As the coronavirus loosens its grip on us questions about my life have started to return. They’re the hard ones that involve expansion and multiple zip codes. In the past month conducting opportunities that evaporated a year ago have begun to reappear for John, which brings us hope and a little more direction.
But the positive developments also bring a challenge. My impulse to experience everything I’ve missed at once is met by the sheer impossibility of that notion. Friends are gathering; Airbnbs are filling across the country; New York is no longer asleep. It leaves me wondering where I should be and when.
The question I’m asking is one I bet we’ll all encounter going forward. How can I stay grounded and content even while spurring my biggest dreams onward? How do I relish the pleasure of reconnection while preserving time to think?
***
“It sounds like you’re suffering from scarcity mindset,” my therapist said when I tried to explain the faint buzz of overwhelm that comes with navigating a newly vaccinated world.
“Oh. I hadn’t considered that.”
“There’s enough opportunity for everyone, and the world isn’t going anywhere,” she added. “You can take one thing at a time.”
I told her that in many ways, the pandemic released a pressure valve in my life. Big moves I thought we needed to make—now, now, now—no longer made sense. It brought frustrating but also welcome relief.
We know scarcity comes from a place of fear. Maybe my voracious hunger to bask in the world again is fueled by a subconscious understanding that if everything disappeared once, it could probably disappear again.
***
In 2012 John and I traveled to Sonoma and San Francisco for our honeymoon. I’d only been to California once at that point—my youth group visited Los Angeles in 1999 and sat in church the whole time—so returning as an adult was exhilarating. We had four days in wine country and four in the city, and I was insatiable.
Cabernet sauvignon, viognier, crisp rosé—I tried them all. We visited as many restaurants as we could, complete with rich food and cheese boards, classics and dessert. By day five my body said enough. Our reservation at Foreign Cinema was waiting but I couldn’t take another bite.
Desperate, we ended up at a drugstore where I looked for some relief. In a spontaneous attempt to make John laugh, and distract everyone from my discomfort, I pulled the old switcheroo at the register.
“Don’t worry. You’ll feel better soon, honey,” I said.
Luckily my husband finds my antics amusing. He was caught off guard and stayed silent, trying to hold his laughter in. To our delight the clerk did the same, bowing her head deeply to hide stifled cackles, shoulders shaking so violently that she missed the bag completely and dropped the item in question on the floor.
My indulgence had taken its toll.
***
Recently I’ve found myself in a similar place, not seeing a city for the first time but the whole world—that intoxicating web of humanity that slipped into slumber last spring. People in restaurants, friends inside their houses, strangers at parties. Bartenders shaking things to oblivion, brand new babies and tired moms.
As my social options expand I find myself insatiable again. Give me hugs; I want secrets whispered over tiny tables and unfamiliar smiles all around. I want to jump in Italian water and taste nigiri in Japan.
My appetite for life has also taken a sartorial turn. Formerly committed to neutrals, I mine my closet for color, patterns, and prints and bought a vintage dress covered in strawberries. Anything to feel the world emblazoned on my skin.
***
After two weeks of socializing in the new world order I got tired. I declared my need for balance and remembered what it’s like to feel overbooked. Since then I’ve continued to swing back and forth, oscillating from quiet moments alone to being inundated with friends.
The contrast can be jarring, but leaning into the pleasure of each moment leaves me renewed.
I get my inspiration from connection—to people, places, and conversation—so granting myself that time is part of my work. I crave humans and their beauty, their ingenuity and surprises, which shift my perspective and plant new ideas. But afterwards I disappear just as fully into rest.
Transitional times always leave us feeling unmoored, but nothing is static and balance is taking a different shape than it held in 2020. As I watch new realities unfold I realize grasping for the past is never helpful. I am here to embrace this electric new world. Staying grounded will require appreciating the fullness of each moment—whatever I have chosen, excitement or repose—without ever asking it to be anything else.
Between you and me—
How’s it going out there? If you’re re-entering the world, what’s it like? What’s the same? What’s different? How are you staying tethered?
See you next time.
WE’RE ALL FRIENDS HERE is written by Lauren Maxwell. If you enjoy this newsletter, please consider helping it grow by becoming a sponsor, clicking the heart, sharing online, or forwarding to a friend. It’s all appreciated!
Damn impressed by your vim/vigor and energized by your ending thoughts!