My name is Juliet B.

My name is Juliet B. and I am an addict.  

I am addicted to my phone.  Seriously.  Though I'll attempt to find some humor in it.

For those of you who know me, this may not come as a shock.  And whether you know me personally or not, you might think, "What's the big deal? Every person you see is one his or her phone all the time."  True.  But yesterday, I had a few minor epiphanies, and I thought I'd share them.  Maybe they will give you insight into your own phone use (abuse?) as well.  Or just open a window into mine.

I live in a New Jersey suburb, but I had to commute into Manhattan for a seminar downtown. I packed for a 45 minute train ride and a 10 minute subway ride, as I have many times, with my wallet, my iPad, a small note book, my new Bose headphones (not tiny earbuds any more... going for the superior sound quality and comfort), a train schedule, a water bottle, a pencil case filled with pens, pencils, & sharpies, my camera, and a few other things, including, my iPhone, SO I THOUGHT.

It's a very short drive to the train station, and when I got there, I locked the car, and bought my ticket for the train and sat down to send a few texts to my husband and son.  I left them each  $50 and wanted to make sure they knew it.  I rummaged around my fairly sizable pocketbook* for my phone and couldn't find it right away.  With the train coming in 2 minutes, I figured I'd wait until I was on the train and seated to really look for it.

Settled into my spot by the window, I began to look in earnest for my phone. It wasn't the first time this has happened.  It's a big bag. Out came the wallet, the iPad, the notebook, my new headphones, camera, reading glasses, sunglasses, water bottle... getting near the bottom now... oh, look, those ginger mints I got at Sea-Tac airport...hand cream, lip balm (a mild panic is setting in as I start sifting through the small stuff), loose change, the missing button from my suede jacket...no phone yet.  I look in the pocket compartments of the bag. Nope. I check my own pockets again. I check the outer lining of the pocketbook, as if an invisible rip could have appeared. Nothing. 

A sick feeling was rising up.

I forgot my phone. I must have left it on the dining room table.  

As I replaced the contents of my bag, I looked out the window of the train. I'm now two stops away from home. I could disembark, wait for the next train, go home, get the phone take the next train and I'd just be late for the seminar.  No, that's not right.  I could call my husband, ask him to bring the phone to the next stop on the train jump out, get the... no, I can't call him, and he's probably gone to work.  I could go home, get the phone, drive to New York, pay to park, maybe be on time, maybe hit a ton of traffic in either direction... or maybe I can go one day with no phone.

Maybe I can do this. Maybe I have to.

The first thing that happened is I started to think about all the things I could not do.  I could not do what I always do on the train, which is text people, check my email, play sudoku, scrabble, and check the return trains on the NJ Transit app.  

As I mentioned, I do have an iPad, but I have the type which requires wifi.  I am my own personal hot spot. (I know how that sounds, but I pay a little extra to AT&T and through some voodoo magic, my iPhone makes me a wifi  hotspot.)  My iPad does have a book on it, and I decided to read.  I took it out and read a few pages, and then actually took a nap on the train.  So, for those of you waiting for the silver lining in this tail of woe, that was it.  I slept on the train.  

Part of my plan was to grab breakfast in town before the seminar, so I looked for a place with free wifi (which in NY is pretty easy) and while eating my omelet I sent off messages to some of the people on my list with whom I had hoped to connect.   "No phone, talk to you later."  "In the city today with no phone, home tonight."  To my son, I typed where I was going to be all day, in case of an emergency.  (He later said he hadn't seen that email, but it gave me peace of mind at the time.)  

I pictured my iPhone on the dining room table buzzing and ringing all day.  Poor little ignored thing.  No one to Tweet with it.  No one checking Instagram regularly.  No one looking at email and Facebook.  All those missed texts.  And the calls I was missing!  I could not stop thinking about that.  

As I walked through New York to my seminar, I was not noticing the beautiful day.  I was not people-watching, or smiling at the parents with their kids, or the dog-owners with their dogs.  I wasn't even noticing fun shoes or great architecture like I usually do.  I was still thinking about my phone, and the things that I hadn't done, follow-up work calls I hadn't made, emails I hadn't sent, texts that had to wait until I got home much later. It was my parents' anniversary... should I borrow someone's phone to call them? Would I even know anyone at the seminar well enough to impose on them like that?

This was when it hit me.  I am addicted to my phone.  I don't need to be ON IT all the time, but I need it to be ON ME all the time.  Is there a 12-step program for this?

I do sometimes unplug, from my computer for sure, and from my phone... almost completely.  But even at those times, I know that my phone is nearby, and available if there is an emergency.  If I had an emergency yesterday, it would have had to be at a Starbucks, so I could use the wifi to email someone from my iPad!

At the seminar, like any good presenter, our teacher went around the group and had us introduce ourselves.  When it was my turn, I nearly said, "I'm Juliet, and I forgot my phone today."  I didn't, but I did have a hard time focusing in the beginning.  Luckily, he was a great teacher, and I dove into the day.  The building had wifi, and I checked my email during the break, and had the chance to follow up with a few of the things that were pressing.  

By the time it was time to leave, I knew I was going to be okay.  I walked back to the subway station, this time cutting through the park.  I looked around and noticed people this time.  Everyone was on their phone, iPhone, iPad, Kindle, and so on. Even a young man and woman who looked like they were having a fairly intimate moment both had their headphones on and were holding separate iPhones.  Only one 20-something guy was reading an actual book as I walked through the rows of benches.   

I got near the subway station, and dug out my ticket. Normally I would have checked the NJ transit app to see which train I could make.  Instead, I pulled out the paper train schedule when I got on the subway, and calculated my timing.  

When I got home, I remembered to hug my family and say hi to my dogs before I rushed to the phone.  And there it was. Right on the table.  Now to see how much I missed.  

No calls.

A few Facebook posts, none specifically for me.

One text.

Several emails, but nothing urgent.  Most of the people who received my earlier notes replied with "No iPhone, Juliet? Are you okay?"

Life went on without my phone.  It didn't kill me.  Did it make me stronger? I don't know about that.  It did make me a bit more self-aware.  Will it make me change my phone habits?  Maybe.  I consider myself a polite cell phone user already.  But maybe after I'm done writing this, then Tweeting it, I'll turn of the phone and go outside to my garden and leave the phone in its spot on the dining room table.  It seems that I generate a lot less work for myself that way.

Oh my apps, how I missed you!

*Fun fact:  They don't say pocketbook in the Pacific Northwest.  They say Purse or Handbag.  They looked at me like I was Ethel Mertz when I referred to my bag as a pocketbook when I was out there.