objects in the rear vision mirror

I miss Saturdays on the patio at Diedrich. It hit me hard today that I really wanted to go there and see my friends, hear their stories of the week and tell mine, talk about everything and nothing, maybe go for a meal later or just spend the evening talking.

I want those people back and that place. But it’s not what those people need any more, and the place is gone.

It is probably not very grown-up to want and need that big social group and the hangout. Certainly the others in that group grew out of it into something more satisfying to them, and I want them to be happy.

I suppose I should figure out what it means for me that I miss that experience this much.

11 thoughts on “objects in the rear vision mirror

  1. If there’s one thing that i think is part of being grown up, it’s needing a social circle. Ever notice that younger kids don’t have or need regular social circles? They don’t care if they’re hanging out with the same kid every day, or a different kid every hour, so long as they get to play. The older we get the more we need familiar people to bond with and make connections to. Don’t think of it as immature, because it’s not, and you’re not. Right now, I have no social circle, and the feeling i have can’t be described. It’s this cold and lonely hopelessness… becoming desperation. I think needing that social circle means you’re mind isn’t that of a child (or serial killer hehe)

    1. the species-being cafe
      seconded.
      a cafe patio is the closest i have ever gotten to truly human common space (as compared to freeways, mall promenades, or even busstops). the time spent shooting the shit with a number of people (known or new) is not utility-driven, nor is it commodifiable: it’s useless, and refreshes. an afternoon at my punk-ass ewok cafe (santa cruz = forest moon of endor) always reminds me that there can exist a net of affection and curiosity whether i choose to spin my little corner of it or not.

  2. i’ve been missing that for awhile now… since i got a baby and didn’t fit in anymore… i think it’s perfectly grown up to miss having a nice group of friends to talk to and spend time with. it really hits me hard some days… so i know what you mean.

    1. i’ve been thinking about this too – about whether having a baby would set me apart irrevocably. that said, i’m moving to a town where there is an inordinate number of cool single moms…

      1. i’ve found that even when you have a badass group of fellow single mamas around, it’s still just not the same. and maybe it’s supposed to be like that. maybe people are supposed to have to lose a group like that in order to know what it’s like to feel connection, and also loss…
        or maybe i’m just sleepy.

  3. You are so wrong!!!! I WISH I had more of a group to hang with then people here, there and everywhere. I kinda always thought your whole Diedrich’s crowd was like family but much cooler.

  4. I have those rearview gangs also. Pockets of time where everyone good was in one place at one time. I crave community increasingly as I get older. It seems to take a long time to cultivate!

  5. > It is probably not very grown-up to want and need that big social group and the hangout.
    I dunno; it’s the way humans have lived for most of our history as a species – in packs, hanging out. On a patch of veldt, in a village longhouse, in a tavern, on a streetcorner or a stoop. The coffeehouse in particular is the characteristic scene of half of European culture.
    Groups sitting around in some sort of public leisure activity, playing games, drinking (a stimulant or a depressant), chatting. It’s the way most cultures still live much of their adult lives, particularly the men (women being locked away doing awful domestic chores – the world still needs an armed Betty Freidan-ist movement). That we all have to pair-bond and fade away into household oblivion, never to be seen again, is a bizarre conceit of the American suburban class.

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.