The 2020-2021 COVID era taught us about cancelling plans. In fact, it cancelled a lot of plans for us. But once we were all tucked away in our nests, dens and burrows, for many people the idea of going out and doing things again began feel burdensome.
In my experience and observations, we reapportion our worlds to the volume and magnitude of what we have going on. When you lead a busy life with a lot of responsibilities, each thing tends to get smaller. We need to size them to be manageable to our brains which don’t expand the way our itineraries, agendas and calendars can.
To a busy person, stopping by the supermarket might be something they do on the way home from work and to which they give no thought. The smaller your world, the bigger everything in it feels. For someone home all day – like during COVID – a trip to the supermarket might be the day’s event and suddenly, it might need some focus or even create some anxiety because now it’s a disruption instead of one small part of a greater chain of events.
It may seem inverse to logic, a very busy person will often find it easier to take on one more task than someone with more bandwidth. Sure, we all have our breaking point and believe me, when I see a saturation point coming, I’m adept at triaging and dumping whatever I can to make life manageable and deliver where it matters. At the same time, a lot of times when I’m busy, another task can he just one more thing to manage – not ideal, but not earth-shaking.
Since COVID, I have heard it said many times that becoming an adult involves learning when to cancel plans. It certainly has become more acceptable, or at least more common for people to make and break plans. Everyone offers their plausible reasons, but we all know that at least a decent percentage of those are just covering that someone just simply doesn’t want to leave home or do one more thing.
I can’t count how many times I make plans that I know are good for me and then as the time rolls around, I hesitate. I begin to think how much nicer my sofa sounds than whatever I may have planned. When I push myself to go, I almost always end up happy for it. Of course, when I don’t go – I sometimes feel a little guilty, and sometimes I’m just relieved.
There’s a job in the letting go – which sometimes makes me forget the of the connection, of showing up.
I often wonder why that is. Especially since we live in a world of loneliness and disconnection – one in which people talk about the joy of community and then, with options all around, take refuge in their homes. It’s as if we’ve lost the casual joy of being together.
Is it the transition to a world of nuclear family- our units have broken down too small and our walls of privacy are too large? Or our worlds are so complex we just need more buffer? More than twenty years ago, a friend once told me his mom couldn’t keep pace – all the logins passwords she had to maintain were themselves mind-boggling. Sure, password protecting apps have more recently addressed this particular issue, but plenty of new burdens have developed.
These days I find when I’m presented with a surprise opportunity, an unexpected invitation – I immediately panic. The moment asks too much of me. I want to appreciate the person who kindly offered. I want to engage and join. I want time to really think through what I’m getting myself into. I want to jealously guard my free-time. I’m hungry for friends and experiences and starved for refuge and recuperation.
All of this ties into yet another conundrum in a neurotic layer cake. Frequently, at the moment I receive an invitation, I know what’s good for me and what might be problematic. I know who to invest in – and therefore whether or not the event is conveniently timed or my favorite thing to do – is something probably worth my while because shared experiences among friends and family are sadly too rare. Then there are those times where I know the whoever or whatever of it make me uncomfortable – or just aren’t what I want. They’re in some way not worth it, or a bad idea. Only I doubt myself. Maybe I’m not seeing things right? Maybe I need to get out of my comfort zone? Maybe if I knew the person better, I would like them more – I would see their layers and depth.
These things happen. I have misjudged people – or at least not seen all there is about them. I have tried things that don’t sound appealing only to enjoy them or learn something important about myself. The day when I was 22 and my buddy George talked me into skiing for the first time was also the last time I skied, but it’s a day we still talk and laugh about. And my good friend Ziv was one of the Israeli naval officers who joined my Birthright group for several days. He seemed serious and not someone I would have taken to. Yet the night he we were assigned to share a room on a kibbutz in the Golan is the night I gained a lifelong friend. We not only learned we had a lot in common, but we laughed – a lot.
So I’m not always right. Though, a lot of times I am.
I find as I reach the tail-end of my forties, I risk being a victim of my brain’s shortcuts. Through the course of our lives, we become adept at recognizing patterns and through them, making faster, easier decisions. Been there, done that isn’t necessarily a sign of being jaded, it’s also how we master things. We put our accumulated lessons – right or wrong – to work via mental templates. With middle age, a first impression is less likely to inspire curiosity about someone and more likely to make us think of someone else we know – and assume the new person we’re encountering is like that other person. We flag characteristics and place them on our schema. We become far less likely to end up laughing with Ziv on a kibbutz in the Golan.
I give into this a lot – and I’m sure it mostly serves me well. There’s also part of me that rages against the machine. Or perhaps more accurately, worries the machine is wrong and is leading me into monotony and isolation instead of the warmth and connection that’s good for me. Of course, it could also be saving me from a situation in which I’d rather not find myself – and I have plenty of those as-is. It’s amazing how often I find myself with someone who really isn’t looking for a social connection, but an audience for their monologue or a resource to their neediness.
As a result, I end up caught between the fear of a narrowing outlook that might undermine a more curious and expansive outlook and perils of not heeding my gut – which relies heavily on a library of inflexible templates based on life experiences.
All of which frequently leads to a mini-personal-crisis when forced to decide whether or not to explore new social opportunities.
Part of me wants to yell at myself, “Stop it! Get a hold of yourself! You’ve lived almost 49 years, you’re a good judge of character, you’ve got your shit together, why spend your time worrying about these little moments? Besides, what does it matter? A dinner party you didn’t enjoy? A night-in when you needed it? What’s the big deal?”
Equally, there’s a part of me that understands – particularly in light of reconstructing a life post-divorce that opportunities matter, time is limited, we reap what we sow, friends are a gift we give ourselves, shared experiences matter, memories are what we have at the end – and we have far fewer opportunities to make them than we might think or like.
Maybe I’m having a very narrow midlife crisis – I don’t want to be 22 again, I just want to feel like I understand the world as much as I did then.
Now that it’s the Last Days of Disco for Patmos 2026, I’m beginning to look at the calendar and see the errands, appointments, issues, engagements, and events waiting for me in Westlake next week. It’s hard not to feel a little overwhelmed at a glance. I also know there will be good outcomes, good people – and Rabbi Paskow used to say “good thoughts and warm feelings.” I’ll try to find the balance between staying curious and heeding my gut. I’ll try to remember that moments matter a lot – and life isn’t just the sum of its moments – and not every moment means very much in and of itself. All of this is true. Though no less confusing. Kind of like the “street” in front of my house which is a pedestrian-only zone, except when there’s a reason someone might need to drive there.
