In an attempt to curtail my phone addiction and get back to the type of person I think I used to be – you know – an eager young thing full of curiosity and intellectual vigour, someone actually reads books instead of watching viral videos one after the other…

Did this person even exist? Was this ever even me?

Oh, I don’t know! – But the idea of her is alive enough inside my mind. She’s sneaking glances at me over the pages of her book, eyebrows raised but too polite to say anything, silently wondering what on earth happened to the future version of the self we both carry. 

Where did it all go wrong? Which of us dropped the ball? Probably the version of us that existed circa early 2010s when iPhones and Facebook became mainstream in our world. 

There’s no blame here.

How was she – how were any of us – to know about dependencies that lay ahead? Of the need for constant stimulation and having fresh information to consume? Or the hunger for dopamine hits in the form of likes, new messages, and new things to look at on your screen?

Mid-twenties self, I forgive you.

But now let’s try to make things right.

So.

In this attempt to live a more wholesome life, one where I wasn’t looking at my phone at all hours, and had deeper and more substantial thoughts in my head than the latest internet meme…

…I left the comfort of my home and stepped into the comfort of a Barnes and Nobles.

Wow.

I had forgotten how nice bookstores are (and expensive!). 

I don’t know, there’s something just so appealing about books when they’re new and shiny.

Books in a bookstore hold themselves differently than books in a library; they’re more sure of themselves and their worth. It’s not just that they’re shiny and new – it’s the open secret that they know that you know that for just a little bit of cash you could own them. 

The air is rich with the promise of possession. 

You could take me home, they say, and keep me on your shelf forever. Or give me to that special someone. Or flick through me and leave me on a bus. Whatever. It’s entirely up to you. 

You could read each word of me, and whatever’s written inside me would become yours more than any old library book. I’ll take you seriously. We’ll merge our identities together – be like one! – and you’ll soon start to see yourself as someone deeply involved in matters far beyond yourself.

Why, people will come to your house, see me on your coffee table, and be suddenly struck by the awful realisation that they hardly know you at all…

For a moment I forgot that I was addicted to my phone. I slipped back into the Gemma that used to be, who would read all the time, drinking up the novels and feeling great that I was expanding my horizons.

Who would read Torah books and feel herself get holier and grow each day.

Who had a schedule of books to read. Who went through the classics. 

Who didn’t have a phone.

Bookworm Gemma, I miss you.

I gathered a whole bunch of books, and some baby gifts for my two friends who had babies because I don’t have my act together to cook for them but want to show them I care. Because book stores sell these now!

I walked towards the checkout, and then realized how much it was going to cost. And then I heard some words in my head that my husband tells our kids all the time: 

Finish what you have and I’ll give you more.

I said to myself, Gemma, how about you choose one book, and actually read it. Remember you have a phone addiction. And when you finish it we can come back here and I’ll get you another one.

I put all the books back but one. I bought it, took it home.

And I plan to start reading it… very soon.