I turned 39 last week.

It was a very quiet birthday that not many people remembered, and encapsulated so much of what the last year has been like, living singly through this time.

Rather, I should say my version of living singly. If I were more of an extrovert, if I were more invested in having an online presence, if the telephone didn’t have so many fraught and anxiety-ridden connections with earlier parts of my life, perhaps I would be better at being visible.

Instead, I took the day off work and went to the beach where I read and knit and drank Lapsang and wrote letters. I got takeout from a little place in my neighborhood, bought a slice of cheesecake from a local bakery. I watched the Shea Stadium, Apple rooftop, HYYH Epilogue, and Wings Final shows. In short: I did little bits of all my most favorite things, alone.

I have serious decision fatigue, especially now. Yes it’s nice to know what makes me tick and how to do those things, but what is it like to be surprised? To have someone else make plans, to have something unexpected dropped in one’s lap? To have the mental and emotional space to make the larger and long-term decisions and plans that are just a bit beyond my current capability?