Smug Marrieds: Disconnecting

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Blair and I have started an experiment where beginning every night at 8, we disconnect from the Internet. No e-mail, no web surfing, no texting. The goal is to gradually move the disconnect time back to where we're spending the majority of our evenings technology free. (Except for TV. We're not giving up TV. Like, ever.) 

We're only a few days in but already seeing positive results. Personally, I feel calmer and more centered. I don't worry about leaping up to check a text or to post something clever on Facebook. My time feels more my own. 

I do find myself frantically checking e-mail or scanning Facebook at 7:45, 7:50 p.m., but it's actually a relief when the clock hits eight. I push back from my desk, turn my phone volume down (we're still accepting calls at this point) and turn the lights out in my office for the evening. 

It's a little scary the pull technology has on me. When a commercial comes on or I finish reading a chapter or we take a break from packing, my instinct is always to go check my phone. And it's a strong instinct, an actual physical urge. I've read that constantly checking e-mail and Twitter and updates provides our bodies with an adrenalin like buzz and I believe it. I really think my body/mind is in a form of detox as we attempt this disconnect. 

The good news is that I'm going to come out stronger on the other side. What the last four days has shown me is that there's just not anything that vital going on at 9 or 10 pm on the Internet that requires my attention. It--whatever that "it" may be--can wait until morning.

Cheers,

Dena 

Moving Diaries: Quid Pro Quo

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Blair and I have started going through the house with a ruthless eye toward packing. This morning we went through our bookshelves. I love you, Amy Tan, but sorry, Drowning With Fish was NOT a good book and didn't make the cut. Same for you, This Was America, which we've never read. (And for the record, neither of us is willing to claim responsibility for bringing you into the home in the first place.) The Last Tycoon by F. Scott Fitzgerald just made it through, but barely. And the editing continues. 

We're getting ready to go through our offices where I tend to be brutal, but Blair has threatened retaliation in the kitchen if I'm too heavy-handed. I don't care what he says, a day will come again when he'll thank me for holding on to the bread maker... even though I no longer eat bread. 

Stay tuned for Stage 2: Breaking Things To Avoid Dealing With Packing Them.

Cheers,

Dena

The Moving Diaries: Mirrors, Letting Go & The Big Picture

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I think it's safe to finally, unequivocally announce that Blair and I are moving to Greensboro. I've been hesitant to announce it, almost like a new pregnancy. You just want to make sure everything takes before accepting the well wishes of family and friends. But all evidence points toward a move. We have bought a house. We have our beloved home up for sale. We spend our nights bickering over what pieces of furniture will make the transition and which will be left behind. So yes, it appears the move 25 miles south is a done deal. 

For a brief, magical week, everything fell into place.

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Dena As Swedish Chef

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Driving in to look at homes today, Blair and I discussed what's essential and what's not. 

"You know," I said. "I need to get over this fetish I have for huge, gourmet kitchens. It's not like I'm that great a cook."

"You're a passionate cook," said Blair.

"Define passionate," I challenged.

"Messy," said Blair. "Remember the Swedish Chef from the muppets? Your style of cooking bears more then a passing resemblance to his."

"Rude!" I said, laughing. 

Rude, yes. But sadly, true. Enjoy.