Five years after my last one, I bought a new iPhone. I wasn’t overly excited. There were three reasons.
First, unlike my past devices, which all disintegrated after three years, this one still worked rather well. I only got the replacement so I could use the old one as a separate phone for my new job. It’s a decent reason to get a new phone but not a great one.
Second, I try to use my phone as little as possible. So when I do, it’s mostly sending messages, calling people, and browsing the web. The improved camera quality is always nice, but given how little of their potential I tend to unlock, new phones are often wasted on someone like me.
Third, and this is the most deliberate, cultivated reason I wasn’t too excited, I knew the phone would fall again. Just like my old one eventually dropped and got its first scratches, this one, too, would one day end up dented. As the zen story goes, “the cup is already broken.” Enjoy it while it lasts, but don’t get attached to it.
There is, however, one emotion I tried to lean into when buying my new phone: gratitude. I was grateful that I could buy an expensive phone without having to worry about the money too much—even if it was for an only-okay reason, if I wouldn’t end up using it all that much, if it would one day scratch and break just like my last one did.
I still remember the first time my old phone fell. I had placed it onto my wallet at a restaurant table, and because of its smooth surface, it slid right down and off the side. There’s always a bit of melancholy when the first blemish appears, but perhaps that’s also why we call things “broken in”—now, they have fully arrived in our lives. One day, they’ll break entirely, but for now, the phase of real usefulness has begun.
Enjoy your shiny objects, but remember: The phone will fall again, and that’s perfectly okay.