I recently found myself dipping dangerously back into the skin of the, oh say anywhere from eight to 18 year-old version of me, which can be an okay thing, just not when it involves sitting around feeling sorry for yourself for not getting exactly what you want when you want it, complete with a slightly dramatic tantrum thinly disguised as needs, though it’s woefully difficult to tell just how much of this internal hurricane squeaked out into the wild, direct feedback remains but a forced trickle. Kink in the hose? Maybe.

But even you might find it difficult to hold on to your maturity when someone dangles something you crave close enough to touch, before quickly snatching it away. And sometimes it’s hard to check your disappointment when you find yourself unable to keep the company you want, unsure if said company wants to keep you any closer, so naturally you piece together moments of meaningful distraction to fill the distant void. Also known as Keeping It Together. At least the 43-year-old version of me has been over-served enough moments of meaningless distraction to understand those just leave me feeling more empty than before. It’s gotta be quality distraction, or it’s just noise.

I enjoy my chosen lifestyle a good chunk of most of the time, but it does get lonely. Maybe not lonely. More like, boring. I work from home and live alone. And while I do find myself wildly amusing, even I want to turn me off sometimes. Yes, eventually I get bored with my own company. There, I said it. Kind of like watching your favorite movie just one too many times, this is greeaaat, totally still my favorite, but like, I wonder what else is on TV. Except you forgot where you put the remote. It’s always the goddamn remote. 

Bored? Well guess what, it only gets more boring. The sooner you learn it’s on you to make your life more interesting, the better off you’ll be.

I have carried those words with me ever since I silently heard Bernadette say that to her daughter Bee in the book, Where’d You Go Bernadette? I’m the parent and the child in my household.

Just an observation, but I’ve noticed We the People sometimes get in this strange circular mindset. Like we have all these hopes and dreams or pains and sorrows and we desperately want to chase them, change them, or absolve them, yet we don’t actually do anything about it (complaining doesn’t count). We just stand in the place that we are, wanting things to be different.

I get it, I’ve spent a great deal of way too much time (and then some) hanging out in that limbo, swimming around in the status quo. In my experience, if you truly want something to change, it helps trying something new instead of simply wishing shit were different. You know, switch it up. Like, get out of your head and into the game, because this? It’s not working, dude. Options? (A) do a solid review and make a change based on compiled data, or (B) go the spaghetti at the wall route and throw on a random idea, hope it jiggles something loose, or tightens it up, whichever direction you’re hoping to sail. Both options work at expected and surprising times.

Me? I’ve tested a variety of in-depth review tactics (Option A) to know that when I find myself off the rails, I’ve likely lost connection with other people and/or with nature, probably sprinkled with a low undertone of feeling disconnected from meaningful work, which is unfortunately not as rare as I need it to be. I’m extremely grateful to always find myself strongly connected to my values, pretty sure that’s the string that pulls me along.

All that to say, if you’ve jumped the tracks and are averse to regularly pumping pharmaceuticals through your body, it might be helpful to actually examine what’s going on in your life at the moment. (If you need a syllabus, I suggest Johann Hari’s Lost Connections, I certainly didn’t pull these meaningful connections out of my ass.) I’m not saying drugs (uh, non-recreationally) don’t work for some people, I’m just saying maybe it shouldn’t be the first thing you try.

Anyway, back to me and my problem, the solution quite clear: find some people and get outside, you recluse. I picked up my phone (an apparatus I have come to so wholly despise, I’m slightly terrified of where this resentment might lead) and opened my contacts, which took a second to find. I don’t even have the telephone icon on my main bar, and I’m not sure I like what that says about me. Communication in the casual verbal form is a lost art, and furthermore, it’s dope.

