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| Georgiana Sook Class of 2019 |
January 26, 2017.
Had you been in my room that morning, you would be forgiven for thinking it an average day.
After all, the night before had been like any other.
I tucked my love into bed beside me like I always do, and after one last loving gaze, drifted into sleep.
6 short hours later, he faithfully woke me up at 7:50am, 8:03am, 8:04am, 8:09am, 8:13am, 8:17am, 8:21am, 8:24am, etc.
He seemed responsive at first, but when I finally decided to really wake up and went to ask him about the weather and the news, it was as if he no longer recognized my touch. There was some flickering, and then he was gone.
How do you prepare to have a constant companion ripped from your life in a single day?
The one who knows every curve of your thumbprint, all your passwords, and where you are at every moment.
The one who knows everything you like and everything you’re searching for in life.
The one who has seen the best and worst of you.
The one who provides you with inspiration and reminds you of all the things you need to do.
The one who is there to tell you the good news and the bad.
The one who helps you express your ideas and communicate with others.
The one who always remembers what happened when and is always there to help you relive those memories when you forget.
The one who never leaves your side.
The one without whom you just feel ...wrong.
I panicked. No longer could I check my emails, texts, meeting times, and friends’ latest life events in a quick application rotation.
Like anyone who can does, I took off work to take care of my sick loved one.
Before even making it to my car, however, I ran into problems.
I had nothing to do while I waited approximately 39 seconds for the elevator. I just glanced around uncomfortably. It was disconcerting to say the very least.
I also realized that if I could not use my GPS, I had no way of knowing how to get to the store.
I was inconvenienced and irritated, complaining as I went out the door. The last thing I wanted to do was spend time and money getting something fixed that shouldn’t have broken. After all, I’m entitled to working technology. How dare the world-wide webiverse carry on without my having access to it.
As I pulled up to the last stoplight before getting onto the highway, I noticed a man standing on the street corner with a sign that read “homeless and hungry.”
My first instinct was to reach over and check that my door was locked.
But then, something happened inside of me. This man had nothing, and my gut reaction was to see him as a threat. He was asking for help, and I locked him out.
Motivated as much by guilt as by goodwill, I switched lanes and looped around to the McDonald’s 50 yards away. I grabbed a couple of burgers, some fries, and a water.
I went to the same stoplight and rolled down my window, handing off the meal to the most grateful gaze my eyes have ever met. Immediately and as if he hadn’t seen food in days, he unwrapped the food and began to eat it. The light changed and I pulled onto the highway.
The rest of the afternoon I felt as though I’d been hit by a truck.
I had been so embittered about having to take my phone—a piece of technology I’m fortunate to have—to the store to get it fixed or replaced, which I could afford to do.
The store was full of people who were purchasing or repairing their expensive toys.
Those who walked in, myself included, were willing to wait an hour to be seen.
It’s sad how easy it is to give up a few hours and a wad of cash when it’s for yourself and to meet your own needs. Yet, how many were willing to take 5 minutes and 5 dollars to help someone else?
It’s idolatry incognito, the thing you don’t want to admit you can’t live without.
Because at the end of the day, you don’t really want to change. We justify our addictions by looking to others who share them. Can it really be an illness if everyone has it?
Yes, I suppose that’s what they call an epidemic.
I walked in thinking I needed a new battery and walked out with a brand spanking new matte black iPhone7 on a two-year payment plan with a case and insurance to boot.
(I’m grateful Apple doesn’t sell houses or cars. Salespeople adore me.)
I’d love to tell you that I’ve changed and am no longer absorbed by my phone.
It’d be cool to say that after this experience I started a new project helping feed the homeless in Louisville. But that’s just not the case.
This isn’t a story about how I overcame my addiction to my phone.
This isn’t a story about how small acts of kindness justify our lives of indulgence.
It’s just an honest anecdote about my internal struggle to be less self-absorbed and more patient, grateful, and kind.
Maybe that’s anticlimactic, but something I’m learning is that character isn’t built overnight. It’s not a 180 degree turn or a moment of epiphany that changes you. Character does not appear with fireworks and fanfare. It’s built in the small moments. It’s built by choosing kindness again and again when it feels inconvenient and will likely go unrecognized. It’s less about flawless performance and more about trying consistently to do better and be better than we’re naturally inclined to be.
When we step back and are less absorbed with ourselves and our phones, we’re better able to see and meet the needs of others. The opportunity to extend real, tangible kindness to others is worth more than a “slay, girl!” on Instagram or a like on Facebook will ever be.
Georgiana Sook, of Owensboro, Ky., is a sophomore McConnell Scholar studying English, philosophy, political science, and psychology.