My weekdays are pretty well regulated by now, so I turn to the weekend for new experiences and observations that might provide food for the thoughts I share with you every Monday through Friday. Most of these thoughts arrive while I am taking my long weekend walks (3 ½ hours yesterday—my new record. Well, I used to walk that long, but it included a stop for lunch at a favorite restaurant. Now, wearing the mask, I can’t even munch on a Kind Bar. See how proud I am of this?)
So, unlike The Thinker on his pedestal (apologies Rodin) my thinking is done in motion. But not always. Some of it occurs when I am on the phone.
I usually like to pace while I am on the phone, having read in the dim distant past that even small movements speed up the metabolism, but when I am chatting with friends, I curl up on the couch for a good “natter” as the British like to say.
We are all reaching out to friends and family and mere acquaintances much more often now, cherishing the human voice in place of human touch. (I am not including those computer-generated voices that assure me “your call is very important to us, please hold, you are caller 1,257”—no, I still don’t need those, at least not yet.)
But I’ve noticed that for me, talking to friends takes on a deeper, better meaning now. I haven’t got the usual “news” to share—the new restaurant I found, the office birthday party I am organizing, the weekend trip I am planning. Instead I find myself taking a verbal stroll in my mind, and in theirs, and learning something new about my friend as we explore random topics that somehow just pop up on the winding paths of discourse. Case in point: riflery.
This weekend I was chatting with a friend whom I have known for a number of years. We seemed to have a lot in common when we met at a long-ago party—we were both interested in the arts, in design, in travel, in aesthetics. We had similar tastes, although she was far more minimalist in self-presentation than I, more chic in black and white, more cool, more Zen. (It’s always good to have what I call “aspirational” friends, meaning I aspire to be more like them—gives me something to strive for.)
So there I was, like John Donne, “wandering among the fair gardens of Art and the Hesperides,” when we somehow got onto the topic of camp. It seems my chic friend adored it all—the canoeing, the campfires, the open air cooking, the archery, the sleeping lodges and to my stupefaction, riflery. So there I was, picturing in my mind, my friend in her high maintenance haircut, hoisting a rifle to her shoulder, taking aim and hitting the target over and over. I was overcome with astonishment and admiration. Within a few moments of desultory conversation, I had found an entirely new friend. (Those of you who know me know that my idea of camping out is the balcony of the Hilton, so you can imagine how this new information hit me.)
In our isolation, we might have a bit more time to reach out to friends. And if we allow time for the talk to wander, we might meet an entirely new person hidden in the depths of personality we were too busy to explore, before.
How cool is that?
This print by Melanie Yazzie is titled “Seeing Each Other.” Made for another time, it explores the connections two women have forged from different paths and histories and cultures. I think it can speak to the friendships of today as well, as we see each other in new ways, alone together. Art Heals.
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