It’s my first remote working day from cafes in Portland. It’s 10:32am on a Tuesday as I type this, and I’m already on my second cafe. First one I hit early. I was restless to get outside, after a hangover Sunday and downpouring all yesterday.
The air here is fantastic. You’re IN the elements no matter where you are. A bit reminiscent of when you’re on a high, hilly street in San Francisco and suddenly, the way the air gently blows, you can see it’s a cloud, floating by and through you. Last week in MA it was too hot, fully sunny, fully humid, too, too much.
I thrive in fog. The fog is mystery, unknowns, anticipation. It’s the freshest breath. It’s part of what gives real Mainers that rugged, dependable, sturdy look. Some solid lines about their faces reveal they’ve been exposed to wintry, eastern seaboard elements all their lives. The outdoors informs so much of their entire identities.
I want that. I want to become that person who is ruled by nature, our natural human states, and less dedicated to internet humor and the social media-ization of all our personhoods. Who cares about the stuff inside screens? What matters is our “offline” selves. They get too little attention.
Offline me is someone I see less lately, as I spend time on my phone or laptop (already) looking for a new job. The most frustrating part of job searching is knowing I can only make the money I’m making by remaining online, forever tied to a screen, clicking buttons for the rest of the my life. All at the steep cost of totally killing off my offline self. The cost of doing so isn’t worth it, now that I feeeeel mortality. Really. Earlier, I had to leave a quiet bookstore, because the entire length of my left leg kept creaking and popping with each turn and step.
What I truly crave, if money were no object (maddening, that it always is!), I want to be in person with real people, every day. I want to share in lived experiences and not have fake, online convos with so-called “coworkers” (who have never existed as anything but tiny circles of avatars). This is not what we’re built for. This was what I was built for at one point in time, but I’m moving on by moving backwards to my humanness.
I demand my real, lived life back. I want to be on the frontlines of humanity, perhaps making a small difference (getting someone a coffee? delivering their mail? selling them a book?). I’m seeking the opportunity to get to be human with one another. To reflect our humanness back to each other, and see and learn from each other, in a way that happens only in live-action, human exchange. Is this too much to ask?
I didn’t move out of the city just to stare at a screen from a different location. I moved to find out who I’m supposed to meet next, which crowd I’m supposed to run with (or, if I even need one), who motivates, inspires, and excites me about life as a (almost) 40-year old.
I’m free from the limitations imposed by the superficial, mid-20s motives that ran my life for too long. I have had a particularly difficult time figuring myself out, but now I know that (in the most basic terms) constant reflection and consistent fine-tuning of myself are my main motivations for living and life.
Sure, there’s no resisting the transition that comes with living out midlife in the 2020’s. But, at least I can decisively halt the path forward, in order to pivot towards the ‘true-north’ of what supports and resonates with current day me. I don’t have an answer yet, but I know there’s something better suited for me. The best thing aging does is redefine our relationship to time, so instead of hemming and hawing, I’m already in action mode. I’ll let you know what I find out.