Detach, Reattach
I never fancied myself the type to write confessional diary entries on the internet, but I suppose some bumblebees get surprised when they sting something and then fucking die, so here we are.
Lately, I’ve been feeling a touch detached. I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s the seemingly endless stream of fake texts I get from spambots. “Hello”, they all say. Spambots don’t mince words. I got one yesterday that just said “Hi”. Even better. Sometimes they call me and leave voice messages, usually an uninterrupted stream of static or ramblings in Chinese. I prefer the Chinese.
Or maybe it’s that I keep getting notifications from a glitchy app that the airline has changed my seat: “You’re now sitting in 17A.” My flight was months ago. “You’re now sitting in 17A.” No I’m not, I’m— “YOU’RE NOW SITTING IN 17A.” Ahh!! Okay! Every time it happens I picture myself inside an airplane. Where am I going? When will I get there? I guess it doesn’t matter. I’ll be in seat 17A.
Now that I think about it, I’ve had some strange and surreal experiences lately. My local deli ran out of bread the other day. Not like, just the good kinds of bread like dutch crunch and sourdough, but all the bread. They were sheepish but also, I think, a little proud when they explained it over the phone. “Even Rye?” “Even Rye.”
Then the other day, I was walking home from work and some random guy I’ve never met before biked up to me, made a face like he recognized me, and said, “Hey, fuck your feelings, right?” I gave him a weary chuckle and an “Alright, man.” I don’t know why he said that or how he expected me to react, but he looked disappointed as he biked away. Maybe he had a crony hiding in a bush nearby and filming me, hoping to create the Next Great Tik Tok. Well, tough titty, fellas, I’m the John Wayne Gacy of not going viral and 9 out of 10 dentists do not recommend filming me.
This morning, I noticed the sunlight shining through my door’s peephole formed a rainbow circle on my wall. When I took a picture of it, my shadow was cast on the wall and it looked like I had a tiny magical heart. Is this modern art? Is this, like, deep man? If it is, I would like to start the bidding at one million dollars.
So, um, what’s been helping me reattach are the obvious things that matter the most. Friends, family, and faith.
From talking with my friends, I know I’m not the only one feeling a little adrift. It’s helpful to have people rooting for you, and being able to do the same for your friends keeps you grounded.
I would have said that “family is self-explanatory,” but that would be taking them for granted. I love my parents and my sister more than anyone. Growing up, I didn’t get to know my grandparents. They died when I was quite young. I can’t wait to fall in love with someone and have kids. I know my parents would make great grandparents.
Before I talk about faith, a brief rant. These days, it seems like people, especially intellectuals, are obsessed with understanding things and accumulating knowledge for no other reason than to have it. In their minds, everything must have a scientific explanation and anything that doesn’t must be of little value. I could not disagree more.
If there is one thing I do not need a scientific explanation for, it is faith. I do not want to study faith, I do not need to learn about it or understand it more deeply in order to appreciate it. I have it and that’s enough. Like a pebble in a river, its shape might change over the years but it will be there when you need it, just under the surface. You simply have to be willing to roll up your sleeves, get your arm wet, and grab it.
As I reflect deeper on my state of detachment, though, I come to the conclusion that I’m probably just a little tired. I’ve been pouring all of my energy and effort into work, and while that can be rewarding, it can also be a bottomless pit. I’ve never been good at half-assing things. With me, it’s either whole-ass or no-ass. I just need to reorient myself and whole-ass the things that matter most. And if you’re ever feeling a little detached yourself, just remember the formula for getting back: friends, family, faith.
P.S. Rereading this and doing that thing you’re supposed to do as an editor where you’re like, “Hmmmm, is it clear where this piece is going? Are the sentences good? Are we taking Good Care Of The Reader?”, I have to admit the answer might be no across the board. This one’s a little unhinged. But can you blame me? I wrote it while I was sitting in Seat 17A.
