It’s time, once again, for this blog’s longest running feature, where we take another crack at trying to answer my world’s most challenging Philosophical question:
Why am I so weird?
Over the many years of this blog’s existence, we’ve never been able to solve that riddle, and I’m at the point where I’m willing to admit there is no answer.
I’m just weird, and since I hate change, that fact will never change.
You’re probably wondering what I did this week to pose that question yet again. Well, I had an irrational reaction to the delivery of my new Fitbit, and then a minor meltdown and/or freakout (I’m not good at differentiating the two) once I finally decide to deal with its intrusive presence at The House on the Hill.
“Intrusive presence” probably sounds like a weird way to describe the much needed replacement for the fitness tracker which has become an integral part of my existence.
The thing is, I’m weird, so getting something free in the mail sets off my anxiety because change freaks me out.
Sure, it’s the exact same Fitbit I’ve been using for the past year, but it’s not like I could just strap it on my wrist and go. Sweet Baby Yoda, that would be far too simple.
There’s technology involved. How do I transfer my data from one device to the other? What happens if the new one wipes out all my steps? Or worse yet, what if I can’t get it to work exactly the same way as the one that died on me?
I remembered having so much trouble getting the current Fitbit to sync, track my activities, display the one clock face that works for me, and a myriad of other issues which I’d rather not think about because the memories give me the willies.
Yes, Modern Philosophers, stupid little details like that slam around in my head, set off the anxiety alarms in my brain, and redirect all my thoughts so that I am obsessing only about how the hell I’m going to deal with trivial matters that really mean nothing in the grand scheme of things.
Hey, I might be weird, but at least I know what’s wrong with me!
So the package sat on the table in the foyer for two days, completely ignored by me.
My current Fitbit had managed to revive itself somehow, but it was clearly on its last legs. The battery kept draining far too quickly, it wouldn’t track my heart rate regularly, it randomly decided when to give me credit for active minutes, and would only sync to the app when I plugged it in to charge.
It was a total nightmare for someone who’s become way too focused on how many steps he is accumulating in a day, but at least it was doing some of the work, some of the time.
Wasn’t that better than opening myself up to the plethora of anxieties that would accompany trying to get the new one to work?
I don’t know what came over me yesterday, but I finally decided to cave and set up the new device. I probably figured the weekend was as good as time as any to lose my $%^&. That way, I had two days to recover and try to pull myself together enough to go back out into the world when the work week came calling.
As expected, it was chaos from the second I opened the Pandora’s Box that was the package from Fitbit Customer Service.
I had to Google how to disconnect the wristbands from the old square, and latch them onto the new one. I was already regretting my decision to open the box. I was ready to make do with the dying Fitbit, and go back to counting steps in my head if it came down to it.
After what seemed like hours, but was most likely only a couple of minutes, I figured out the wristbands. Now I was faced with how to make the square count steps.
After a small tirade of curses, I called Fitbit Customer Service, and pleaded with the rep to do as much of the process as possible for me.
Of course that led to more problems, more anxiety, and more cursing. Why could he detect my other device? I had to go through the whole explanation of how the current one kept dying on me, wouldn’t sync, and was secretly plotting to drive me insane.
We tried to activate the new magic square, but my phone taunted me with error messages. The rep kept talking to me like I had any sort of technical knowledge, but I somehow managed to kill my old Fitbit app, and then restart it to trick the phone into just doing the one simple thing I was asking it to do.
Now that the phone said the upload was in progress, the guy from Customer Service wisely said he had to go and the rest was on me. Oh, what I wouldn’t have given at that point to be able to hang up on me and leave me and all my anxieties behind.
Alas, that was not possible. So I let the phone do its thing, maniacally checking it every few minutes to see if the deed was done.
When the app finally said the new magic square was in working order, I excitedly put it on my wrist. That was when I noticed the foreign clock face. No, no, no! Not happening.
What had I done??? The other Fitbit was broken and ridiculously ineffective, but at least I could read the clock face and feel like all was well in my world.
I remembered to breathe, and figured out how to change the clock face to one that was super cool and retro. Okay. Not all change is bad.
Was I actually making a breakthrough?
It looked nice, but then I realized that it did not display my step count. How the hell was I supposed to exist in a world where my Fitbit didn’t tell me my step count whenever I looked at it? Was I really supposed to hit a button to go to a second screen to find that vital piece of data?
What was this? The Dark Ages? The End of Days?
This post could go on forever because the device also wanted me to understand what the temperature was in Celsius. Do I look Canadian or European to you???
Let’s just say after a mini meltdown, a total freakout, and some much needed Snapple therapy, I finally got things in working order.
All was well in my world.
This should not have been a big deal by any stretch of the imagination, but I’m weird that way. Why that is, though, might never be understood…