time spent offline

I write this post with delight.

The day is still young— 10:18am on a Saturday to be exact. I sit at one of the computers at the public library and write these words. Before this, I have already had a delightful morning: An hour spent with The Forty Rules of Love— a book for anyone looking to love (No, not for love, but to love); another hour spent pouring my heart out on a $3 notebook; coffee. Besides checking my email habitually upon waking up, it is a morning of silence, solitude and contemplation— with just me, myself, and I. A delight, indeed. After I have exhausted myself with solitude and without the “internet,” I find myself itching for the outside world; to pay attention, notice, feel a thing or two. Sure, I can write from the comfort of my home; tiny, cozy, and safe from the outside world, and on a prohibitively expensive laptop— forgive me, Apple raised me— but what is the fun in that?

To amuse myself, in-between my morning retreat and a noon workout class, I decide to head to the library; I had a book on hold and could use those ancient desktops to write these words. Grabbing my bag ready to leave, I get a text from a friend: “Hello! Do you want to go for a walk sometime today? Or come by for a coffee?” Mind you, not that long ago, a year or so in the past, getting a text like this would have exhausted me. Truthfully, it was rare I got texts like this. I lived on the internet, and in comparison to the endless people, entertainment, and shock the online world provided, real life required far too much effort. Used to mornings spent ignoring myself in a sea of digital content, the thought of getting up, getting ready, and leaving the house to meet someone felt like too much of a burden. Plans to see people had to be made far in advance, and used to digital interactions that can be engaged with or ignored with a simple click, tap, scroll, I needed time to gain enough courage to face people face-to-face. Reality required I maintain eye-contact, listen carefully, respond tactfully, and all without escape: I couldn’t scroll them away if I felt annoyed, disturbed, disinterested. That’s all I want now— people that annoy, disturb, delight me, and I’m always ready to meet them.We make plans to meet for coffee; I have two hours to spare in-between my noon class and a BBQ at a friend’s later that afternoon. Our couple hours spent together fills me with delight.

It’s funny.

Because after I gave the internet up, after I said farewell to days spent passively consuming connection on social media, after I gave up hundreds, if not thousands, of people on the world wide web, all I want now is to be around people: from hours spent on the phone, to a day spent wandering around the city, and fleeting conversations with strangers in-between. I desire face-to-face connection as if my life depends on it: It does. Sometimes I leave the house just so I’m around people; no direct contact necessary. I notice itty bitty humans learning to balance on their tiny feet, love unfolds and hate thrives, and it’s all the same— real— and it reminds me I, too, was once itty bitty, I have loved and lost, and will let love thrive again, because there is no light without darkness, there cannot be love without hate. It fills me with delight to know I can understand so much, about Others, about myself, simply by showing up and paying attention. I was initially going to title this post Searching for delight. Yet, the more I thought about it, the more I considered the miracles, coincidences, and synchronicities I have been experiencing lately, the clearer I understood I needed not search for delight, but rather simply show up, pay attention, and notice all the miracles around me.

So, when Annie and I met that one ordinary Sunday, all we needed to do was pay attention to notice all the miracles unfolding in front of us. To me, this miracle started back in February, back when I felt I had too little, am too little; and with little left to lose, I commit to showing up. Delight wasn’t even a consideration then. It was a thing reserved for people who have much and were worthy of such things: Funny how wrong I was. So, one ordinary Tuesday, rushing from my 9 to 5 to a workout class, and then to a book club meetup for the first time, with an unfinished book, I meet Annie. Annie— a stranger then, a total delight now— was sitting next to me: I remember her red purse, elegancy, and deadpan expression. After the book club, after we exchanged contact, and walking to the subway station, I comment on her lovely fur coat; “I feel like a pimp,” she responds. Delighted with her humour, I invite her to our Fridays at the Embassy; another miracle in my life. A Friday that started one ordinary day, back in November, back when I let my life burn to the ground and with nothing left to lose, I commit to saying yes to anyone who would have my company. Ever since then, we show up most Fridays for a conversation that pairs very well with double gin and tonic. It saves me over and over. It still does. “I might need to start therapy again!” I complain when we need to cancel too many Fridays in a row, and anything more than two is two too many.

Bit by bit, I learn miracles are everywhere.

Like this morning I noticed a bird flying backwards. I gasp. I thought it was falling and it felt surreal. Do birds fall? I have never considered this and it felt delightful to have something new to think about. Or, last Friday literally smelling the flowers on our walks with my 4-year-old niece, and her calling out “flowers! flowers! flowers!” It was magical, once she decided she liked this silly game of smelling flowers and that it was worth her curiosity and wonder, all of a sudden flowers were everywhere to be noticed and smelled. There was also Tuesday. Annie invited me to a literary open mic for writers, poets, and other spoken word forms— so, so, so much delight being surrounded by literary energy!— and she read the post on Getting Excited About Miracles (and Life), and I run into someone from university, a decade later, and we discovered we now live a few streets down from each other! Big city, small world. Today, after this post gets published, after my 9 to 5, and after a workout class, I will meet with the book club I met Annie at. We are discussing The Forty Rules of Love this month. I devoured it within a week: Each page felt like the gods whispering to me, telling me things I needed to know. What a delight!

Miracles are everywhere.

I had no idea; consumed with the digital chatter, looking down and drowning in endless scroll, I failed to notice all the magic, joys, and pleasures of the offline world surrounding me. Sure, sure, sure, there is also pain that makes you want to split your head open, but the joys of the offline world! If there are better things on the “internet,” better things than my daily delights that are worth my attention, please— please, please, please— let me know. I cannot imagine. I cannot go back. Why would I go back? What is the “internet” for anyway? I have done it all without social media, without the news, without a “smart” phone, and being without has surprised and delighted me. There is no going back now: I have made my bed and I celebrate.