Content related to inspiring books that have crossed my path
To recognize that your time and attention are valuable, non-renewable resources is to win a major battle in the David-and-Goliath fight we face every time we pick up our phones. Once we understand just how much money social media platforms make from what we give them for free, we will start to view each digital interaction as a war they don’t want to lose.
For someone who has always been burdened with an overabundance of hobbies and interests, I found this week’s action of cultivating “high-quality leisure activities” to be an interesting, if confusing one. For years I have fought for more down-time for myself, but I am coming to learn that passive time spent scrolling through social media is neither restful nor healthy.
Once we come to terms with the fact that we have a limited amount of time on this earth, the decisions we make become incredibly meaningful. I was likely an English major in a very close parallel universe, as the insights in this week’s digital detox update reference JRR Tolkien, Robert Frost, and others from my bookshelf to explore a seemingly simple directive: don’t click like.
Once you’ve removed the digital clutter, you need to make sure you’re filling your time with more wholesome, restorative, and healthy activities. One of those things is getting comfortable with mental quiet time, during which you’re not being bombarded with external ideas. Solitude doesn’t have to be a scary thing – it can just be time to decompress and process thoughts and emotions.
It’s only a few days into Lent, and I’ve already bent (or broken) some rules – but largely for good reasons. The key to an effective digital declutter – and reentry – is focusing on why you’re using a given tool and making sure it’s supporting that end, not using you. A trip back home this week turned my regular schedule sideways and necessitated a little flexibility.
I have given up Facebook before, but I’ve never done anything as extreme as a digital detox. I recognize that my relationship with technology (especially social media) is unhealthy, so in the coming weeks, I hope to make my technological interactions more mindful and assess what works for me and what doesn’t. Ultimately, these are tools for me to use, not the other way around.
Over 100 million Americans made New Year’s resolutions for 2022, and fewer than 10 million actually succeeded in keeping them. I rarely succeed, in spite of (or because of) the fact that I tend to make so many. This year, I hope that examining the “why” behind my resolutions, rather than following my annual pattern from years before, will meet with more success.
Having fun – by definition – means being playful and limiting self-judgment, but self-judgment has dictated my relationship with music for more than half of my life. I am currently working through one of the most complicated relationships I’ve ever experienced. In doing so, I have at least identified what feels healthy and what I want more of, but I also know it’s going to be a long process.
Although some movie critics have attempted to define what constitutes a “Christmas movie,” some of the accepted criteria are incredibly subjective and depend on a viewer’s individual perception and family traditions. Despite the heated debates, I still believe one movie stands out from the others in the “action at Christmas” genre and truly deserves its place among the more traditionally accepted Christmas classics.
“Die Hard” is considered by many to be the greatest Christmas movie of all time; it is also considered by many to be the most divisive Christmas movie of all time. There are plenty of articles that share qualitative and quantitative information about why “Die Hard” is, and I am here to agree. But I’m also here to ask what exactly defines a Christmas movie?