I Forgot My Apple Watch

Reading time: approximately 3 minutes

I looked down at my bare wrist and felt a jolt of panic—I’d forgotten my Apple Watch. My first thought wasn’t about missing an emergency call or losing track of time. It was: ‘Dang! Now this walk won’t count.’ As if the universe was grading me on an assignment called ‘steps,’ and I’d just blown my chance at an A.

I was already twenty yards into one of my favorite walks, a paved path along the Carquinez Strait where the Sacramento River flows into the San Francisco Bay. The day had started foggy, but by the time I’d parked along the narrow strip of gravel at the trail head, the sun had burned off most of the mist. The trail begins with a slight incline I think of as my warm-up, and where the oaks, bay laurels, sages, and shrubs open out to the first views of the water—a silvery shade of blue reflecting the last of the cloud cover.

I am a teeny bit competitive. I’ve learned to let go of most of this behavior as I’ve gotten older. But the smart watch, like all “smart” tech, grabbed me by whatever parts of the brain light up around compulsive behavior.

In the first year I owned it, I watched my step count climb alongside my fitness level. The good part: I was in better shape in my fifties than ever before. The bad part: my sense of self worth got ensnared in the quest for self-improvement.

This should not have happened to me. To ME!!! I am a therapist who teaches people how the foundation of true self-esteem is unconditional self-care and self-kindness. Not only that, but I’ve studied addictions—especially the addiction to dieting. I know that addictions and compulsions arise out of anxiety over belonging. These behaviors offer both soothing and distraction, at least in the beginning. But then they take us further from connection - the thing we really long for. They disconnect us from each other. Worse, they disconnect us from ourselves.

I didn’t realize how much this had become true for me until that morning. Within moments, the “dang” wore off, and I began looking more closely at the early spring flowers blooming, hawks circling overhead, squirrels chasing each other through the tree branches.

Any concern about my pace dissolved as I focused on breathing, on feeling my feet contact the earth. I listened, not to a digital task master, but to the cues of my body, walking faster on the down hills, slower on the rises. I stopped to stretch at a picnic table and watched a white water bird pass with a little silvery fish in its beak. Around the next bend, a lone acacia sprouted fluffy tufts of yellow blossoms - and I thought maybe this was the real burning bush. As I got closer, the acacia hummed with the music of happy bees.

I was happy too. Without the pressure to walk fast, I walked farther - 4 miles instead of 2 or 3. And the longer walk left me with an all-day endorphin-high.

For years I’d felt compelled to track my exercise as though I had to “show my work” to a strict, sour-faced teacher who existed only in my head. As I walked with more ease and joy, I realized I needed to fire her.

I thanked her for her years of service. She had made me an A-student when that felt important. Now, she could retire to a lovely beachside community and learn to make a perfect scone.

As for my watch, I will wear it just in case I ever need that emergency feature that offers to call for help if I fall down. But I think I will delete the app that tracks my every move. I’m certain my body knows what it needs and will tell me if I listen inward instead of looking outside myself for some external affirmation that I deserve an A in life.

I would much rather get an A in being kind, being present, and finding joy in small things.

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