I am so grateful my worries are few, comparatively. What worries people about the future is so often out of our control. Many variables can interject to create an entirely new version of the future, it seems wasteful. You can control leaving early enough to not worry about missing the flight, but you couldn’t have known or controlled for the plane having a mechanical function preventing its timed departure. You did your part. I used to say, ‘everything always works out how it’s supposed to,’ with some air of optimism or Law of Attraction pseudo-belief. Now I say, ‘Everything will work out as it will.’ It will, one way or another. We adapt accordingly.
The recent Buffalo shooting. I couldn’t help but think how my mother would’ve known nothing about it. Anytime I brought up the most recent current event, it rang no bell. I kind of resented her obliviousness in my twenties, when I too, believed the newsworthy thing was the most important thing. Soon I realized, that what had no bearing on her day-to-day would only impede anyone’s mental health; only inject some negative, negative, negative. To who’s benefit? To what avail? Television news and Twitter are not real life. Real life is spending time, making memories, and generating well-being. Everything else is noise.
He speaks of his large friend groups and constantly cultivating them, encouraging visits and group hang-outs; watering them to grow. I consider my few and how they take little effort -have always existed and always will. I have more time than he does, no pull of a marriage or children, and yet I don’t facilitate their constancy. I am not worried about them. These that have stood the test of time.
I recently rented a small storage unit to properly store away out-of-season clothes, art, memorabilia, and all manner of unused but still wanted home items. It freed up so much space; I love seeing the vacancy. I wonder how long I’ll keep the Tupperware of 50+ journals accumulated through the years. Will the memories be tired? Each journal is labeled with the time periods covered; stored chronologically so I can reference easily. Browsing through a few, it dawned on me how I never, or rarely noted last names. Some people are impossible to google now. Most, I wouldn’t care to. Characters in a play. Next scene. Next chapter. How much longer will I keep them? They weigh as much as the books I’ve moved around with. They represent the seasons of me; all the iterations of myself. Is there some fear of forgetting? That night I had a dream about organizing items out of the way for a roommate or a boyfriend moving in. I woke thinking about what I would like to invite into my life right now, and how I need to make room for it, or him.
The fear of missing out. I felt no angst for not investing in crypto, and now because I didn’t buy it, I’m not suffering its devaluation. Its time hasn’t come. Some part of me correlates FOMO with trade-offs; those of the personal and the economic. I might not spend money in one way, only to spend it in another. There’s no more or less, or better or worse. There are only choices and consequences.
No news is good news. When the doctor doesn’t call after lab work. “I’ll ring if there’s a problem,” a business partner says before going into a meeting. There’s a sigh of relief; the same sigh introverts feel when plans are canceled.
Addendum: Pardon the radio silence. Sometimes it’s harder to chase down the running thoughts.