As I left work today after an intense week (I learned how to produce a radio piece! Well, the very beginning stages of learning. I met Steve Inskeep! Well, I sat across from him at a meeting) and walked onto the dark street, I buttoned my jacket as the refreshing October air gave me a bit of a chill.
I was mulling what I wanted to do tonight. I was invited to a last minute dinner party in Van Ness. I had friends going to bars on U Street, and others in Adams Morgan. But all I wanted to do was have a hot chocolate and read my book The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao. Or go to a movie, like The Secret Life of Bees. Or go to yoga. Or — do nothing. I just knew I was looking for something wholesome.
I stopped in Kramer’s in Dupont and got more ideas of books to buy. And I came home to a sparkling clean apartment (my roommate’s parents are visiting tomorrow). I put on my yoga clothes, made whole wheat bowtie pasta and a salad with apples, dried cranberries and goat cheese. I poured myself a cup of orange juice. And I fell onto the couch and listened — really listened — to All Things Considered. The apartment is deliciously quiet otherwise.
Lately, I have no interest in bars. I have no interest in alcohol. I have no interest in fleeting interactions. I want be healthy, cherish my down time, go to plays and movies and National Geographic events, read, teach myself Spanish, teach myself how to knit, go to yoga, play volleyball, hike and camp. I want to get up early and read the paper with my coffee or go for a long run. I want to develop long-lasting relationships instead of brief flirtations. But here’s the thing: I mean all of this in a deeper existential way that I’m not quite sure I can articulate.
I am in a job I love (I’m not going anywhere), I’m finally starting to save money (maybe someday I really can buy myself a house) and I feel content. Is this the definition of nesting? Is that what this is? Whatever it is, I’m either going through a phase — or I’m growing up.