There are evenings when I’m perfectly happy on my own. I can tinker away at a project, lose track of time, and have dinner at an absurd hour. And I’m totally fine with that.
Then sometimes I’ll think of something silly and tell myself it would be funnier if I had someone to tell it to. Especially someone I wouldn’t have to explain why it’s funny to.
My social life gradually shrank. Some connections fell apart, I was disappointed, and I ended up being less likely to make the first move. At first, pulling back a little did me good. Over time, I got used to keeping to myself.
What I miss is often pretty ordinary. A conversation that was supposed to last five minutes and drags on because we went off on three tangents. Someone who sends me something silly in the middle of the afternoon because it made them think of me.
I’d be happy to get that kind of message more often. And while I’m at it, I could send one from time to time. I’ve got plenty of silly things.