Is life in front of a laptop really living?
I had to turn off my laptop screen time report. It was too depressing to see that I was spending anywhere from one third to one half of my day, and the gross majority of my waking hours, glued to a 13’’ screen.
No-one in my family has a laptop-forward job. My mom was a high school English teacher and spent her days leading class discussions on How to Kill a Mockingbird or directing readings of Romeo and Juliet. My dad was a real estate appraiser, frequently touring soon-to-be-sold homes. My sister is a physical therapist, spending her days stretching limbs and demonstrating how to properly use resistance bands.
Granted, all of these jobs have a computer component, which has grown over time but remain a minority of total working hours. My mom had to grade essays submitted online, my dad had to find comparable homes and draw floorpans, and my sister has to enter patient notes and modify health records.
In The Four Agreements, Don Miguel Ruiz talks about the domestication of adults. To me, days spent in front of laptops are an end-state version of this domestication. When I was walking through a park in Brooklyn in the middle of a sunny afternoon, I saw bundled up toddlers clinging to a rope, led by a small group of adults in matching t-shirts. I saw a nanny sitting on the lawn in a straddle, babies on each thigh, reading a picture book with exaggerated animation. I saw a man with a straw hat strumming a ukulele to a semicircle of young parents encouraging their engaged children to clap on the beat.
Here I was, taking myself out on the 30 minute walk that sometimes happens, depending on how much motivation I can muster, knowing that the fresh air and sunshine is fuel to clear my inbox. These are the instructions you get when you have a laptop-heavy job — to take breaks with outdoor walks and gym visits or to work from a coworking space or coffee shop for ambient social interaction.
But I want more. I want to stay in this park with these people, rather than retreat to my shoebox of an apartment and huddle over my laptop in the second bedroom we use as an office. There’s nothing wrong with the room, per-say. It has good light and a stocked bookshelf. My desk chair is light blue suede. I usually have fresh flowers from Trader Joe’s on my desk and pens topped with gold crowns inside a mug that tells me to “hustle.” My vision board is stacked against the wall, images of Dolly Parton and Jennifer Hudson and a child holding an upside down Ziplock bag full of spaghetti smiling back at me. But even with this setting, with so many elements designed to “spark joy,” I can’t help but feel that I’m wasting away my days. And how we spend our days, we’re warned, is how we spend our lives.
This weekend, I started teaching dance classes. I’ve been taking dance classes with this studio since I moved to New York City in 2020, their weekly classes in Union Square Park a welcome reprieve from mimicking moves on, you guessed it, my laptop. This weekend, we had an orientation for the new studio location. All the staff members circled on the floor, flipping through printed information packets. Half way through, we took a class from an experienced instructor visiting from Austin, shaking it to a Milly Elliott throwback. To close, we huddled up, reviewing the class and talking about what we were excited and nervous for in our own classes.
On Sunday night, I walked in to the studio, greeted my co-workers, changed into a branded t-shirt, then began to greet the incoming clients. When it was time to start the class, I blasted feel-good pop songs from the Bluetooth speakers in the back of the room and led the class, which included young Orthodox Jewish men and Black women in their sixties, in a series of overhead stretches, knee bends, and step-touches. I taught choreography to Doja Cat’s “Paint the Town Red” and ended by breaking the class into two groups to perform for each other, leading the room in whoops and cheers and “I see you!!!”s as the class brought their own flavor to the routine.
At the end of the class, I was on a high. There was actual energy that was created. I had led a class that had hopefully meant something to someone, as so many dance classes have meant something to me.
Of my income streams, being a dance teacher is definitely the lowest paid. One of my other gigs, being a Board observer, pays more than 52X an hour of what I make as a dance teacher. Even if I teach once a week, being a dance teacher will make up around one percent of my total income.
What do I do with this? The job that makes me feel most alive is the job that earns me the least? I couldn’t even make this full-time if I wanted to, there aren’t enough classes a week. For me to turn it into a living, I would need to creep into an administrative role, which means the laptop shackles go back on.
I don’t really have an answer here. I think some high-paid careers, like doctors, allow one to lead a laptop-light life, to spend time looking at the whites of people’s eyes rather than the blue glow of a screen. I want to find something similar in my own life, even if I don’t know what that looks like right now. I got a little taste of freedom this weekend teaching dance, and I’m thirsty for more. I’m determined to integrate creativity and human connection into my weekdays, rather than reserve the good stuff for nights and weekends. Ideas, of course, are welcome.
