A couple weeks ago, some friends asked me to DJ their New Year’s Eve party.
I’m not a DJ, I can barely use a Serrato system. I have friends who are professional DJs and it’s a difficult job. I just love dance music and know it decently, and the simplest philosophy seems to work even for amateurs: make the girls dance, boys will follow.
So, the party went well, it was around 12:30 or one a.m., a couple dozen people had transitioned from Robyn to Prince, to Madonna, to Sexyy Red. But suddenly there was an airing out—everyone had been dancing for several hours straight and needed fresh air, and the floor cleared. Well, I’m an idiot and took it personally, I walked outside and felt very alone, estranged, despite tons of friends standing around in the dark having fun. Why is that?
I’ve written here previously about struggling with loneliness, feeling lonely in the world despite many friends, my wife, my family—fine. At the same time, I’ve gone on a lot of long walks lately, and I noticed several times that being alone in the woods, in the mountains—somehow there, the solitary feelings and thoughts rarely crop up.
Perhaps it’s the lack of expectation. Surrounded by people, I feel a need to connect with people. Surrounded by nature, there’s no pressure—internal, external—to do anything. Little mindless spots of sunshine lie on the trail. Awe is easy. I manufacture little, I take step after step, the world feels timeless, valueless, and even shadows contain clarity. At the same time, I’m always eager to get back to the populated world.
At the party, things got better. A friend took the helm and dancing resumed to classics—Disco Lines to Crystal Waters, to SNAP!—and I got lost in the sound for several hours. Around four-thirty, things were shutting down, most guests had left. I was walking past the fireplace and a woman stopped me, she and her boyfriend wanted to know if I had a regular night at any clubs they could see. Hilarious! I told her it was a wonderful compliment but I wasn’t a DJ, I simply love dancing, I told her about a couple parties they might try in Los Angeles, parties with professionals who know their vinyl. The three of us talked for a while. Someone was playing Billie Holiday. The fire was dying down.
And in that brief moment of connection, I thought, goddamit, I really am addicted to people.
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In tomorrow’s supplement, three-plus ideas of things to love:
Recent grant opportunities (free money) for writers of all stripes
Espionage nonfiction for people who love spy novels
My favorite tracks so far from 2024
What the what
Meditations in an Emergency is a weekly mini-essay from writer Rosecrans Baldwin about something beautiful. Paying subscribers receive a Sunday supplement with 3+ things to love, plus a monthly dispatch from the road, for some inbox wanderlust ⛰️
Rosecrans is the author of Everything Now, winner of the California Book Award. His most recent novel, The Last Kid Left, was one of NPR’s Best Books of the Year. Titles mentioned in this newsletter are stored on a Bookshop list, which pays a commission for books sold.