As I stared at my computer, something yet unnamed took hold of me. It was the feeling of having everything and nothing to do. My eyes glazed over, doing my best to assess the four windows open on the screen. Three were Google Chrome and one was Safari. I have found my preference for Chrome to be ever-growing. However, my inability to remember passwords has me stuck in both realms. Words cannot summate the dread I have for the day that I navigate to one of those pages, crossing my fingers, only to have it load with me logged out and my saved passwords disintegrated into the void.
With 30 open tabs, all of them too relevant to discard just yet, and a stream of texts that I awaited a response to, I wondered if our ancestors had the same, albeit different, experience. As they hunted and gathered, were their streams of consciousness also leading them down winding corridors of thought. Perhaps they wondered about the deer meat being too gamey in a particular season, or why it was that berries bled and some made people sick. Is it better now to be able to simply open a new tab when a new thought comes, or are we more apt to feel ourselves spreading thinner? With winter starting to take its root, thinking and reflecting seem all too fitting for an extracurricular activity, and with them the tabs of my mind reach what feels to be my capacity.
Sinking back into my body, I realized it was definitely time to go outside. One of my many tabs alerted me to the Mint Museum in Uptown Charlotte being free the first weekend of the month. A glance at my calendar told me it was indeed the first full weekend of the month, November to be exact. Scanning the blankets strewn across my bed, I felt for my phone. I thought it had been next to my thigh, but my search came up empty. I stood up, annoyance trickling into my veins, only to look to my left and see it sitting on my dresser. I grabbed my phone and mapped to the museum, only to realize the bus would be arriving in 15 minutes. As a blur, channeling some one-person Nascar pitstop, I willed myself to the bus stop. Without much thought, I had left behind the brooding cloud that seemed to hang over my cozy dwelling.
I thought about hitting my pen, but vetoed the idea on account of wanting to really be present and enjoy this time with myself. It probably means nothing now. In all honesty, it’s simply more weed for another time, but in the moment, it was an admission of love for myself that I so rarely explore.
The bus was characteristically quiet. I must admit it is nice to never have to worry about not having a seat, but also very odd to conceptualize a public transport system not utilized by the public. Hopping off the bus, the city visually jets up around me, with skyscrapers and trees, and tall people wearing superhero costumes–come to think of it, I had seen something about a convention being held as well. A gaggle of men in tuxedos were posing for pictures. I wondered who’s special day it was.
Despite almost getting lost, even with my phone mapping me, I found myself staring up at the museum. Bounding up the stairs, the thought of whether I was supposed to go in through the gift store crossed my mind. Thankfully, that was not the case. I walked through the doors, noticing a sign for a wedding, and a picture of the happy couple. What a coincidence, huh?
For some reason there was also a picture of Toronto, but I am not sure of the significance there. Remembering the blueberry tea I had drank earlier, I got my ticket and dashed for the bathroom. I weighed my options, choosing men’s for my love of a challenge, and immediately met the perplexed eyes of an short, older gentleman, someone clearly confused as to why one of us was obviously in the wrong bathroom. I chuckled under my mask and went about my business.
Getting to the art requires going up by way of escalators. The first collection included works focused on the pandemic. As something we are still actively surviving and grappling with, I have mixed emotions about exploring it through such mediums. I suppose I wanted to go to the museum to get away from the reality of what exists outside the museum. Still, there were plenty of pieces that spoke to me, like the slideshow that presented photographs from around the world, when all of us were in lockdown.
In another exhibit, I peered out and down into the museum’s belly through an interior glass window. Guests for the wedding were arriving. With such a vantage point, seeing the people below and those across from me, I could not help but marvel at how unreal it all seemed. Distance can make us all appear as beautiful and special as we should be in our own right. We spend our days zooming into our deep intricacies, which has its merits, but how often do we grant ourselves the grace of wider angles and softer lenses? Did the people doing the same thing as me, framed within the window and peering down at this unsuspecting wedding, also realize how captivating their presence was. I see now the same could be said of me, someone simply passing through this space like everyone else.
I am not an art major, and have no aspirations to be one, so I will not bore you with any analyses or deconstructions of the art on display (though the neanderthal breastfeeding was definitely thought provoking!). Simply existing and appreciating the art was enough for me, especially considering the dark place I had been earlier in the day. I wandered through the different rooms, and realized I missed one. I turned around, drawn for some reason again to the window. The bride and groom were standing in front of their loved ones and the music in my airpods hindered me from gauging where they were in the ceremony. Walking away, something told me to go back, and I listened. Not a second sooner, the couple finally kissed and applause erupted. It felt like nothing short of magic to hear something within me and to listen and act. It was so inconsequential, as I have no idea who those people were or if I even believe in the idea of marriage. However, this lesson in the combination of perspective and intuition, a lesson I continue to encounter with varying degrees of acceptance, was a treasure. In the cold weather of that day, watching a wedding in a museum, I felt warmth rush over me. Perhaps for just that moment we all felt it.