Filters, Smartphones & Anonymous Questions

Mountain Bike Trail
credit

Question:
...I do have another question to pose to you, Scabs. I have no forum or means of asking this and hoped maybe you could open it up to your readers for feedback. How do you handle the smartphone? My husband has to have it for work. He previously told me there was a filter. Tonight I asked to see the filter, so I could feel more comfortable. And "somehow" the filter doesn't work anymore. He is an addict walking around with his drug in his pocket. What do others do with the curse of the smartphone?
-Anonymous



Dear Anonymous,
Sometimes, fighting against my own rationality, I throw my hands in the air and decide to be brave.    
In October, my cousin took me to the top of a rocky, craggy mountain in Idaho.   It was crisp and gorgeous!  Heart-stoppingly beautiful.
At the tiptop of the mountain is a steep down hill mountain bike trail.  Perched on the teetering top of the trail my cousin and I straddled our bikes, clipped our shoes in the peddles and with all the un-natural surrender it takes to muster that kind of courage, we kicked off and bolted down the breakneck trail! 

Like wreckage flailing down the mountain, my bike violently bobbed between rocks, over logs with near misses, white knuckles and scraped shins.  If you've ever been down hill biking, you know that ridged control of your bike always ends in disaster.  You also know that staring at the rocks only leads you straight to them.

This is what I think of when I think about letting go of smart phones or computers or ipads or whatever ails you.  It takes all the un-natural surrender you can muster to find the kind of courage it takes to let go and stop staring at the rocks.

Staring at our obstacles, handicaps and our partner's web history is only natural.  Letting go is a  learned art.  In the beginning, if you feel a bit crazy and you hold tight to controls, filters, passwords or demanding frank conversations, this is normal.  With all the rocks that might be on the path, letting go is a terrifying thought.  We're teetering on the mountain top with white knuckles.  

I can't help but think, "How can we let go when we don't know what it feels like to hang on?"
Opposition in all things, right?

Halfway down the mountain, I came skidding to a shaky stop.  I had to change.  Blood was trickling down the back of my leg, I had swallowed a grasshopper and was covered in dirt.  And, I was scared.  Really scared.  So scared I could barely breathe.

After a deep breath, I mustered all the un-natural courage I had, put my feet in the peddles and looked forward to the clear paths ahead of me.  I knew if I stopped staring at the rocks I'd stop crashing straight into them.  

After all, I only have control over myself.  

At our house, there's a filter on our family computers.  Mr Scabs laptop is his responsibility.  One day, about a year ago he asked me to put a filter on his laptop for him.  I did.  Our smart phones aren't filtered.  They are unlocked.  Our boundaries include not deleting history, text messages, emails etc. and transparency in disclosing mistakes.  The unfortunate consequence for continued breaking of our boundaries is detachment.  

This is me,  with all the un-natural surrender it takes to muster the kind of courage to let go.
I throw my hands in the air and decide to be brave.    



Love,
Scabs



p.s.  I have more to say on this topic but that is the part I have chosen not to publish.  For those of you who have asked, I sent the email as a continuation of this post.  If you didn't get it, email me again.