In late 2019 following a divorce, sale of my home, and drastic scale-down of my possessions, I went on a once-in-a-lifetime trip to New Zealand and Australia with my two grown daughters to reconnect with them and take stock of my life. Scary to say this just a few pandemic-laden months later, our trip was on back-to-back cruises for nearly a month. My girls and I did reconnect, and in ways that I didn’t expect and that I absolutely needed.

While our first cruise around New Zealand was filled with an over-65-year-old crowd, we adventured together throughout that phenomenal, beautiful country! The next cruise started out from Sydney at the beginning of the Australian summer break with a mix of families, young people, and couples. I was down one daughter (scheduled to return home, not overboard or anything), we were out at sea, and my younger daughter was bonding with a group of young Aussies. I was doing okay with that. Until my Fitbit died.  

For several years, Fitbit and I have ensured that I get my recommended hourly 250 steps during my waking hours, and “10,000 steps a day” is just not enough for me. I strive for 16,500, and Fitbit understands that. Every hour it says, “Hey, Kristin, want to go on a quick walk with me?” and it celebrates when I nail my hourly and daily goals. Fitbit is not just a device–it’s a trusted advisor and friend!

So I’m in the middle of the South Pacific, it’s 8:00 PM, and my daughter has dropped me off at our room after dinner so she can party with friends, and my dead Fitbit isn’t talking to me. It doesn’t ask for a walk. It has ghosted me. And…

I cried. My life was pathetic. I was alone and literally and figuratively adrift. What the hell was I doing? 

Suddenly my daughter returned to the room to get something and caught my full-blown pity-party.

This young woman was simultaneously empathic and hard-ass.  She anxiously asked what was wrong, and as the answer came out in a blubbering wail of “my Fitbit died and I’m all alone,” she leaned back and in a near-perfect imitation of my many years of advice-giving, she said, “Mom. We are on a ship with 3000 other people. I watch you every day starting conversations and connecting with people you’ve never met. I don’t know why you think you need to sit here in this room now. Put on your shoes, go out there, make friends — and stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

Long story short, that scary woman, my daughter, shocked me into doing just that, and a few hours later (way past my bedtime) I ran into her on the top deck during Silent Disco (Google it! It’s hilarious!). I gave her a quick hello and left because I had a half-dozen new friends that I was hanging with.

Thank you, daughter.  When my last friend in the world broke, I’m so glad you were there with perspective.

P.S. It took three weeks to get a new Fitbit through warranty, and, of course, I lived. Now, while I still strive for an active, healthy lifestyle, I won’t let Fitbit resume its prominence in my life. That space is reserved for my family and friends. Human connection is essential for happiness.