Dropping Breadcrumbs

On optimism, the apocalypse, and rediscovering fun

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I’m a social introvert. I enjoy (and need) my alone time, and I’m rarely bored. How can I be? I’m an avid reader, a writer, an artist (who never actually devotes time to this anymore, but topic for another day, right?). I also have a never-ending list of projects to keep me occupied, from knitting I’ve started and set aside to decluttering in advance of downsizing.

And I really like my home, which seems like an odd thing to point out, but I feel at ease here. I’ve created little comfort zones, like the chair I read in and the desk I write at, surrounded by hundreds of books (impatiently) waiting their turn to be selected.

But every so often, the social part of my personality pops its head up, looks around, and says, “Uh oh, where’d everybody go?” I remember I have friends out in the world and it occurs to me that if I never make time to see them, eventually those relationships will suffer. That’s when I start making plans—shaking the trees the same way I hustle up freelance business by reaching out to clients I haven’t connected with in a while.

The early days of the pandemic (fight-or-flight panic aside) granted me permission to lean into my introverted side. Then something unexpected happened. I met new friends. Not just a handful, but an explosion, entire communities of writers I connected with through Facebook groups, online classes, weekend workshops, and cohorts.

In addition to enriching my life in countless ways, nurturing friendships digitally made it easy to continue staying at home. I mean, I’ve left my home. I’ve flown to Florida to visit family a couple of times. I spend time at the Jersey shore. But I still don’t feel like I’m fully back to my pre-pandemic self.

Maybe I’m not meant to be. The dimensions of my old life no longer match my current reality and I’m okay with that. But there is a part of myself I do want to return to, and I got a glimpse of it last weekend.

The dimensions of my old life no longer match my current reality and I’m okay with that. But there is a part of myself I do want to return to.

My husband and I were making plans with a couple who live in a walkable town with a vibrant main street lined with bars, restaurants and stores. In the center of that town is a gorgeous arthouse movie theater built in 1928. It was restored long ago and still has its glorious facade and architectural details, but with modern upgrades like stadium seating, digital sound, and a gourmet concession stand. They show indie films and in the summer, run classics during the week, from Casablanca to Saturday Night Fever.

The last time I saw a movie there, or in any theater, was February 13, 2020. In honor of Valentine’s Day, they brought back Moonstruck, and because I love that movie and my dad loved that movie, and it was the 9th anniversary of his passing, we went.

Anyway, last weekend I had the most powerful yearning to be in that theater and like waking from a dream, knew it was long overdue. Once we were seated and munching on their delicious homemade popcorn, sharing a cold fountain Coke which I never drink except at the movies, something clicked into place.

The next day, I checked out their summer movie lineup and that’s when I had this thought: what I’ve been missing is making plans. I don’t mean big-picture plans. These last three years have been all about those—writing a book, finding an agent, getting a publishing deal, eventually downsizing and giving beach life a try. But those are long-range plans, particularly the last two.

I mean fun plans to look forward to that involve leaving the house. Still riding high on my night at the movies, I ran an idea by another couple we became friends with 20 years ago through tennis, when my now-best friend and I took lessons in the same clinic.

“Hey, would you guys want to learn pickleball with us? We could take a lesson together.”

“Tennis without running? We’re in.”

That’s the beauty of a 20-year friendship: adapting together to bodies that are no longer young.

I’m all for mindfulness and living in the moment, but there’s definitely something uplifting and healthy about giving myself events to look forward to. It takes optimism to make plans that aren’t tied to survival or basic needs—plans that are purely for enjoyment. For a Type A Capricorn who constantly feels like I’m never getting enough done, fun is typically something I make myself earn before indulging.

The uncertainty of the last few years also impacted my desire to commit to anything in advance. Many times I allowed inertia to make decisions for me, figuring if I waited long enough, the opportunity would disappear and I could crawl back into my cave like the good introvert I am. Kind of like ignoring an email until it’s no longer actionable, so you can delete it guilt-free.

On a darker note, there’s this: with wildfire smoke outside my windows and all signs pointing to the years ahead becoming more fraught from climate change (not to mention the impending AI-pocalypse), part of me thinks f*ck it, enjoy life while you can. Hence my aforementioned beach-life experiment.

But really, optimism is the way I want to move forward, out of the tunnel of doom. I used to be a person who loved trying new things. Taking on a new hobby. Pushing myself to sign up for a class. Volunteering to get involved with a cause. As a writer, I’ve maintained that sense of adventure and I’m proud of where it’s taken me. But I’ve strayed from having pure fun. These plans I’m starting to make are like breadcrumbs I’m dropping to lead me back to myself.

These plans I’m starting to make are like breadcrumbs I’m dropping to lead me back to myself.

I felt so lifted by this recent revelation that I committed to another plan for later this summer—a bigger one that was beginning to feel like a hazy dream inertia might blow away. I’m meeting up with four of my closest pandemic-era friends for a mini getaway. We Zoom, talk on the phone, email, and text constantly—but we’ve never been in the same state together, let alone the same room. This August, we’re finally doing it, and it’s the perfect melding of old and new me.

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Three Things That Entertained, Intrigued, or Inspired Me

1) Have you discovered Taryn Delanie Smith yet? She was Miss New York 2022 and she’s recently become popular for creating a character named Denise, a gum-smacking receptionist in Heaven. Her reels are hilarious, smart, and uniquely entertaining. Here’s one to check out. And if it weren’t enough that she’s providing laughter to millions, she also takes requests from people mourning loved ones, greeting their family members by name on their arrival. This TikTok shows Taryn/Denise meeting baby Olivia, at the request of her grieving mom. Grab tissues—the music alone will make you cry if you’re anything like me. Even knowing it’s fictitious, it’s still somehow enormously comforting. Another reminder of why art and creativity are essential to our humanity.

2) I was recently introduced to the photography of Carlos Vargas and fell in love with his collection, Signfixation. Vargas captures a slice of Americana with his photos of vintage signs and vibrant pops of turquoise and pink. As a graphic designer, I’m also a sucker for great typography, and his art is full of it. He sells prints and I’m definitely going to indulge.    

3) Merriam-Webster has an IG account and it’s the perfect blend of word-nerd and sass, which pretty much sums up my personality. Enjoy!