Last night I spilled hot tea on my phone and two of the buttons stopped working. So after I blogged, I shut my phone down, removed the battery, and sealed my phone in a Ziploc bag full of rice. According to the internet and some (but not all) of my smart friends, the rice is supposed to suck the moisture out of the phone and–voila!–return it to normal working condition. (I’ve had moderate success with this method before. It’s worked for my phone but not for my laptop. And yes, I spill hot tea on my electronics a lot. Always after I’ve stopped carrying insurance on them, I should add.) Anyway, being without my phone has been a bit like being without my penis, I’m sad to say. That is, we’re pretty attached.

When I was in my early twenties and all my friends had cell phones, I refused to get one. “I don’t need one,” I said. Instead, I used my parents’ landline. I memorized everyone’s numbers. (Remember when that was a thing?) But when I turned twenty-five, I caved and got a flip phone. And me and my phone have been married ever since. Like almost everyone else in America, I’m rarely without my device. Not that I’m proud of this, but facts are facts.

Since I usually use my phone for my alarm clock, last night I used an honest-to-god alarm clock instead. Consequently, I didn’t sleep well. I wasn’t sure it would go off. I set it for eight this morning and–on my own–woke up at six-forty-five. Well, I never went back to sleep. But here’s the great part. Instead of picking up my phone and mindlessly scrolling through Facebook and Instagram, I meditated and contemplated. Not like I closed my eyes and chanted, but last night I talked about my phone’s “death” as an opportunity for me to unplug and even get my nose out of other people’s business, so for over an hour this morning I considered these things. What’s really important to me? I thought.

When I finally rolled out of bed, I pulled my phone out of the rice, put the battery back in, and–with hope–pushed the power button. Thankfully, it worked. Everything operated as if nothing had happened. Except that I’d “lost” my contacts because I’d purposefully disconnected my accounts so they wouldn’t be exposed in the event I had to take my phone to a repair shop. But anyway, back to the good news. No serious problems. Still, I decided to turn my phone off and put it back in rice just to be on the safe side. Would it be the worst thing in the world to disconnect for a day? I thought.

No, no it wouldn’t, I thought back.

After eating breakfast and showering, I went to therapy, and my therapist told me I had really big balls (“elephantiasis” was her word) when I told her about my confronting someone recently. “I don’t know how you’re sitting there with your legs crossed,” she said. “Your nuts seriously must be cantaloupe-sized.”

“It’s just because I’ve been hanging out with you for five years,” I said.

Recently I’ve talked a lot about changing patterns and behaviors, and I use this story as an illustration of the idea that when you’re wanting to change or transform, it’s important to have a role model. This is why people in Alcoholics Anonymous have sponsors. You need someone who acts as an example of what you want to be. For me that example has mostly been my therapist. However, I also often think about Doc Holiday as portrayed by Val Kilmer in the movie Tombstone. The guy’s an absolute badass. He says what he wants and doesn’t take shit from anyone. Granted, he’s the sharpest shooter in the wild west and can back up his words with a his bullets, but still, the point remains. In order to reach our potential, we need mentors, people who say (by either their words or actions), “This is possible. Look what you can become.” Indeed, I don’t think it’s an accident that Tombstone has been one of my top-five favorite movies since it came out. It’s like a part of me knew–There’s something here to aspire to.

Now it’s nine at night, and my phone is still shut off. I’m thinking I’ll let it continue to dry out until tomorrow afternoon. And whereas I’ve had a couple twitchy, compulsive moments (like reaching for my phone after therapy or whenever I’ve put my car in park), it really has been the best thing. For one thing, I’ve been more intentional. Instead of letting someone else decide what I should think about, I decided what I should think about it. This morning I read the preface for a book after breakfast. This afternoon I paid bills. Tonight I had dinner with some dear friends and was absolutely present (when I wasn’t staring at the hot waiter). I can’t imagine I missed out on anything on social media. Also, I never once felt bad because some friend or stranger was bitching or talking about politics. Or because I was comparing my life to someone else’s. Rather, I was simply living–less attached.