75 degrees. Not a cloud in the sky. Light breeze. Low humidity.
It is a certifiably perfect day in suburban Virginia.
The clean, tree-lined streets are full of life. There's a buzz I have not seen from my neighbors in months. "Vibrant" is not a word I would typically use to describe Arlington, but as I sit in a meticulously designed mixed-use development — boutique next to restaurant next to luxury fitness studio next to Whole Foods, with ample parking structures interspersed — toddlers waving as they stumble by and a local band’s The Lumineers and Van Morrison covers wafting in the air, it almost feels like an adequate descriptor.
And yet, despite the glorious weather and smile-adorned faces, there is a strange, unshakable undertone of urgency that taints the otherwise wondrous experience.
don’t be deceived - there is a frenzy in the air
The Boston-DC corridor feels bound by time in a way that seeps into every aspect of a resident's being.
Days like this are known to be fleeting — the sweet spots of Spring (when the thick coat of tree pollen has finally been washed off parked cars by warm rain but it's not yet a steamy swamp where you can see the heat rise off the asphalt) and Fall (when the dead heat of summer has broken, the nightly lightning storms are a thing of the past, and you can brush the moth balls off your cashmere sweater while the trees don their yellowing leaves). Paired with the remarkable conventionality of the area, like the palpable prominence of 9-5 careers over gig work or other alternative schedules, a glorious weekend you can actually take full advantage of is even more of a rarity.
So the sunshine, while it can soften folks around the edges and bring some much-needed Vitamin D after a brutal winter, brings with it a fear as well. The fear of the passage of time. The tightly wound feeling that you must optimize to take advantage of a day such as this.
The disposition this creates is one of scarcity. Folks are crystallized in their psychology. Two-thirds of the year is marked by being "stuck inside", in absence of nature. On a day like today, there is a crazed air of I must make the most of this (load up the schedule with a bike ride, the flea market, lunch with family, an evening kickback with friends) because next Saturday could very well bring rain, or muggy heat, or some other hurdle to a perfect summer day.
another good day is never guaranteed
When I first moved to Los Angeles, I was genuinely confused. What was I even supposed to do with all these nice days? How could I reconcile a day where I was feeling slightly depressed and yet the weather would not cooperate and match my mood? And the Californians I was suddenly surrounded by did not seem to have any sense of urgency. Typically, I would have the sidewalks to myself in Los Angeles given my pedestrian identity in a town built on car culture, but even when I did have to share the space I would find myself passing every other person. Did these people not understand that time is valuable? I've got places to be.
On the West Coast (and in the South, reports my sister with ties to Mississippi), there is a greater sense of temporal abundance. While there are micro seasonal shifts, there isn't the same feeling that "if I don't do this TODAY, I might miss my chance to all year." Slept through your alarm? You could always surf tomorrow. Plans changed? There will be another place you could go camping next weekend. You might as well leisurely stroll down the path — there's no rush, and every slow step is an opportunity to soak in something small and beautiful.
Awe comes second nature out there, absorbed unconsciously. It's always a backdrop, not an ephemeral moment that must be captured and bottled up and saved for a rainy day, lest it be lost forever. They don't even realize that's what they're doing, taking this softer reality for granted. This way of being invites fluidity and curiosity and a more forgiving temperament.
when’s a girl supposed to have a depressed inside day in California?
Now, this isn't all tied to nature. But there is something to be said for why life on the West Coast or in the South affords more fluidity than the scarcity-driven, hustle-addicted Northeast.
And yet here I sit, next to the dog food bowl food truck, eating my overpriced crunchy halloumi salad, knowing this is one of the few days I will get like this before the temperatures force this financially affluent yet time-poor neighborhood back into the shelters of AC-chilled homes.
Curiously,
Kate
a neighborhood optimized to the point where you don’t ever have to leave
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Reader Curiosities
Larry asked such a great question, one that’s answer may explain a lot about me:
Are you committed to staying in the US? There are good arguments that the US may not offer the best overall quality of life now. But everyone has to find their own solution.
A YouTube commenter recently asked me how different two areas of the U.S. could actually be from each other. His Scandinavian home country, he anecdotally explained, was mainly just divided by “city” or “rural”. I told him to imagine taking a mass of countries, each with its own flavor, history, and cultural DNA, and mashing them all together. THAT is the United States. One city can feel like a different planet from the next, causing both a real tension but also an ongoing, healthy experiment in domestic cultural exchange.
One of the great privileges of this crapshoot of a life is that my mom loved to travel. It’s my maternal side of the family that is the reason I'm a European Union citizen (anyone want to guess the country?), and she instilled in me and my three younger sisters this restless, curious spirit and a fearlessness when it came to expanding beyond the familiar. I've held onto that. When I look at the continents there’s only Oceania and Antarctica left to visit, though I'll be honest, I have no interest in traveling to Antarctica. "I've been to X amount of countries" has never been a brag I want to hang my hat on.
So before I get aggressive pushback, I've spent some time elsewhere. Worked briefly in London (my longest international stint, about 3.5 months interning at a boutique film production studio run by Australians, which is about as classically London as it gets). And for much of my young life, I ran in circles where disparaging the U.S. was a way to accumulate some cultural cachet. Whether algorithmically amplified or not, U.S.-hating was very much in-vogue.
Then Covid came and it may have been the best thing that ever happened to me personally (with a lot of respect held for those who struggled during the pandemic chaos). As international travel was disbanded and flights were grounded, it also quite literally grounded me. With a stunted ability to jet-set, for the first time ever I started focusing on what was right in front of me: the U.S.A.
I hit the road, and my eyes opened to just how extraordinary this country actually is.
Beyond the geological and topographical diversity, it's the spirit and the people that never cease to amaze me. If you're standing in line at a Love's Travel Stop, wedged between a rack of plastic cowboy hats and a shelf of t-shirts that say "I love guns & titties," there is nothing (no race, religion, political affiliation, social strata, gender, etc) stopping you from having a real moment of human connection with the stranger ahead of you. Or to chit chat with the stranger you’re sharing a table with at the coffeeshop in whatever town. (Missoula? Crested Butte? Yuma? Cumberland? Las Cruces? Caspar? All of the above.) The people are wildly different in each place, with their own stories that inform their world view and their own reasons for telling them to a stranger in a third space. But to me, that's the whole thing in the US. I'm simply addicted to that beautiful characteristic diversity.
Two of them have been mainly based in Europe for years now, so I hear the list of arguments constantly: cost of living, universal healthcare, less pressure to perform capitalism at every turn, quality education for less of a price tag. I'm not dismissing any of it.
But for me? I love it here. I can't quite see myself being elsewhere.
Life is long, though, and I’m a curious Kate. Never say never!
Thank so much for the curiosity, Larry!
Would love to hear what you’re thinking about! Hit reply, I read every one and will include a many!
once had a YouTube commenter write “I can’t watch her, she’s just so American. they weren’t wrong.
playing Johnny Cash
wannabe train hopper