Notification: Learning how to turn off the notifications and find happiness in 2020
By Nathan J. Bowersox
On January 26, 2020, I woke up to see horrific news of a hero and his sweet daughter being taken away from this world far too soon in a horrific helicopter crash. My eyes darted through the influx of articles and my thumbs began to quickly tap and swipe, cross-referencing the sources. The phone notifications kept coming in at a rapid pace as I quickly drank freshly brewed black coffee to try to wake up. Despite giving myself a burnt tongue as I was trying to get down as much coffee as possible, the caffeine wasn’t hitting my system and I couldn’t wake up from this inconceivable dream. My stomach quaked from the coffee’s acidity, stirred with hopelessness. He was a seemingly invincible man, both on and off the court. How could the death of a someone that I didn’t even know make me feel utterly deflated?
Confusion and despair fought within my head. While they battled, my body told me to run. I jumped in the shower and prayed that it would give me some silence from the outside world. I closed my eyes and let the scalding hot water cling to my slim frame, but more notifications kept buzzing throughout my brain. They yelled, “HOW… WHY?!” To try and erase them, I scrubbed my body with a soap scented with an overwhelming aroma of spicy clove and citrus. That did nothing, so I shocked myself with ice-cold water but that only made me feel more frozen. I slumped out of the shower and began to vigorously towel-dry my dark brown hair. As a last ditch-effort, I did an aggressive shake to get the water out of both of my ears hoping the notifications would release from my head like the water. They didn’t.
Notifications are often puzzling because they can be good or bad, anticipated or unanticipated. Oftentimes, they work in tandem with each other and only a slight tweak of the combination can change its effect on you massively. An anticipated or unanticipated notification of good news is always welcome. Sometimes it is even better to be surprised with a good notification. An anticipated notification of bad news has its pros and cons. Even though the news is unpleasant, you have more time to prepare yourself physically and mentally. On the other hand, an unanticipated alert of bad news is easily the worst. Like a black mamba, it strikes quickly and pierces you with its deadly venom. Its toxicity flows through your veins and puts you in an instant paralysis with little time to react. The report of the helicopter crash that killed the self-proclaimed “Black Mamba” on that Sunday morning had me in shock.
The notifications I received in 2020 began far away from me—while sometimes concerning or emotionally painful, I felt safe. There was a lengthy amount of distance from the source to me, a 20-year-old college student at The University of Colorado Boulder. I read worrisome articles of a deadly virus emerging in Wuhan, China. I scrolled through shocking photos of blazing fires in Australia. I watched appalling security camera footage of police brutality in Minneapolis, Minnesota, in the wake of George Floyd’s death in police custody. But despite this outside terror during the first half of the year, I could still function in my own little world. I was still able to do my daily tasks of going to class, putting in time at the gym and enjoying the company of my friends.
Suddenly, in what seemed like minutes, the notifications began to get closer to me. Coronavirus had swept the nation and made its way through the states, arriving in Colorado. Emails let me know my classes would transition to remote instruction. My world became upended and I packed my things to move back into my parent’s home. Colorado went into lockdown and it seemed that the only thing I was able to do was look at the notifications.
For weeks, I didn’t leave my home. I felt helpless, tied to my room and unable to do anything. My phone shouted at me to look at what was going on outside of those walls. As I peered through the blinds, I saw people’s faces being covered by light blue masks. Cracking the window gave an opening for smoky Rocky Mountain air to crawl into my room. I could hear echoes from a nearby city calling for police reform to end the needless shootings.
Then, the notifications hit my own inner circle. I received a text from a close friend relaying his symptoms: “I haven’t been able to leave my bed. My whole body is in pain and I have the worst headache.” Thankfully, he recovered. Others I knew didn’t make it to 2021. I got a phone call that my Great Granny passed away after we thought she had recovered from the virus. Another friend of mine took his own life after the compounding depression 2020 had put on him. All of this noise consumed me. I had felt the perils of crippling anxiety before and it began to knock on my door again.
I know this is going to seem crazy because of the trauma that accompanied 2020, but in some ways, the year has been shockingly valuable for me. I have even had the thought that it may have been my favorite year yet. I feel guilty for admitting this, but my gratitude is rooted in the newfound clarity and appreciation of what I have and what I can be. All of these things that happened at the beginning of the year forced me to change my habits. In order to escape everything, I let the things that I loved come back into my life and became open to letting new ones form. When I am confronted with anxiety, I know that it is time for me to adapt and make changes in my life. That’s exactly what I did. I muted the notifications and put in the work to find things that could make me happy.
I longed for comfort and had the realization that I could turn to things I had loved as a child. I wanted to go back to a world when I didn’t have an electronic device letting me know everything that was going on. I remembered that I loved building Lego sets as a kid. At age 8, I used to sit on the carpet floor in the basement of my childhood home for hours, embracing the endless possibilities to make whatever I wanted with those little plastic bricks. Even though there were traumas going on around me, such as my parents’ divorce and my mom’s battle with lupus, it didn’t matter because I was lost in creativity. That kind of bliss was something that I needed. The first set I bought in 2020 was Anakin’s Jedi Starfighter and as I assembled, I felt my smile increasing piece by piece. In that moment, all I had was the table, my hands, the little instruction booklet and the bricks. Over the course of the year, I built seven different sets and my hands touched thousands of pieces. While I was in a world of my own creation, nothing else mattered.
