When your friend who writes essays for fun comes to visit
Photo by Nick Morrison on Unsplash
Yesterday, my youngest brother said something that blew my mind.
Do you want to hear what it was?
Okay, good. I’ll tell you then.
Standing in Wolfgang’s kitchen, headphones and sunglasses in hand, ready to head out for a walk, he said…
“I’m sorry that I don’t have much planned to entertain you while you’re here.”
He apologized for not entertaining me.
Not entertaining me!
Friends. Family. Strangers on the Internet. Please know this: if I am visiting you, the single greatest gift you can give me is NOT entertaining me.
Do you want to know a kinda sorta weird truth about me?
Basically the only time I’m bored is when someone is actively trying to entertain me.
Take this moment, for instance. Here I am, alone in a room, waiting for the rest of the house to wake up.
Completely unentertained and floating in a cloud of bliss.
In the next few minutes, when my niece wakes up and we scoot around the floor together, I will be equally blissful.
Later, when I go out for a solo walk, I’m going to be (wait for it) blissful.
I will go to the spa with you. I will go to Pilates. I would love a yoga recommendation.
But please - please, please, please, please, PLEASE - know that the last thing I want is to be entertained.
I’m not bored. In fact, chances are high that I’m overstimulated while visiting you. Want to say, “I love you” with your actions? Then suggest, “Hey there, Keel-a-rooni. We’ve been talking up a storm for a while now. Why don’t we take a break from hanging out and go do our own thing for a bit?”
My heart will swell. Swell, I tell you.
Extrovert friends - please know that I understand how horrifying this is to you. My idea of a good time is your idea of hell. But isn’t it so interesting to contemplate that perhaps your idea of a good time is my idea of hell?
That’s probably why I’ve gone so deeply down the Human Design rabbit hole. Name something, “The Science of Differentiation” and I’m in.
Love,
Keely
P.S. A priest, a minister and a rabbit walk into a bar.
The rabbit says, “I think I might be a typo.”
Dad joke courtesy of Wolfgang.
