contemplated which color of eyeshadow to use, I looked over at my phone and
smiled because for the first time ever it didn’t bother me that I had cracked
my screen.
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