I admit it. I was an Internet addict, always checking my phone for the latest updates from various news sites. I had subscriptions to the web versions of E!Online, RealSimple, People and Oprah. I relentlessly tagged self-help articles, and made vision boards of my wardrobe dreams and “18 Habits to Happiness” on Pinterest.
I scheduled an hour each morning to keep up with all the likes and birthday messages on Facebook as well as sharing the #beautiful #amazing #happy #life I was living on #my Instagram. In the evening, I shared my laser-sharp political barbs on Twitter, retweeting the boldest and brightest @anyone who would listen and respond.
My phone pinged and beeped and whirred as my thousands of followers and followees danced in an endless cycle of news loops and feedback.
And then one day it just stopped.
In a cost-saving measure. my husband switched us to Super Slow Internet from our traditional cable provider. My days of sucking up endless waves of bandwidth dried up into a tiny pool of shared data so small I could barely dip my toes into Pinterest without getting overage warning texts.
I pounded my fists in frustration as the video of my dog chewing his amazing Peruvian wool, responsibly sourced, hand-stitched fire hydrant chew toy dragged to a halt against the unconquerable bandwidth wall. Ten hours to upload?
Impossible, I thought, clicking the button again and again, hoping against hope that this would hurry it along, like a hand-cranked flashlight in a storm. Nothing. The data slowly dribbled through the connection, my phone burning hot as the Wi-Fi struggled with its heavy load.
I gave up and went to bed, plugging the phone in to keep it charged.
The next morning, I was rewarded with at least 6 clicks and a couple of thumbs up on Facebook, but it still hadn’t loaded to Instagram. I grabbed a beer out of the fridge and sat on the couch pouting. What was I going to do, if I couldn’t share my every waking thought and moment with the Internet?
I looked around the house in despair. And then I noticed it, stuffed in the bottom of the buffet. A small piece of fuzzy blue yarn. I opened the drawer and found my half-finished scarf from 1997. I hauled out the skein of yarn, the crochet needle, and the photocopied instructions. Crocheting. Paper instructions.
No instructional YouTube videos, just a bunch of abbreviated stitch terms. I pulled the needle out of the scarf and started reading. Slip knot, chain, single crochet, double crochet, loop, cast off, granny square…it was coming back to me.
Five hours later, the scarf was done and I didn’t know what had happened in the world and best of all, I didn’t care. The next day I started an afghan and two friends called me on the phone (!) worried because they hadn’t seen me post anything online in two days.
Five days later, the afghan was done and my need to take photos and share it on Pinterest seemed a distant memory. Two weeks later, I had embroidered all my dish towels and began working on a sweater for my sister.
A few more friends had texted they missed me, but I was too busy to check on their Facebook statuses or see what they were tweeting. I was sleeping better. I was eating healthier. I checked my email once a day, did some online banking, and called it good.
I am not even tempted to start an Etsy shop because I know we don’t have enough bandwidth to upload the photos in a reasonable manner.
Thank you, Super Slow Internet, for helping me slow down and enjoy life again!
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