Hello, friends. With July wrapping up, it’s getting closer to the end of summer. A lot happened this month for me. Let me tell you about it.
At the beginning of the month, my family and I went on a roadtrip from New York City to Atlanta and back. It was more of a business trip than a leisurely one. Our mom needed to retrieve belongings from storage in Atlanta and transport them to her new home in New York. As her daughters, my sister Eunice and I went down with her to help clear out the unit. We brought along our senior dog Ina, inadvertently sparing her from the terrors of Fourth of July fireworks (for those unfamiliar with dogs, they absolutely detest them).
It takes about 14 to 15 hours (with breaks) from New York to Atlanta by car. The first night we drove through New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Maryland, West Virginia, and Virginia (which took the longest) via I-81. Every time I drive through states, I am reminded of how infinitely vast America is. Most of the country is rural, with farmland, gas stations, and Walmarts.
Mom, the primary driver, underestimated how pitch-black the roads get at night and eventually surrendered. My sister and I quickly found a Red Roof in the middle of nowhere–a mountain town of Virginia called Hillsville. I won’t forget the view of the windshield that night: the dark, mighty mountains looming in front of us made me feel small.
We made it to Atlanta the next day. We stayed at a lovely Marriott tucked away in the peaceful, wooded suburb of Decatur–like a quiet forest from a fairytale. Coming from New York, we appreciated the fresh air and calm of Georgia, among many things we took for granted when we lived there.
Over the course of two days, we sweated our asses off clearing out the storage and sorting items to ship or squeeze into our car. We didn’t have much time to relax, but we did our best to simulate a vacation by swimming at the outdoor pool under the night sky and sipping cocktails at the hotel bar.
After the trip, I mentally checked out and became a paradoxical recluse. For a couple of weeks I didn’t reach out to anyone to hang out, yet I wanted to talk. I kept my social activities to phone calls with some long-distance friends. I am currently rereading Crime and Punishment–which, coincidentally, begins in July–and Dostoyevsky describes my dilemma perfectly through the protagonist, Raskolnikov:
“Raskolnikov was not accustomed to crowds and, as we have already said, had been avoiding all forms of society, particularly of late. Now, however, he had a sudden longing for company. Something new seemed to be accomplishing itself within him, and one of the things that went with it was a kind of craving for people.”
One Saturday, I made no plans and stayed home to recharge. It was the perfect day of solitude. I had the entire day to myself. I slept in (as long as Ina allowed before pestering me for food). In the afternoon, I took Ina on a long walk to the park across from our apartment, which turned into an impromptu birdwatching session.
There’s nothing extraordinary about finding birds in the park because they are part of nature. But it was fun to look up what species I encountered by Googling their physical traits (e.g. “gray bird with white-trimmed tail”). A slow Saturday turned into an Audubon expedition. Here are the birds I spotted that day (Eri, if you are reading this, you may want to skip ahead!):
After the walk, I came home, made myself dinner, and worked on a painting that I started months ago. A peaceful self-care day… until just before midnight, when I got a text from my tennis instructor canceling our private session the next morning. He had made me pay in advance and claimed to have injured his ankle. I’d always been skeptical of his upfront payment policy, but because he was affiliated with an established tennis program where we met, I gave him the benefit of the doubt.
And so began my battle to get a refund. He wouldn’t give my money back right away when I asked him to. The whole experience was rather bizarre and more stressful than it needed to be. It also deepened my reluctance to trust people.
As an introvert, I’m naturally comfortable being alone. But I know that I need connection for my own health and well-being. A part of me wants to reach out, but I’m also afraid of being disappointed or taken advantage of. As I grow older, I’ve found that life gets harder not because of compounded responsibilities. It gets harder because genuine relationships are rarer, and maintaining them, even more so.
Maybe I’ll come out of my comfort shell soon.
the renaissance woman 