Bailey Price
Its a Sunday. 10:15am. I am lying on the couch. I start the timer app on my phone and set it to 1 hour.
I open up instagram and immediately look at Katya from middle school’s stories. She’s hand knitting a sweater, she’s cooking vegan tacos, she’s reminiscing over her time working on a farm sheering sheep, she’s posted pictures of her dresses that she designed for the past two Met Galas. I click the next story. I see that my aunt in Montana is raising quail, her cow is pregnant and expecting to give birth in August, she’s collecting chicken eggs with her kids, they are cute. She has more instagram followers than me. I exit out of stories, I’ve seen enough. I start scrolling through people’s posts. My teammates went hiking at great falls and took a bunch of selfies together, they look happy, I didn’t get invited. I watch a video as someone solders their stained glass piece. It’s pretty. I need to work on mine. I skip over the ad on yoga routines. Someone made a bird out of soft glass, it looks hard, I wonder if I could replicate it in the studio.
I switch to Facebook. Someone is getting rid off a hot pink hoverboard, its best for ages 10 and under. I skip an ad about avocado prices at lidl. My aunt in Maryland’s crepe myrtle is covered in ice. Someone posts a picture of unknown seedpods in the Virginia Native Plant Society Group, the comments identify it as the kernel inside of a sycamore seed. cool. My neighbor’s daughter is trying to sell girl scout cookies but is having a hard time due to the pandemic. Uncle John posted a picture of a gator down in Florida. I click on his profile. A post saying his cat died is sandwiched between two different rants about how Biden is ruining the country. I want to comment how outdoor cats have incredibly shortened lifespans and are more likely to die of injury and disease, that they contribute to decimating endangered bird species, especially in FL where he lives. But I know he wouldn’t listen to me, just like if I were to comment about how his rants on Biden aren’t factual and based on conspiracy theories, my advice would be received the same way. I lose sympathy over his cat’s death, he should have kept it inside.
I hear ducks quacking. I blink. My alarm has gone off. It has been an hour.
It’s snowing outside. Big white fluffy flakes. I pull on a sweater, my coat, and my shoes and set out through the front door. The snow there hasn’t been disturbed. I walk along the sidewalk looking at the animals tracks in the snow. That looks like a dog. That is some kind of bird, maybe a robin? There are some squirrel tracks. I amble down to the creek, the water level is higher than usual. The water rushes over the stones, bubbling, carrying thin pieces of ice from where its formed along the bank. There are a few kids at the playground. I stop and talk with my neighbors. Stephanie has found out she’s pregnant and is learning the sex on Friday. She wants to know if I can babysit her 2 year old while she goes for her appointment. Of course I can. I say my goodbyes and keep walking. I walk into the park and see sled tracks going down the hill. It hits me that this is probably the best sledding location in all of Fairfax. I keep walking. The forest looks like another world. I wish I brought my phone. I also am glad that I didn’t. This scenery is transient and it feels fair to hold it in my memories instead of static on my phone. There are deer tracks leading to the wineberry bramble. I love the winter and the snow and all the secrets we get to see in how the animals move. Even as I am content with the season, I yearn for the green of spring, of the morels that will grow overnight in April, of the berries I will be able to pick in the summer, mulberries in May, wineberries in June, and blackberries in July. I turn around and make my way home.
What I have learned from this experience is not new to me. I enjoy social media. I love seeing what people I know are doing, I follow accounts that specialize in things that interest me. But, I get so jealous, and with the envy comes anxiety. I feel like I follow so many people that are so creative non-stop, they are constantly making something out of fiber or glass and metal or thread. I feel like I am lacking in this inner motivation to be in a constant artistic wave. It can be exhausting comparing myself to others.
Being outside is so calming for my nerves and my worries. I don’t have to compare myself to the perfect people on my screen. I feel in my element, I feel in control and that I know what’s going on around me. I love seeing what my neighbors are doing, how their kids are and how school is going. I love petting all of the dogs that get to jump around in our first snow in years. Being outside is a balm to the heart, reminding me that the world is so much bigger than the inside of my head.