This Must Be the Place.
It would seem that writing - like so many things in life - comes in waves. When I started this newsletter in February, it came easy. Writing felt more like a release than a task. Until it didn’t.
So I took a break.
All the while, life keeps moving along. Days turn into weeks turn into months. Nothing changes. Everything changes. Lately, time seems to have a way of inconspicuously slipping away, leaving us older without enough satisfaction.
There’s the realization that this damn pandemic isn’t something we’ll be able to forget… probably ever, that as much as phrases like ‘new normal’ make my skin crawl, ‘new normal’ is where we reside. David Byrne sang, “This must be the place.”
Those of us in our thirties are reaching an age when some semblance of wisdom sets in, accepting that ‘going back’ simply isn’t a thing. There will be no pre-Covid, pre-Trump presidency, pre-financial crisis, pre-9/11. Someday, those of us who live long enough will be the relics brought out to tell kids how things used to be. Just kill me now.
Sometimes when I travel, I try to remember what it felt like to fly to visit my grandparents in the nineties. The planes were always big, often only half full. I’d save the cocktail peanuts for my grandfather, who loved peanuts more than anyone I’ve ever met. We’d greet one another at the gate.
Perhaps there’s little use in remembering.
Those of us with the means turn our efforts toward being present and mindful; words and concepts we’ve adopted to combat the impossibly distracting world we’ve created.
It sure would be nice to be present without thinking about ‘being present’.
I spent a lot of the past year questioning what I’m doing with my life. Six months ago, I was all but convinced that I should go back to school and work in a completely different field. But, by spring, I got back to being myself. I started working on an idea that had been floating around in my head since 2017.
After halfway thinking about it for years, I woke up one morning and new energy was there. For two days, I did almost nothing except revisit and rewrite what had become old and passive thoughts until they took on new life. It’s at least part of the reason I haven’t been writing anything here.
I suppose this type of ‘energy’ is my drug, that I’ll always be addicted to possibilities.
New ideas seem to offer a way forward; at the very least, a welcome distraction, and at best: purpose, or maybe even freedom. For as many moments as I’ve felt stuck in recent months, there have been just as many that have left me feeling optimistic, energized, and alive. It seems worthwhile to acknowledge that.
I think I’m sometimes frustrated by the idea of being a product of an era; that there’s no way (that I’m aware of at least) to escape being a millennial, inevitably shaped by a series of world events, a reminder that none of us can fully control our own narrative.
And yet, the possibility to create something new is always there.
I hope to get back in the swing of writing regularly because I enjoy it. Thank you to those of you who have encouraged me to do so.
-A