essay on I am done with padameic
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Explanation:
I had a dream come true last weekend, quite literally. For the first time in about six months, I was able to browse in a bookstore (one in my neighborhood that's reopened with sanitary and social distancing protocols clearly posted) while wide-awake. In the past, leaving the store without buying anything had felt like a triumph of willpower, but this time it involved some guilt. Only one other person was in the store during my visit, a clerk, and it only seemed fair to her to purchase something. Next time, for sure.
To be clear, I am not exactly wanting for reading material, but the element of wish fulfillment is intense even so. Likewise with my spouse, who reports having theater dreams. She has attended at least one play a week, on the most conservative estimate, throughout her entire adult life -- or did until this spring. Performances by excellent companies are livestreamed now, and she has been able to take theater classes online. But there’s more to going to theater than seeing a play -- a ritual-like aspect that can’t be broadcast. Browsing indulges curiosity and involves a degree of chance. The hunger is not for content but for certain qualities of experience, in part communal, that are lost or on hold for the duration.