I can see she needs to decompress. Frankly, I do, too. For weeks β months β I have felt the walls closing in β¦. We moved into a new house late last summer. Gone are the bar tabs and obligatory rideshares.
Evenings spent at the stadium watching AAA baseball or going to shows are now rare. The thought of skipping town for a night or two is downright scandalous. At one point, the thought of living a quiet, suburban life would have depressed me.
I was terrified the walls of domesticity that confined my parents would someday imprison me. So, I played the part. In my 20s, I went to bars and drank too much.
I went to clubs and subjected myself to sensory overload. Bad karaoke nights were made worse with my off-key Bon Jovi. Late-night road trips with diners and fast food turned my lead-lined stomach into a vat of acid.
It was fun in the moment β¦ kind of. But it was also an expensive way to pass the time β a brief respite from my self-doubts and neurosis. I would finally be having the time of my life. During the lockdown, when bars and restaurants were closed, I realized how little I missed them. It was the first time in my memory that I was openly encouraged to stay home and avoid other people.
