I was late to the cell phone scene.
For years I resisted getting the cell phone offered by my employer because I didn’t want to be that accessible. I also didn’t want brain cancer. I remembered having written a newspaper story about a widow convinced her husband’s shoebox-sized cell phone from the early ’80s had caused his death.
I didn’t need radio waves zapping through my noggin any more than I needed to hear my boss bark orders after hours.
By the time I finally succumbed and acquired a flip phone in circa 2004, no one was talking about brain cancer. It was all about coverage areas and international calling plans and this new fangled way of communicating called “texting.”
Ah, the good ol’ days.
Though I remembered my Lemon Zest Luna bar and my Chobani Raspberry Lemon Greek yogurt as I was flying out the door this morning intending to consume my breakfast at every traffic light between here and the Chicago fringe, I managed to forget my cell phone.
I forgot my security blanket.
No checking email.
No logging my calories in my fitness app.
No checking in on Facebook.
No Googling the hours of the office supply store.
No checking in with my Beloved (oh yeah, phones are for phone calls).
It was a weird day.
But I managed to get along without being that accessible. And I should probably leave my phone behind more often. Not only do I reduce my chances of brain cancer, but I increased my serenity tenfold.
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