The pandemic and by association, the seclusion, has afforded me a lot of time to think. I think a lot most days. It is my default setting. I am either reflecting on the past or planning for the future. My thoughts almost always revolve around family or the future me.
It is, but natural that writing is a huge part of what happens in my mind. All of this thinking and reflection has me noticing patterns, observing the world around me in a lazy, disconnected fashion. I notice that when I post on social media, the same few folks like, comment or engage with me. I am predictable too, like that. I “love” the content that appears on my feed. I passively consume lives, tidbits from people I am connected to in different ways. Some are friends, some, virtual strangers whose words I know like my own.
There are days when I type up tweets and statuses and discard them. There is this sense of purpose-less-ness to what I have to say. I wonder if there is a point to this sharing at all. As I age and watch my life from afar, my social circle feels like a spiral that ends in a point, me.
I muse about wiping the slate clean and starting over, sans social media or any kind of social connection. I step back and realize the futility of it all. I thrive on interaction. I love talking to people even if virtually.
In this in-between state, toggling between wanting to connect and be connected and, becoming a hermit, I sway, waiting for the winds to lift me up and put me down where I need to be.
For the moment though, I am watching, reflecting, learning and journaling.