A few days ago, I received an invitation to a party that's being held next week in Brooklyn, which instigated a cost-benefit analysis that I had forgotten used to be a regular part of my pre-pandemic life. On the benefit side, it sounded like a fun party, where I would be able to talk to a few friends and probably a few other people I didn't know. In short: a party. It had been a long time since I had attended a party. I was intrigued. It was also being hosted outdoors, which alleviated most of my residual covid anxiety. On the cost side, however, Brooklyn is still an hour from Washington Heights. Somehow I had forgotten, or convinced myself, that these two places (both within New York City, after all) had drifted closer together. But they had not; it was just a projection of how, during the pandemic, my world had become so much smaller.
I'm also going to the dentist next week, which poses logistical challenges I used to take for granted. If my appointment is at eleven, what time should I leave? Should I take the subway or an e-bike? Monday is supposed to be 90+ degrees. Would my dentist still be playing the same depressing classic-rock radio station? Was I prepared to hear "More Than a Feeling"? If I made it though the dentist unscathed, I thought, maybe I would be more inclined to go to the party. Somehow it was reaffirming to acknowledge the way small, irrational factors often tilt the balance in favor of doing one thing versus another.
The park, which is a fifteen-minute run from my house, continued to be an oasis, even though the peonies were shedding petals, a sign that spring was ending.
I'm sad to see it go, but it's been a good spring, with plenty of rain and cool weather. It was a season that made me think about the world in terms of possibilities.
It's a stark contrast to the political climate, which makes me fear that the world is falling apart.
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