I took Django to the dog park today. What used to be a chore is now an escape, so I sat on a bench as he trotted around with other dogs, check and rechecking my social media, because that's the only form of outside connection these days. If I had to estimate the difference in screen time from two weeks ago to now, the difference would not be measured in minutes, but in passion: from "enthusiastic" to "obsessed.”
I really need to stop looking at my phone.
But the phone is validation and connection. Right now it's also a social lifeline, sad to say. I find myself watching TV in the evenings with the phone at my side, checking in every few minutes to see if I've gotten a Twitter response or if someone has posted a new track video. But there's no actual person inside the phone to connect with and no social media message that will give me the peace I'm searching for. Just random seconds of amusement where I get the fleeting and illusory sensation of connection.
I really need to stop looking at my phone..
There is a new barber shop here in Santa Margarita. It's a little hipster, enough so that it's called a "Barber Lounge" and the guys doing haircuts are all sleeved. But hipster is new to my town, which has always trended toward staid. So I have embraced this new haircutting place, just like Jack the Clippers in London. Only I can no more get a trim at the Barber Lounge than JTC because they're closed. My hair was once down to the middle of my back, with Tom Petty bangs and no thought of getting it cut. That was back in college and I have pictures to show for it. Thankfully, I still have a full head of hair at 58, and may very well see that Tom Petty look once more if this quarantine goes on for more than a few months. I don't think the world needs to see me with long hair but it might make for an interesting author photo — sort of a once-in-a-lifetime 2020 time capsule.
Just checked my phone again. Really need to stop doing that.
I am currently ghosting a book, rewriting an unproduced screenplay from 2011, beginning the first chapter of my new solo project, and researching a new Killing book. Someone asked me what I would write if I could write anything at all, and my answer surprised me: a play. This is the perfect time to resume my self-taught piano and guitar lessons, learn French, do a crazy amount of core, and write that play. But it's hard to focus. I'm a planner who just threw out his 2020 calendar. It's hard to hunker down and throw all my efforts into a single project when there's no feeling of certainty. So I dabble. One of those projects will win and get all my energy, but right now I dabble in this sea of confusion, overjoyed to escape to the dog park and feel the sun on my face.
I remind myself that the mountains are always open and spring is upon us. Track season is almost certainly over and I fear that cross country may be lost, too. Those are the seasons I know: spring, track, five-week break, summer, cross country, five-week break, then spring again. Without them I am lost, no North Star to orient me. I keep a compass on my desk as a symbol of the journey I am taking through life. Right now even a tangible symbol like that seems hollow.
Time to rise up. Get focus. Find purpose in the midst of uncertainty.
And stay off the phone.