The Summer I Learned to Look Up

My iphone was practically glued to my hand, my thumb scrolling through TikTok with muscle memory honed over years of social anxiety avoidance. I was fifteen, introverted, and perfectly happy living through a screen where I could curate every interaction.

Then Mom signed me up for swimming lessons at the community center. "You need to get out of the house," she said, as if that was a valid reason to make me wear a swimsuit in public.

The first day, I stood poolside clutching my iphone like a lifeline, ready to fake a stomach ache and bolt. That's when I noticed her — Riley, with hair the color of midnight and a smile that made something weird happen in my chest. She was playing padel on the court next to the pool, hitting this yellow ball against a glass wall with effortless grace.

"Hey!" she called between shots. "You joining us or just documenting?"

I looked down at my phone. My lock screen showed a filtered sunset I'd never actually watched.

"Uh, joining?" I said, like it was a question.

By the third swimming lesson, I was actually looking forward to it. Not the swimming part (the chlorine still made my eyes burn and my awkward strokes definitely weren't Instagram material), but the after part where Riley and her friends invited me to play padel.

Padel was nothing like the tennis my dad tried to teach me. It was fast, loud, and forgiving of my lack of coordination. Riley's laughter echoed off the glass walls every time I missed an easy shot, but it was the kind of laughter that made you want to laugh with her, not at yourself.

"You're thinking too much," she said during our fourth game, tossing me the ball. "Just hit it. Your phone's not gonna save you here."

She was right. The best moments weren't the ones I captured — they were the ones where I was too busy living to even think about documenting. The way the sun hit the pool at golden hour. The sound of the padel ball connecting with the racquet. Riley's smile when I finally made a shot that didn't suck.

That summer, I learned that some things are better experienced than posted. My iphone spent more time in my bag than my hand. And for the first time, I wasn't watching life through a screen — I was actually, finally, in it.