This morning I woke up worried that I was falling behind. From the tenth-floor window, I saw a car drive up an empty street and it looked like it was hovering above the ground, quietly floating, frictionless. I thought, this must be the future. I am living in the future, and I didn’t even realize it. I tried to imagine what my reaction to this New York would be if I had been transported straight from the 1850s to today. Would I be impressed at skyrises? Would I find it loud here? Would I notice that people walk faster? Would we seem happy? I hoped my 19th century doppelgänger might help me see what I don’t realize because it’s all I know. But what do I know about the 1850s?
I thought about social media. For someone who’s off social media, I think about it quite a lot. Maybe it’d be thinking about it less if I had it. Would that be because I’d be switching from thinking about doing to doing? Maybe that’s good. I worried about everything we need to do to stay sharp and relevant and then I worried that my abstention from Instagram was an early symptom of my falling behind. I thought, what next? I’d like to be a grandma who can hang. How do I keep up for the next 80 plus years? If it takes a @handle, so be it (a “@handle”? Jesus…).
I folded my laundry. That pile of clean laundry had been sitting on the blue chair across from my bed for four days and I decided it was enough. Enough! I thought. I would start the day informing my subconscious that I do not procrastinate. No, sir. My subconscious is a man, and I think I’m okay with that. It helps me stay productive. Anyway, I like folding laundry. One of my favorite domestic activities is talking on the phone as I’m pairing socks. It’s a subtle exercise for the brain and it’s very rewarding. If the conversation is still going on and I simultaneously realize I have a lone sock left, I try not to be rude and sound disappointed. I like to separate my need to pair my socks from other aspects of my life.
It’s just easier that way.