I was in the office yesterday, on Saturday. I wasn’t working so much as being there for our community members to come by and pick things up. As such, even though I was physically “at work” I was drinking tea and working on my own projects and having an altogether pretty nice time. Later, when I left the office, I stopped by my favorite running store and picked out some long overdue shoes.
A hefty credit card charge later, I was standing on the subway, queueing up my next task. Get home. Drop things. Walk to pharmacy. Vaccine appointment. Grocery store.
Rattling in the back of my brain was this idea of play and work and finding fun in productivity. There’s nothing glamorous about calling the pharmacy to schedule an appointment or picking up milk on the way home, but some things just need to be done. That said, by all measures, I was having a good, albeit busy, day.
As my mind jumped to all the things I wanted to accomplish this weekend, I noticed a woman about my age standing across from me with an iced coffee in hand and a Vincent Van Gogh: The Immersive Experience lanyard around her neck.
Oblivious to me—lost in a podcast or music album, or simply wearing headphones for the deniability they lend you to move through the city disconnected—she stood there as I filled in her backstory.
My first take was that she took herself out on a little date. It was a nice, cool Saturday in March and she had taken herself to an art exhibit and stopped for a coffee on the way home. None of her friends wanted to go and so she prioritized her interests and had a little quality time by herself. Now, she was heading home where she’d make dinner, maybe snuggle with a pet, and watch a movie until bed, happy as a doodle.
I built up this beautiful self care day in my head and honestly, was feeling so proud of this person. Good for you for treating yourself to that iced coffee! How nice to spend time doing things that make you happy!
But then I wondered who wears a Vincent Van Gogh: The Immersive Experience lanyard if they don’t work there.
Back Story #2: It’s a Saturday and she had to be at work which bums her out because all her friends are off on Saturdays and they were going to a matinee of that one Broadway show they’d all been talking about. She got an iced coffee as a consolation for the fact that she missed out and was actually dreading going home to the apartment she shares with two people she met through an online housing group.
The train had only moved one stop.
How quickly I built entire worlds for her.
And how extreme both situations were.
In the first, her perfect day is all play and treats and it is all about her. In the second, it’s a drab day returning from a job she doesn’t like and everything is gloomy and sad.
But what if she had the kind of day I had? A little work, a little play. A little to-do list. A little pumpkin bread.
The kind of day where you wake up tired but try not to let it throw off the morning. The kind of day where you feel initially overwhelmed at all you have to do, but then proud of the way you methodically tackle tasks. The kind of day where you get excited about a new-to-you onigiri from the Japanese grocer beneath your office, only to decide that you like your normal go-to better.
Because as easy as it was to give the Woman With The Lanyard an extreme day, the reality is her day was probably a little bit of both. Maybe she was at work. But maybe she loves her job. Maybe she did take herself out on a date. But maybe she was a little sad about that because she and her partner just split up.
Making up stories about strangers on public transit has long been a strange, but loved, pastime. But yesterday was the first time I realized that there should probably be a little bit of nuance to the stories I’ve created—a bit of nuance to the people I’ve passed.
Perhaps we should do well to apply this to our own lives, our own days, our own stories. Perhaps we can learn to live in the grey area of a little work, a little play, a little happy, a little sad. Perhaps, there is beauty in these simple, broken hours.
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