Simply by stating as such, I may be jinxing myself for next year, but I can’t remember the last time I was accosted by a prank on April Fools’ Day, either in-person or otherwise. Sure, you’ve got the obligatory stunt on Google.com, now a lavishly produced tradition, and some of your favorite websites may follow suit, but even the online harvest has been light this year. Have we collectively moved past this day, like, as a species, perhaps? Unlikely. The more probable explanation is we’re still firmly in the wake of the recession, and we’ve neither the mental nor financial capacity for antics.
It’s fortunate, too, because I don’t think I would’ve reacted too well to fun yesterday. This sociability I’ve been cultivating for a while now hit rock-bottom around late morning, for reasons I’m still trying to decipher, and I had to draw upon deep, unknown reservoirs just to maintain a basic level of professionalism for the remainder of the afternoon. Everybody has off-days, I suppose, but I took it to heart because it’s been a great streak, and I despaired at the apparent return of my former self.
I was out of social points, plain and simple, but what I didn’t count on was that they’d replenish after a good night’s sleep. This was refreshing, because the old me would’ve been laid low for a week or two. We’ll see whether this carries over to tomorrow. It does make me wonder, though: how much can we truly change ourselves, especially the older we get? A lot, I hope. Heaven knows I need it.
Secondhand Rants will return on Tuesday, April 02.
On any other Sunday, the soothing patter of rain would have soundly vetoed my alarm clock, but this past weekend was different. The alarm clock prevailed. I heeded the call, dragged my carcass out of bed, knocked out my morning routine, and then–get this–actually made it to church with five minutes to spare. When you consider how my m.o. on the Sabbath typically calls for showing up 15, 20 minutes late, if at all, and then leaving 10 minutes early, an on-time arrival was a great personal coup.
I’m still not a regular attendee, make no mistake, nor will you find a testimonial from me on a church website or a book jacket. My prior showing was two Sundays ago, and before that? I don’t think I can even express the gap in standard units of time. What I’m doing differently for this round is redefining my reason for going. Previously, attendance was based on any number of factors: perhaps friends would be there, or maybe I was intent on meeting new people, or there was the allure of the effort made.
None of these approaches were sustainable, clearly. The new tack I’m taking actually isn’t very new at all. It’s the narrative tradition, which has existed as long as we have. From cave drawings to movies to radio serials, anecdotes, and Netflix, there is something about narrative we find endlessly fascinating. That’s it. No motives beyond wanting to hear a story, and these last two trips haven’t disappointed, with gripping accounts doled in generous quantity. It’s unrealistic to expect this every time, of course, but for now, I’m hooked.