I used to go to a coffee shop two blocks from the senior center and sit with my laptop and work on whatever contract job I had going, and the work felt completely different when I was doing it in a public place without the background awareness of someone needing me at any moment. I got more done in those two-hour blocks than in six hours at home, because six hours at home were not actually six hours, they were six hours minus all the interruptions, and two hours at the coffee shop were actually two hours.
I started looking forward to Tuesdays more than I wanted to admit.
The chair yoga ended when the volunteer coordinator changed and the new schedule didn’t include Mom’s route. I tried twice to find a replacement situation and didn’t manage it. I’m not sure what this reveals except that small things sometimes matter an enormous amount and their loss doesn’t require a dramatic explanation.
Maya, during this period, would come on Saturday nights when she could. She’d bring wine and a movie or we’d just talk, and I’d feel, for three or four hours, like a person who had a social life. We’d talk about her work and her dating situation and we’d occasionally talk about mine, which was mostly theoretical because my availability was theoretical.
“Have you thought about dating apps?” Maya asked once, around year six.
“In what time?”
“Late nights. After she’s asleep.”
“I’m often asleep after she’s asleep.”
“Earlier evenings, then.”