Browsing

Huh?  Whoa. Where am I?

Last I remember, I was checking my email.  An hour and a half later, I came to consciousness and found myself mindlessly clicking through photo galleries of homes for sale. 

How did I get here? 

Fuzzily, I remember checking Facebook, then following a link to a YouTube video of a teenage girl from Canada speaking about environmental degradation at a UN Earth Summit.  The video made me cry, which reminded me that I wanted to read more about Highly Sensitive People.  Then, after reading that one of the "Top Ten Survival Tips for the Highly Sensitive" is to surround yourself with beauty and nature, I thought maybe it would be good for my mental health if I were to buy a house near a park.  (I’m like the next in the series of “If You Give a Pig a Pancake” books:  “If You Give Jodi a Facebook Account…”)

And it’s not the first time something like this has happened.  I do this sort of thing in the real world as well as the online world.

Sometimes I’ll go to run a quick errand, like buying toothpaste, so I stop at Bartell’s and then I think, “Well, since I’m here, I guess I should look around and see what else I might need.”  An hour and a half later, I’m standing dazed and confused in the Random Seasonal Items aisle holding a super-soaker squirt gun in one hand and a bocce ball set in the other.  My phone is ringing -- it’s my husband with two crying kids in the background, wondering where in the heck I am with the toothpaste.  And I should NEVER be allowed to go to stores like Target or Fred Meyer where a person can bump into hammocks and tiki torches on her way to the diaper aisle.  (The vision of spending my days lounging in a hammock is my personal nirvana.  Tiki torches are optional.)

I’ve noticed that there is usually a precursor to my distracted wanderings.  Sometimes I feel an undefined restlessness.  A vague itch that needs to be scratched, but I’m not clear about exactly how to scratch it.  So I wander and browse.  The restless urge to do something, without an idea of what, finds me poring over racks of clothes I don’t want, flipping through magazines full of people I can’t relate to, and clicking my way through web page after web page of information I don’t need to know. Wandering aimlessly with no direction.  Squandering my time. 

But I’m slowly learning that wherever I’m browsing, I’m unlikely to find what I’m looking for.   If I slow down and focus on the itch -- spend some real quality time with the itch, instead of immediately grabbing my back scratcher (or mouse, or debit card) and mindlessly scratch-scratch-scratching, I often notice that the itch is actually a need.  And it's not a need for some new skinny jeans, or ninjabread men cookie cutters or a sweet hammock (ok, well maaaybe it is a need for a sweet hammock). 

I might need to get some exercise.   Maybe I need to connect with friends.  I might need to take a walk in a park (so much easier and cheaper than buying a new house).  I might need to spend some quality time with my husband or my kids.  Maybe I need to write in my journal or call an out-of-town loved one.  I might need to have some quiet time alone.  

Of all the possible things that I might need, these items are glaringly missing from the list:

•  To research online all the possible illnesses I may have
• To read 148 reviews of 16 different makes and models of toaster ovens
• To find out what has happened on Facebook since I checked 15 minutes ago
• To watch a YouTube video of a skateboarding bulldog
• To fondle clothes that I don’t plan to buy
• To purchase clothes that I’m certain to return 

Don’t get me wrong.  Browsing has its place. Shopping isn’t necessarily a vice.  We need to buy things, and it can be fun to make a new purchase.   And online browsing can be useful and entertaining.  I love seeing what friends are up to on Facebook, and there is a ton of information to be gleaned from articles and blogs.  (For example, I just learned that a small dog named Honey Bun recently ate $10,000 worth of diamonds.  Isn't that interesting?)

But I’m getting better at recognizing when the itch to browse is really an urge for something else.   And when it is, instead of browsing, I plan a date with my husband, take a walk, organize some friend-time, or read a book. 

Then again, sometimes all I really need to feel better is a video of a toddler in a Tigger costume dancing to the Bee Gees’ “Stayin’ Alive.”  (Whether you're a brother or whether you're a mother, you're stayin' alive, stayin' alive.  Feel the city breakin' and everybody shakin', we're stayin' alive, stayin' alive.  Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive. Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' ali-i-i-i-ve!)