My plan was basic: a quick scroll looking for energy missing in my life, starting at the top. On the first screen of ten names, the vaguely familiar mixed with the ??? and the people there for a reason (just not this one), I found one very old friend and one very new, and promptly arranged two back-to-back (gasp) weekday playdates for myself. Because if I don’t do it, it’s considerably less likely to happen. And that’s not said in a poor me way, that’s kind of always been my role. A bridge. A connector. A current. I carry an olive tree and extend all the branches. Why would I feel bad about that? What a lovely thing to be.

Ten down, 412 more to scroll. (But like, later. Two is a lot for one week. Can’t wait to discover who Cool Amanda is though.)

Then I made a deal with myself to go see the sunset every single evening this summer. Well, every single evening I’m around. Around as in, specifically my house. I’m not gonna ditch a date or drop my fork at Turn Key or run away from live music to catch a glimpse, though I will fill as many evenings as possible with the magical delight that is live music in the open air.

Let me rephrase: if I happen to find myself in that familiar place, sitting around my beautiful home, in the lovely space I’ve created all by myself entirely for me, feeling so fucking sorry that everybody’s hanging with a buddy but me (sorry Fred, you’re my buddy, don’t take that too personally, it’s complicated), I’ve decidedly refused to let the sun set on that sad little thought. Get off your ass, walk the four blocks to the lake, and bask in the final rays of the day.

It works every time.

You never know who’s gonna show up down at the tiny park at the end of my street. I lived in my house for years before I discovered this little paradise even existed. The grassy knoll next to the church is usually dotted with couples of varying flavors, mixed with a few solo acts, some with their own furry sidekick. Sometimes there are many, other times not so many. You’d think seeing a bunch of people with their people would make me feel more alone, but quite the contrary, I feel amongst friends. Sometimes I even run into actual friends.

I’ve wandered thousands of miles around the northern hemisphere, countless more in the southern, and some of the best sunsets I’ve ever seen have been on that patch of grass at Giddings park overlooking Lake Mendota. Midwest is best, afterall. But the first night of my experiment, a large cloud bank sat perfectly on the horizon, hoarding the best part of the sunset.

The next evening, wild winds banded together to march through the neighborhood streets and take down ancient trees and large limbs, while I texted my friend Lee a few blocks down to ask him what condo people do during tornados, because there was no way I was getting Fred down to the basement. I stayed above ground in solidarity.

The third evening delivered, but not before Rapha dog rolled in something dead or something deposited, because the universe is the absolute master at asterisks, especially regarding life:

*it’s a beautiful mess.

But oh, the birds. Swooping through, dancing in sync, gliding over the smooth sun-drenched water, darting from tree to tree, singing to each other, singing to me. I recently read birdsong is superb for our mental well-being, just six minutes of listening (in nature or through a device, for all you indoor cats) alleviates feelings of paranoia, anxiety and depression. One theory being birds tend to sing when all is well in their immediate world, so ever since humans and birds first discovered each other, we’ve possibly had a positive subconscious association in our brains. Spend enough time in the wilderness and you know, when a storm’s a coming, the forest is eerily silent.

As the tweets and trills blend with the hoots and whistles, I can physically feel my body relax and I’m reminded of that other connection that never falters, my belief in a hopeful future, because I do feel it just keeps getting better and better. The ca-caws and chirps tap me on the shoulder, reminding me of all the times I’ve found the remote, changed the channel just to discover, there’s not as much quality television in reality as your mind is tricking you into believing, lots of garbage out there on the ole’ boob tube, too. Moreover (that one’s for you, Lee), so much of it is downright depressing. All of the people out there, surrounded by buddies day in and day out, still feeling so utterly alone. The little usurpers that not-so-magically multiplied and invaded their lives, the husband they despise, the wife they want to leave, the relationship that ended years ago, but somehow, both still go through the motions, because it’s easier than finding the “lost” remote and changing the channel, and don’t we all know how shitty TV is these days.

Comparison may be the thief of joy, but somehow if you call it perspective, you can get away with it. 

The sun goes down, the bugs buzz around, and the birds breathe life back into my favorite movie.