Socialising, or even partying, sober
the delights, the enjoyment, the clear-headedness
When you’re burnt out, going through change, or retreating into a cocoon, you are physically vulnerable. You’re a little squashed caterpillar. It’s genuinely important during this time that you don’t put yourself in uncomfortable scenarios, because you’re gloop. You’re an awkward teenager again, your clothes don’t look right, because you don’t know who you are. You’re under a blanket a lot, and you’re wondering where your life went and who that person in the mirror is.
Then, the time comes — which you never ever thought would! — where you want to venture out again. It’s 18 months later now. You know the person in the mirror! She’s smiling! You like her. She’s owning her bullshit, and you can look her in the eye. As Madonna sang: you made it through the wilderness / Somehow you made it throough-ooh — and you can’t help but respect yourself. You did an Emotional Tough Mudder.
The last few weeks I’ve been inside my wardrobe, sorting, pruning, curating. I have a new Self! Subtle change to others perhaps, very clear to me. I have a burning desire to socialise. Shock, horror.
The patterned dresses no longer feel right, and instead I’m wearing black brogues and good socks and woollen vests, and my trousers fit me better than ever. I’ve been eating good food and doing lots of skipping. (My £3.99 skipping rope, best thing I’ve bought lately.)
I’ve been getting dressed, feeling good, leaving the house a lot. Even bought a new Tom Ford perfume. This might sound normal to some, but as a writer who works from home, and has been working on a novel that took over my life and went through a period of intense burnout, wanting to leave the house a lot is a new thing for me. It feels great, mainly because I feel so grateful to feel this way again.
Last week, I went to some press drinks at the Southbank Centre to see Sally Rooney in conversation with Merve Emre, a literary critic for The New Yorker.