This week I’ve invited the writer Mikala Jamison to tell us how to catch up with friends without talking about, you know, all of *gestures broadly* this. |
Catching up with friends right now is weird, to say the least. Now that our lives are essentially lived entirely inside, what is there to talk about? |
“This is fertile territory for great conversation, which is urgent: about connecting right here, right now, ideally over a deeply interesting topic,” said Catherine Blyth, the author of “The Art of Conversation.” |
Ms. Blyth and Marcella, the artist behind @marcelladraws (who has illustrated friendship phenomena), have tips on what those topics can be. |
Think funny: Ms. Blyth said “hunting for and sharing jokes is an important public service.” The humor in anything — neighbors’ weird conversations, partners’ bizarre habits — is conversation fodder. |
Think small: Marcella said friends could share their smallest daily successes: getting 10 minutes of sun, brushing your teeth. “Any activity that is not being in despair is a celebration,” she said. |
Also: Share what you’re learning. Marcella loves the texts from a friend — “She can barely boil rice” — who has been diving into cooking. |
Think boring: Marcella is reminiscing with friends about “old boring stuff.” Ms. Blyth said even seeing an acquaintance across the street “feels like the most exciting moment of my life.” What was tedious before is exciting now. Enjoy it. |
“This heightened emotional state is a bit like when you’re on a long-haul flight and every movie makes you sob or roar with laughter,” Ms. Blyth said. |
Most important, Ms. Blyth said, be grateful: “Conversation is an adventure with another mind.” |
“Bodiless adventures are magnificently possible with all this technology,” she added, “and we should relish them.” |
This week, I’ve invited Kara Cutruzzula, who writes the encouraging newsletter Brass Ring Daily about work, life and creativity, to share her tip on the joys of playing catch. |
I remember playing catch in our front yard. My two brothers and I would beg our dad to throw the equivalent of a pop fly. He’d wrench back his arm and heave the ball toward the clouds. We watched it hang in the air before falling into our impatient gloves. Then we threw it back. That was summer. |
Time slows down when you’re tossing a ball. Your concentration is absolute yet absent of pressure. That’s why it’s the perfect activity now. |
At the end of our work days, my boyfriend, Colin, and I walk to Cadman Plaza Park in Brooklyn carrying two stiff baseball gloves he recently bought online and a safety ball. (It’s a little softer than a baseball; I’m not trying to join the Mets, OK?) We start throwing the ball. The day’s news melts away, my shoulders drop after being hunched over a laptop for hours, and my only goal in the moment is getting into a rally and keeping it alive. |
Throw, thwack. The satisfying sound of a single catch. The sun hits the courthouse across the way. A smiling, copper-colored dog chases a red ball. Throw, thwack, throw, thwack. A short rally turns into a longer one. I forget I’m wearing a mask, that our neighborhood is desolate, our borough shaken. Throw, thwack, throw, thwack, throw, thwack. Finally, daylight is gone and the game is over. We remove our gloves, Purell our hands and go home. |
Anyone quarantining with someone else (roommates, couples, families) can experience the joy of this simple game. There are obstacles, but fewer than you’d think. No outdoor space? Toss a ball from 10 feet apart in your living room. No baseball? Try a foam football, a stress ball, the nearest cat toy. No hand-eye coordination? Don’t worry about winding up like Jacob deGrom. The point is to concentrate on something physical outside your churning mind. The point is to create a memory. The point is to keep the rally alive. |
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