Pressing pause -- in media and in life -- is a simple but true step that everyone needs to do every once in a while. Popcorn has to be made, potty breaks have to be taken, clothes need to be switched from the washer to the dryer and puppies need to be let back in from the backyard.
We are all human, after all, and just because we want to watch a movie from start to finish, sometimes our own bodies betray us and we are not allowed. It's okay, really. It's okay to press pause.
I was just telling my dear friend to go ahead and embrace the ability to press pause. She woke up quite recently and life had unfairly smacked her square in the jaw. Stomp on pause, if you need to, we both cried this weekend. And then it hit me. I want to hit pause. I want a little more time to breathe and a little less time hurrying and scurrying and feeling guilt no matter what.
The problem is, I'm not sure what my pause button looks like. I'm certain it has nothing to do with this laptop or any of my 4 Apple products or my other two non-portable computable devices in my household. In fact, I fear those vices are among the reasons I ache for such a pause. This idea of being connected at all times has left me feeling a bit disconnected in all the right ways and a smidge overwhelmed in all the wrong ways. And to tell the truth, if I found the pause button in life, I just may use it on behalf of others who are too bothered or too distracted to do so themselves. I would hope they would return the favor if ever I needed it. It's that important, I think, to the rest of the story. Indeed, I believe the pause button is so powerful that it may influence the end of any particular narrative. A perfectly placed pause may change it all. That's something to think about, now isn't it?
So I'm off in search of that giant red pause button. Let me know if you stumble upon it.