I find myself doing this a lot, but it gets particularly intense when darkness falls earlier. And earlier. And…earlier. Flutter around the 102 from room to room, with no particular purpose, no specific end goal, no real awareness of my current state. Or as my friend Lily refers to it: Havishamming.

Glad you asked. Yes, as in Miss Havisham from Great Expectations. But like, with less wedding dress and more unfiltered joy. Like, in the turning being jilted at the altar into the best thing that ever happened to you kind of way. Depending on the day, it’s happiness with a dash of confusion covered in knowledge, awe and wonder with a sprinkle of nostalgia, yearning dusted with sadness, but above all, pure ecstasy, and I cannot emphasize that enough.

Havishamming is a verb, an adjective, probably a noun and definitely a mental state I believe only unwed, child free women (and definitely several gay men, maybe even straights (though I have yet to meet one, the world is full of possibilities)) in their late 30s+ can relate to. It is entirely possible to get lost for hours in your own space. Hours, I tell you. 

Anyway, on one of my summer evening Havishams, I noticed Girl Two of The Girls looking real sad. I don’t have names for all my plants, but The Girls were rescued in my earliest plant rescue days, when I could remember the names of all my plants, because I had like five. These days I refer to most of them (they multiply quickly, as you’re about to discover) by their room location and general appearance, e.g. the spiky one in the Badass Bitch Room. Coincidentally, she actually is a total bitch.

My house doesn’t have many rooms so they all get names. In fact, my late dining room was recently re-christened The Parlour. With a u. Yes, that’s technically just a noun for a once-upon-time room from the Bridgerton Era, but I capitalized it to make it a proper noun. Hey-o educated English Teacher, you still got it. (I mean, did you see that parentheses action above? I probably got that one wrong.)

I digress. Girl Two was leaning real far over her designated boundary, like she was searching for her contact lens four feet below. We’ve all been there, so after checking to make sure she didn’t actually drop anything** I jumped into savior mode, plopped a few chopsticks in the soil and tied her upright with some twine, ATTENTION SIR. Case closed, happy to assist. You are welcome.

**You never know. Today I walked by a kid repeatedly jump-hanging on a tiny neighborhood tree I’ve watched flourish since birth who visibly couldn’t support her weight, had an internal bet with myself in the 100 steps leading up to them on if something would come out of my mouth. It did. My exact words were, “I don’t think the tree likes that very much. Be careful, it’s a living thing,” stopping short of “and how would you feel if you killed it?” And I swear the tree sighed in relief. So. Yeah. This is who I am now. Even feral children need a tiny bit of guidance. (I know this is not how footnotes work in real life, but this is my corner of the internet, shhh.)

Perhaps the best thing about Havishamming, is Havishamming with Friends Who Havisham. We have an (extremely) informal club. It’s best to take turns, so each establishment can properly get the attention it craves and deserves, and as such, one afternoon Alex joined me at the 102 for some proper fluttering. Our attention eventually drifted up to the Badass Bitch Room, where The Girls live (naturally), and it was impossible not to notice Girl Two, still looking real rough.

That’s when my mistake slapped me in the face. Hard.

A few months prior, Girl One jumped ship. One day she was H-E-A-L-T-H-Y as they come, beautiful, top-notch, my shining pink and greenery. The next day I found her on the floor. I rushed to her side, guilty I hadn’t noticed even the littlest of thing, wondering what had gone so wrong in her little plant life that she needed to end it. But lying there on the floor she still looked so vibrant, so free, so ready for the next adventure, I plopped her in some water like any flower cut dead, hoping to get just a little more time with my old gal. And wouldn’t you know it, a few weeks later she grew roots. AND. Her leftover stem began to grow tiny leaves. 

Understanding my not yet fatal error, I frantically bumped Alex aside and rushed to Girl Two, releasing her from her chains. “Ohhhhhhhhhh, nooooo nooooo nononononononono. I AM SO SORRY! I thought I was saving you! I tried to keep you! I prevented you from forging your own path! I didn’t listen! I forgot! THIS IS HOW YOU GROW!” 

Now that we were all on the same page, Alex and I Havishammed a bit longer, amusing ourselves with the latest fuck-ups of College “Pro” (short for professionals, but must always be used in air quotes when spoken and actual quotes in written form, if you know, you know) painters and by the time I came back up to the Badass Bitch Room, Girl Two was on the floor. Within moments of telling her it was okay to let go, that I had seen her, understood her journey, she snapped in half. A little higher than I would have liked it, but I probably created that with my chopstick + twine solution.

In conclusion. 

It’s not hard to grow. Just let go of what’s holding you back. And even if we are not ready to let go, doesn’t mean it’s not time to move on. And just because we want things to live, doesn’t mean they aren’t ready to die. Besides. Without the possibility of death, can anything really be alive?

Happy Havishamming season, friends.