I did it. After 3 years of using my iPhone 5 — one of the sleek 4-inch phones they don’t make anymore — without a case, it finally happened. I cracked my screen. As I removed my gym towel from my backpack today, my iPhone fluttered out behind it and smacked onto my room’s tile floor.

It sucked. Not because I needed a new phone. It still works. Not because I had to squint through a spider web to use it. It’s not cracked that bad. It sucked because I’m no longer the guy that successfully carries around his iPhone without a case. I liked being that guy. It felt good that I was careful (or lucky) enough to be that guy. But now, I’m just a guy that cracked his iPhone. How original.

My frustration lingered. I took turns being angry at my backpack, the tile floor, and myself. I take pride in rarely complaining, but I tried something different this time. Over the next few hours, I recited my ordeal to anyone who would listen. And you know what? It helped. I got over it. Let’s move on.