Mallory McDonald

I’m relieved my phone is cracked. I think I’m almost glad it happened. Because now I no longer fear it is going to crack. Yes, part of the glass is missing in the upper left hand corner and two other thin lines spread across my screen, but it’s a small price to pay to own my fear.

And, I do own it.

I don’t purposely or haphazardly throw it. I don’t attempt to worsen the damage. I just know that when the inevitable happens–when I drop it, or it falls out of my grasp–those moments before it lands on the ground, I’m not on the edge of my nerves petrified it will shatter. I’m not paralyzed with the fear that this drop will be the drop that will ruin my most vital possession. That moment doesn’t send me into the dark depths of what ifs and I wish I had dones, because the crack that has taken over the upper left hand corner of my phone with two other thin lines is already there. So in the moment before my phone falls, I don’t mentally assault my stupidity, my irresponsibility, or every other shortcoming I’ve ever had that could have possibly caused me to drop my phone. Instead, I simply watch the drop (I do try to catch it too obviously), accepting the inevitable as it comes. Instead, I calmly pick it up to assess the damage and there is none. Because, remember, it’s already cracked.

And then gazing at my phone, I realized my fear wasn’t the cracking. It was the going. I was scared it was going to crack. And now it has. Now there is nothing I can do to change that fact, nothing that could un-crack the crack or un-break the break–it’s just there.

Yes, I suppose I could fix it. I could replace the glass and keep my phone or pitch it all and get a completely new phone. I could cut my losses, repair it, and hope it doesn’t happen again.

But it will. I know it will. It will drop, or shatter, or fall in the toilet, or someone will spill their coffee all over the poor thing. And all the while before that worst-case-scenario happens, I will fear just when it will strike. I will fear the going. Which drop will be that drop? Which spill will be that spill? Which momentary lapse of judgment will take the going to crack to cracked?

If I fix it, I may visually enjoy my phone more. It may shine with its newness and it may radiate with its not-cracked-ness. It may be faster with its updates or hold charge with its freshness.

But, if I fix it, if I correct the shatter in the upper left hand corner where the glass is gone and the other two thin lines spreading down, if I do that, I no longer own my fear. I will again be prisoner to when the worst is going to hit.

I choose not to fix my phone. I choose not to see my phone as flawed, ruined, or useless. If I must admit to its shortcomings, the upper left hand corner where the glass is gone and the other two thin lines spreading down, I’ll simply call it a crack.

But, a crack isn’t broken.

I still send texts, snapchats, emails and I still make calls, check insta, twitter, and facebook. Only occasionally does the crack momentarily inhibit me and cover text I am trying to see. But it’s just different than it used to be.

My phone is cracked in the upper left hand corner and has two other thin lines spreading down and most people would tell me I’m crazy, tell me I need to fix it, tell me it’s just a crack and not a metaphor for life. And those people are probably right.

But to me, every time I look at my cracked phone and the glass coming off in the upper left hand corner and the two other thin lines spreading down, I see something that has not only (cliché-ingly) overcome fear, but owns its fear. I see something that has walked the plank of treacherous phone death, crashing down onto the concrete garage floor, a death sentence to most, and came out with only a scratch. I see something that survived. I see something that proudly displays the upper left hand corner with the glass coming off and the other two thin lines spreading down, not as a flaw, but as a mark of strength. Other, less capable, mere mediocre phones would have succumb to the concrete garage floor, but not this phone, not my phone.

You can call it a crack. (And, okay, maybe it is) But having a cracked phone beats the hell out of being chained to false and fleeting perfection whose entire allure will shatter as soon as it drops.

The upper left hand corner with the two other thin lines spreading across the screen and I–we own our fear.