I interrupted my morning writing routine when a pop-up ad drew my attention away from Dictionary.com.
Hemingwrite.
Clever name. What’s that about? A click opened an article describing an invention for writers that was being funded on Kickstarter. A word-processor without an internet browser, it looked like a flattened-out typewriter with a postcard-sized screen. What a godsend for people like me, easily seduced by online curiosities, tempted to peek at Facebook or open one more email. This might work. Just sit and type while it backs up my work to the cloud, and that’s good, because … well let’s see how much it costs.
The cursor blinked over the link to the Kickstarter campaign. I studied the donation levels, weighed my options, read the backstory of the invention.
I was well into stalking the people who’d already donated, when a cartoon lightning bolt zapped my head.
My eyeballs sproinged from their sockets.
A singed dreadlock plopped onto the keyboard.
Sigh.
Here I sit, consumed by a website about a device designed to prevent me from being consumed by websites.
Once again stuck on its treadmill, my frantic mind races toward solutions to problems it’s busy creating.
It’s not my job to find a solution to the problem of my distraction. My job is to notice I’m distracted and then observe how that feels. Nothing more.
Life works out. It always has. The details are above my pay grade.
Hemingwrite.
Clever name. What’s that about? A click opened an article describing an invention for writers that was being funded on Kickstarter. A word-processor without an internet browser, it looked like a flattened-out typewriter with a postcard-sized screen. What a godsend for people like me, easily seduced by online curiosities, tempted to peek at Facebook or open one more email. This might work. Just sit and type while it backs up my work to the cloud, and that’s good, because … well let’s see how much it costs.
The cursor blinked over the link to the Kickstarter campaign. I studied the donation levels, weighed my options, read the backstory of the invention.
I was well into stalking the people who’d already donated, when a cartoon lightning bolt zapped my head.
My eyeballs sproinged from their sockets.
A singed dreadlock plopped onto the keyboard.
Sigh.
Here I sit, consumed by a website about a device designed to prevent me from being consumed by websites.
Once again stuck on its treadmill, my frantic mind races toward solutions to problems it’s busy creating.
It’s not my job to find a solution to the problem of my distraction. My job is to notice I’m distracted and then observe how that feels. Nothing more.
Life works out. It always has. The details are above my pay grade.
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