diary of a 20 something

Her mom gave her the watch for her birthday. She loved it. She just didn’t know how much it would matter.

She’s pumping her first in the air, lapping the house, dancing, skipping, anything to close the last ten calories on her Move ring. 

It was set to 560 calories per day and some days she met it easily. Others, even when she walked a mile, she struggled to close it. On days she went to dance class, she’d double it. 

Why was it so hard? She thought of others she’d seen on social media of much higher goals. 

Sometimes she would test the watch. Do the same thing while tracking her exercise and without. Every time she set a workout, the calories burned racked up, but without it, it didn’t register her activity as well. 

Every time she walked, she clicked ‘Outdoor Walk’ and went on her way. 

When she forgot, she felt like she failed. Why didn’t you press the button? 

It still counts, he told her when they got home. You still walked. She knew that, but maybe it would count more if it was logged on her little screen.

She loved being able to put her phone away because she had a new thing to keep her updated. Every text buzzed her wrist, reminding her of everyone who needed her.

The phone wasn’t in her hand anymore; it was on her wrist. Once her wrist buzzed, she thought about it. Who could it be? And then she’d look. Get $10 off your next Uber Eats order. 

It was a part of her, her watch. So much so that the skin underneath was pale while her arm and hand tanned in the sun. Without it, it felt like something was missing. It looked like something was missing.

Every workout was like an achievement she could collect, validation that she was doing enough. That’s worth something, right? 

I’m worth something, right? 

She watched her friend fall apart when her watch died because she wouldn’t get to track her long walk. Watched her go home to get the charger instead of living without it for the rest of the day.

She thought, Is the watch that important?

But maybe it made her friend feel worth something too. That she understood.

One weekend, she went to a wedding. 

She left the watch behind, so as not to interfere with her floral dress. She let the sun warm the white line on her wrist after many months of hiding. 

And the whole night, she danced. He dipped and twirled her. She was lost in his grin, forgetting about her watch, her phone. Forgetting about the world.

How many calories was that? She didn’t know. But her feet hurt, her skin was moist with sweat, and her lungs worked hard in between songs she was belting. 

This counts, she thought. More than anything I’ve tracked before. 

Maybe she didn’t need to ‘track’ anything. Maybe she just needed to live.