…I’m still content with my current cell phone.

I don’t just mean that in the sense of “I can save myself the hassle and cost of upgrading.” I mean that today’s worth it because my cell phone is a strange little island of contentment in an ocean of anxiety.

My career? I’m terrified I’ll lose it, so I work harder than I need to. My writing? I fear everyone who has given me feedback is lying and it’s secretly all awful, so I doubt everything and seek improvement always. My marriage? I worry that I actually am a stereotypical loser husband, so I take on more domestic duties and beat myself up if I feel I haven’t been attentive enough.

All things around me are competing for time and energy. Life is an impossible quest for perfection, an endless cycle of upward struggle powered by the glimmer of hope that maybe I’ll finally make it.

But not my damn phone, man. That shit’s covered.


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