On Wednesday I turned a corner into another year. What have I got? After running for the past week with south-by, of going, of reacting, of trying to hunt for distraction, of taking care of business, I took the birthday off and had what looked like a typical Saturday. Slept in, made breakfast, got a haircut. Tooled around, not much to show for it. Rode high on the birthday well-wishes. Little bright spots. Little strand of holiday lights.
What then, though? I’m tired most of the time. Fatigued. Out of shape. I’m no spring chicken anymore; most definitely in my August. Came home early tonight from happy hour and the cafe. Coworkers on a rager; cafe patrons without names. Cup half-empty, that sort of thing. All I wanted to do was sit still, unplug, silence all the notifications, for once. Watch something complicated. Of all the people I know, and of all the passing conversations we have, the hunger of missed connections these years wears me down. I am, was, involved in multiple avenues of communication. The necessity of my actual life pulls me away from meaningful connection and, instead, feeds me these tiny little dimestore dialogues. Ever feel like nothing really speaks to you or meets you where you are?
We all hope for growth. It’s the customary human drive. I want to grow, but if I can’t have that, I’d much rather try to maintain.