Building that Lego set reminded me that I used to love watching Star Wars. It was something that I thought I simply grew out of. Countless times, I had curled up on the couch and became immersed in another world away from the chaos when I saw the words appear on the screen, “A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…” I did more than just watch all of the films. I carefully analyzed every scene and quickly became a true Star Wars fanatic, something that I am extremely proud of. Star Wars opened my imagination and allowed me to be my creative self. I made it my mission to watch every piece of the franchise’s content that there was to offer.
Something that I never got the chance to watch as a kid was the TV shows, but now I had more time than ever due to the lockdown. The finale episodes of the Clone Wars and Rebels had me in tears. I wailed when Kanan sacrificed himself for his crew and wiped tears from my face with a fuzzy blanket when Vadar held Ahsoka’s lightsaber in the snow. I was so emotionally invested and the weight of real-life fell off of me when I was transferred to the imaginary.
I knew that I couldn’t stay inside forever; my body desperately craved the sunshine. So I decided to pick up the game of golf, something I didn’t think I would play until later in life. My interest was piqued after stumbling across a video series called Adventures in Golf. Their mission was to reverse the common perception that the sport is unwelcoming. I binged every season until there were no more, realizing that I needed to give it a try for myself.
For hours on end, I would hit balls at the range over at a local golf course, trying to get to the level of consistency where I could keep up with my dad and grandpa. Dad always used to tell me that the reason why golf is great is because of its ability to allow you to forget everything that is going on outside the course. He couldn’t have been more right. Even though I was terrible, the golf course became an oasis for me. The course was filled with so much beauty from the lush grass, sweeping trees and breathtaking views. The air was always crisp and fresh. Aside from its beauty, it was a game that humbled me every time I stepped on the course. Each round I would only hit a couple of great shots but that dopamine rush made me want to come back for more. I became addicted to golf and had found something that I want to do for the rest of my life.
A place that has always brought me happiness and excitement in times of crisis is Lake Powell. I always look forward to my family’s annual trip to Bullfrog, Utah. It’s one of the greatest weeks that I have in any given year. To people who have never been to Powell before, I usually describe it as the Grand Canyon filled with water. Red rock captures dark blue water from the Colorado River. Although it catches the water from Colorado, it feels so far away from the place I call home. Powell also has this incredible ability to give you days filled with adventure. Usually, it starts with breakfast on the houseboat, my grandpa’s specialty. We fill our bellies with crispy waffles drowned in maple syrup and get hyped from a few cups of coffee, preparing us for a long day out on the water. Most of our daylight is spent on a wakeboarding boat, baking in the sun and taking turns doing various watersports. After our shenanigans, we’d reconvene at the houseboat, eat dinner with our closest family and friends and update our grandparents of the various activities we did throughout the day.
Photos provided by Corey Hendricks.
Like camping, we are completely disconnected from the outside world at Lake Powell. In prior years, I always found myself itching to take a boat ride back to the marina every couple of days to get phone service. I felt the need to check the accumulating notifications being blocked by my disconnect. This year I didn’t. I had 168 hours of pure silence, pure freedom from the outside world. Just like golf, this disconnect allowed me to spend more time making memories with the people that matter to me most. But, during the last evening of our Lake Powell trip, my hands started to shake and I broke into a sweat. I was tearing apart my suitcase trying to find my L-theanine as my dad walked into the living room of the houseboat.
“Everything okay?” He asked, putting his hand on my shoulder.
“Not really,” I sighed. “Having some anxiety.”
“Let’s go outside.”
I grabbed two non-alcoholic beverages out of the cooler for my dad and me and we sat on the front deck of the boat, looking out into the distance. I conveyed my stresses to him. It was easy to get away from the notifications at Lake Powell, something that was much more difficult to do back home. I was so scared to go back to the commotion. A world where I had to implement a strategy to avoid the notifications. There were only a few hours until my phone would explode with messages. I didn’t want to see what was happening.
My dad consoled me, letting me know that he feels the same way whenever we disconnect on our trip. We witnessed a symbol of comfort midway through the conversation—a good notification. My grandpa lit the most beautiful firework I had ever seen. It shimmered and lit up the cove around us. Dad and I sat in awe and ended our conversation, reminding ourselves that our stresses were out of our control.
Photos provided by Corey Hendricks.
The moment also made me realize that I had so many great things to look forward to back home. Even though it was more difficult to avoid the notifications in my day-to-day living, it helped me realize that the challenge of finding what boosts my happiness was well worth it. Much like Gianna and Kobe Bryant’s helicopter crash at the beginning of 2020, there are things that happen in life that are out of our control—a whirlwind of chaos and despair. While it can be nerve-wracking to know that we cannot determine the incoming notifications of 2021, we can choose when to engage and when to disconnect. Sometimes turning off the notifications and spending some time to take care of yourself is the most powerful thing you can do.
