The Gentle Art of Personhood
I'm still getting the hang of it.
A friend called with a question.
“Did everything used to take this long?”
I knew exactly what she meant. Surely there was always laundry, cooking, appointments, to-dos. But where I once flitted from point to point, like the Michael Phelps of thankless tasks, they now threatened to consume me. Projects seem to take forever. Days seem to fly by. Inbox zero feels as mythical as a unicorn. (And not nearly as fun to seek.)
“Do you sometimes struggle with being a person?” I asked my spouse, who is the kind of person who files taxes in early January and always arrives exactly on time.
He thought for a second. “No, I don’t.”
This was patently untrue.
“I mean, do you ever have days where you just can’t rally?”
“Oh, of course, everyone has those. I’d actually like to meet someone who doesn’t.”
And yet. Many are the times I find myself gazing at someone else wondering, “How do they keep it together? How do they get it all done?” When I’ve been fortunate enough to glimpse the answer, it’s been some version of: They don’t. They aren’t. They have help (or other resources). Always, there is some angle you cannot see.
In the event that you, too, sometimes find yourself struggling to show up or keep up, you are not alone. There are days when personhood feels like too much. There I’ll be, riding the subway or shopping for groceries when I’m flooded with the awareness that I am a glorified ape in activewear. I glance around at all the human constructs — trends and ads and phones and nine-to-fives — and it seems like a fever dream.
Suddenly, going through the motions feels ridiculous. Hilarious. Farcical, even. Look at us, running around this spinning orb, always in search of validation and free shipping. Surely the joke is on us.
*
In my twenties, I worked as an executive assistant, where my boss — a highly respected businessperson some thirty years my senior — asked for my input on everything from insurance claims to high level negotiations to interpersonal issues to fashion purchases.
Up until that point, I’d expected to one day pass through some golden archway of adulthood, where the skills and knowledge that once eluded me would descend upon my wisened form. But as I helped a literal titan of industry plan a child’s birthday party or write a speech or troubleshoot a printer, I realized such a day would never come. If this person spent half their time winging it, surely, we all did.
The emperor had no clothes. Santa wasn’t real. The adults had been lying. Worst of all, I was now one of them.
*
What does it mean to seize the day?
The question floated into my mind while on a run.
Carpe diem. I’ve always understood it in this very eat-the-frog, capitalist productivity sort of way. Seizing the day meant waking before dawn, getting a jump on facing — and tackling — whatever stood between us and greatness.
But if seize means “take hold of,” might there be countless ways to do that? Like, say, hugging a loved one or enjoying a sunset or feeling grass beneath your feet or savoring something delicious. Might seize mean enjoy the crap out of? Be present for? Commit to memory? Make it count in a way that matters to you?
After these past six months of grief and change and not-quite-carpe-ing the diem, I spent June easing my way back into various habits. Running, after six months off. My first in-person yoga class in years. Quality time with friends. Reading — and writing — fiction.
Along the way, I’ve developed a few new practices. While I’ve personally found them helpful, this exercise is less about recommendation and more about offering a peek into what personhood looks like for me, right now. (If you have any practices or habits that work for you, I’d love to hear them.)
