It’s been a strange summer.
In June, a long-planned trip to the beach with my sister to celebrate her milestone birthday was thwarted because of a medical procedure for one of our parents.
In July, a long-anticipated trip from my partner’s parents was affected by my child’s sudden illness, which resulted in a week-long hospital stay.
And now I’m nervous for August, some of which will find my partner on a long-desired wilderness trip with his best friends to a remote, somewhat dangerous area.
I feel like I shouldn’t say that part out loud, but what is it to be human if not to be a little superstitious, at least.
The other day at the thrift store, I bought a vintage Mahjong set. It was $25, which is a lot for anything at one of our local thrift stores, but buying it felt like an inherited desire: both my paternal grandmother and eldest paternal aunt played for years. I never learned how, though my aunt tried to teach my sister, cousin, and me once on a trip to New Orleans.
There’s a mythology around it that conjures up a Golden Girls-esque existence, of being retired and having the time for leisurely afternoons of gaming in floral caftans. I’m a long way from that world, if it even exists anymore; it’s hard to imagine. But Mahjong has come up recently with people my own age, which – who knows – is perhaps the same middle-age point in time when my grandmother and aunt both started playing.
I think of myself as younger, but I’m not sure at all that I am.
These days, I find myself incredibly appreciative of small things that are actually huge: my child’s restored good health and my own steady strength; my partner, who is a rock but so much better; the hydrangeas that are blooming stunningly in my backyard and everywhere. I find myself excited for the blackberries that are on the cusp of ripening, and the simple wonder of reading, and how at different times my tiniest dog can look like a miniature fox, sea lion, or house elf.
When we unexpectedly had to go to the hospital a couple of weeks ago, I texted my closest friend group about what was happening. This is what I wrote: Hi everyone – We are being sent to the ER; it’s possible we’ll be there overnight or go to the city. Can someone please care for our dogs?
Their responses came quickly and were unequivocal. Yes. Let us know what you need. Do not worry about the dogs. We’ve got you.
We’ve got you.
They said that again and again with both their words and their actions for the next week. My partner and I barely inquired about the dogs, so caught up were we with the events unfolding before us. The luxury was that we didn’t need to think about them; we knew they were being cared for. And they were.
A few nights ago, all of the members of that friend group came over for dinner. That doesn’t happen often anymore; our lives are busy, summer is busy. But it was wonderful. We stood in a circle, preparing plates before eating, and I asked for us to join hands. I thanked them. My voice caught. It is no small thing, to have a community.
I am indeed older, old enough to know: scary things will happen. When you can be grateful for good health, dive into that. When you can call on friends to really show up for you, you are indeed fortunate.
Perhaps I’m closer to that caftan than I thought.
The Wandering Introvert 