September 1, 2021
I may have been living in the moment a little too much this summer (see previous post). I didn’t write as much as I should have. Not recording them for posterity feels like a betrayal of the wonderful experiences I’ve had lately. But it’s also true that writing can feel forced if it’s, well, forced. Instead of trying to record these things right as they happen, I’ll see what kind of writing they help generate over time.
What experiences do I mean? I love my communities, both those based on physical location and those based on interest. There are a handful of events happening within them each week during the summer. However, most of these have come and gone without my attending.
It’s not that I don’t like the offerings. Certainly, I like knowing that I could attend if I wanted to. But it seems that the pandemic has redefined what it means to have a good time. (Or maybe I’m just developing my own brand of introversion.)
Before 2020, an “event” was something created by an organization, scheduled ahead of time, and held away from home with a group of strangers. This was the kind of event I missed during the pandemic, and which it felt so sweet to return to this year.
I can still appreciate these, but I’m leaving more blank spots on my calendar these days. A spontaneous dinner at a friend’s house, or morning coffee on my balcony, is “event” enough to keep my social brain happy. And if I choose to spend the day alone, I no longer feel like I’ve missed out. I have become less dependent on organizations to plan my day, choosing to rely on myself and the people close to me. This gives me more time to pursue inward-focused activities like reading, music practice, and — yes — writing.
Maybe I’ll get to record my experiences after all.