Last night my eyes were starting to shut while reading in my living room. I shut the book and glanced at my phone.”I could get away with one last Instagram check.”
Then I paused. I remembered the 45 minutes that went by last night after this mistake. And the snack I had afterward. And how tired I felt the next morning.
Then again, today turned out fine. I survived the poor sleep.
But would repeating this cycle really be loving myself? Do I love Instagram more than I love myself? Do I love the comfort of this chair more than I love myself? Do I love another late night snack more than I love myself?
Then I stood up and went to bed. End of story.
Why was I able to win this particular micro-battle?
To me, hearing “love yourself” has always been one step down from the drivel found in fortune cookies. No substance, all sugar, self-indulgent, narcicistic.
Yet when thinking of it as, ‘Do you love yourself more than these external things? These comforts? These habits?'
They feel trivial compared to the epic story of who I am becoming.
From last night’s experience I learned the value of pausing. I learned the value of reflecting on negative memories and feeling the disenchantment in my bones.
Most importantly, I learned the value of comparison—I asked myself:
“Are you a divine creation of God with the responsibility of free will?” or “Are you a biological slave grasping at dead matter?”
Pause for a moment. Reflect. Take your pick.
