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Going acorn-free.

The season has changed and we’ve moved from Ocho’s favorite (cicada season) to Rio’s favorite (acorn season). During cicada season, Ocho looks forward to our walks as an all-you-can-eat buffet of crunchy and/or crispy deliciousness. Her order of preference is:

  1. live (bonus points if she gets to catch them out of the air)

  2. shells (so light and airy)

  3. dead (not ideal, but palatable)

Now that we’re in acorn season, Rio’s quest to find that one elusive, delicious-but-also-digestible acorn is on. And she is determined.

“Is it this one?” Chomp chomp chomp. “Nope.” Ptooey. Ten feet later: “Is it this one?” Chomp chomp chomp. “Nope.” Ptooey.

On and on we go for the entirety of our walk. Her compulsiveness and apparent short-term amnesia remind me of something I couldn’t quite place. And then I mindlessly reached for my smart phone and pulled down to update. For the 500th time in an hour. Busted.

If you’re anything like me, you have a love/hate relationship with that little box of “connection”. About a year ago, right around The Election (the one that deserves to be capitalized), I mostly logged out of social media because I didn’t like the way it made me feel. In the 365ish days since, I’ve come to realize it’s less about the content specifically and more about the serious brain impairment when I’m distracted ALL. THE. TIME.

I’m tired of having conversations where one or both or all parties is nowhere near fully present. I’m tired of never being able to remember anything or focus on anything or read one stinking chapter of a book without checking notifications or emails or bank balances or business hours or calendar events.

And mostly I’m tired of feeling like I never have enough time for things I really WANT to do while simultaneously “just checking Twitter” and falling down a 30 minute rabbit hole. (Man, people on Twitter are funny. Don’t go there, you’ll never escape.)

When I told Smitty I was considering removing Milagro from social media, he made the downward spiral whistle followed by a “kablammers!”, obviously indicating I was planning business suicide.

But I’m overwhelmed by the feeling I can’t help Milagrans remember “who they are and what’s important” if I’m contributing to the mindless scroll. And our identities and our hearts’ priorities are too valuable (and too fragile, honestly) to leave to the mercy of likes and shares and impressions and reach.

So for now at least, if you’re looking for a dose of Milagro, you’ll have to come in and see us.  Like in real life, in person. I really hate to do that to you, Milagro being such a miserable place and all. But I’m hoping you’ll find it more satisfying than Rio finds those acorns.


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