2026 is here, and I'm still anxious.
Yesterday, Richmond was very much alive. The annual Cone Parade brought hundreds of dwellers into the street of Carytown, donning gigantic, handmade cone shaped costumes. I don't know when it started, but the point is to ring in the New Year with a positive, upbeat note. I had been getting over a cold, and woke that morning finally feeling a little bit more myself. I ventured out to meet my friend, with my little Canon point and shoot 35mm camera. I debated bringing a real camera with me, but didn't want to be weighed down with the premise of being a photographer, instead opting to just slink along snapping half frame photographs every few seconds. I suppose I just wanted to be more present that day, and not commit to doing anything other than just being there saying hi to people and floating around. We had a great time. The weather was warm and sunny, at least for a January spent in the South from the perspective of a New Englander. We followed the parade down to the end of Carytown, and then turned around and walked back.
Afterwards, we walked down the street aimlessly, my friend was talking about the frustration of not getting paid for work, and how clients so easily will ghost him for days before he reaches out more seriously. I nodded along, hands stuffed in my peacoat, now feeling a little bit more of the cold as the buildings towered alongside us, blocking out the warmth of the sun, thinking I need to moisturize more, skin dried leather or cracked plaster. We reached Scuffletown park and sat down on a bench in the sun to warm up, the sun beaming down making us feel like lizards in a terrarium. The park was empty, save for two people at a table across the walkway. Sitting there, I almost forgot it was January.
I told T– about the sweater I was making, that I started a year ago, and how I wanted to finish it this year, laughing to myself at the thought of a sweater taking two years to make, despite having only the sleeves left. I hope it takes less time, I hope I can be stitching the parts together in a few weeks and trying it on, blocking the yarn, hanging it to dry. I think that is more likely than it taking longer. I also shared a song I recorded with him, playing it on my phone placed on the park bench between us. T– commented that it sounded like Ty Segall, and he liked it. I thought how I had written that song three years ago and hadn't shared it with anyone, not that I didn't think it was good, just that it didn't make it out into the world, in even the raw form of a demo. Since I had been off of mainstream social media, I have been trying to share more of what I'm doing with people, and it feels much better. I get real feedback, I see them get lost in a song I made, or the look of interest as they gaze over a drawing or the part of something I'm knitting, before saying I didn't think that was how a sweater was made, in sections, like that. I've enjoyed rediscovering all my passions without the audience base of Instagram, and now find myself reevaluating who I create for. I create for myself. I create so that I can feel less anxious, and to make a place for myself in the world.
I drew a view out of my kitchen window, looking out over the rooftops and the other apartment windows studding the exterior walls around my building. Steam billows out from a chimney and vents in white plumes that dissipates slowly. Sometimes the boulevard is loud, as someone drives by in a car without a muffler or a souped up engine that is meant to be loud, and sometimes it is weirdly silent, like in the morning on a weekend or late at night, when you hear only people leaving the city.
I made a garment which will someday bring me physical comfort, while putting into practice the knowledge my dad passed onto me as a kid, sitting in the living room on Auburn Street in Brookline, knitting scarves that were Harry Potter themed.
I made a calendar for January, too. Just a simple piece of paper with a grid drawn on with a 2B pencil, photo copied so I have a blank master. I slide it into my typewriter and add the numbers for each day, each month, and type a collage of characters on the top line for the title.
I ponder a self portrait done in charcoal on a wood panel from 2021 or so, and think about how much I've changed, all the places I've lived. Living through a natural disaster, becoming a climate refugee for a while, which still sounds hard to believe, especially when I know people who had it much worse than me. Our apartments weren't destroyed in Asheville, though the infrastructure and loss of all utilities hit us as hard as anyone.
I think of new ways to exist in this world, and how to use technology more mindfully. I don't want to be glued to my phone everywhere I walk, always listening to something, or looking at something. I want to hear the pigeons on the roof of the building two houses down, fluttering about as the pigeon lady throws food around the area for them, and not the ping of the notification that someone has liked my post. Your post now has over two hundred views. No thanks.
I think of something Tristan brought up, about anxiety, as we were walking the other day. He said that sometimes he just feels that people stare at him, and all he can think is there's something wrong with my face or is my shoe untied?, or they hate me. They don't even know me, but they hate me. Then he mentions how this one time, he felt that gaze from someone on him, and overheard someone say to her friend afterwards, he's so cool, I like his style. I think this is something we all experience, I know I have, and I said, well, maybe if we all made a conscious effort to compliment a stranger every day, the world would be a better place, and we'd all be collectively less anxious. Anxieties exist, in part, because we're so closed off ourselves that our minds become an echo chamber, and we begin putting dialogue in stranger's mouths when we're out in public. At least that's how I see it.
I'm not sure where I'm going with all this, but I think generally, I want to try and practice this. I think I'll feel better myself too.