Battery level critical

When I need to recharge, I do it a la Maria Von Trapp—sort of.

May 30, 2023

Periodically, I go to the hills.

That is, I go to the mountains. On Friday, I hiked the Tripyramid peaks in New Hampshire, two of which are on the list of 48 four-thousand footers in the state. I now have just three left. Woohoo! It was a perfect day—clear blue sky, highs in the sixties—and the hike was incredible, with varied terrain and stellar views. I hadn’t been up to the Whites since early March, so I was wayyyy overdue for a solo hike fix.

Like Maria Von Trapp—the Oscar and Hammerstein version, that is—I dig it when my heart beats like the wings of the birds that rise from the lake to the trees. Hiking one of the relentlessly steep trails of the White Mountains is a surefire way to make this happen, as is taking in breathtaking vistas of peaks and valleys and cliffs and things.

Actually, Maria Von Trapp and I have a lot in common: we both like to sing (including along with our children and husband) and have excellent pitch, we both love a good brown paper package tied up with string, and we both think Captain Von Trapp (as played by Christopher Plummer) is hella hot. Neither of us is cut out to be a nun.

(BTW, yes, this is my second post referencing The Sound of Music within the space of a month. This should tell you something about me.)

But on a number of points Maria and I differ. For starters, I can’t play the guitar, I’m indifferent when it comes to bright copper kettles, I’m not a fan of puppet shows, and I do not think those curtains made for very attractive playclothes.

Most germane to the topic of this post, however: I do not go to the hills when my heart is lonely. Rather, I go to the hills when my heart is the exact opposite of lonely—when it’s so full and I am so overwhelmed by the noise and activity and substance of the world, and so tired of doing and giving and performing that all I want is to get AWAY from it all.

I want to go somewhere that’s (mostly) untouched by humans, where I can lose myself in the serene indifference of nature, and let my mind wander. I want to feel connected to the things that have always been and always will be. I want to feel dwarfed by the scale and majesty of it all. I want nobody demanding anything of me. I want QUIET.

I went to the hills over and over again during that pandemic and political shit-show of a year that was 2020—which also happened to be the year my father died.

I went to the hills when my agent went out on submission with The Society of Shame, to distract myself from the anxiety and suspense and excitement and stress.

I went to the hills after a painful falling out with a friend.

And I made for the hills on Friday because my heart, and the rest of me, has been so SO incredibly unlonely over the past two months. I’ve done upwards of thirty interviews and events to promote my book, attended gobs of related and unrelated social events, and had many, many, many conversations about my book, and how it’s all going.

It’s been a ton of fun, and I wouldn’t trade a second of it. But if I were an iPhone, I’d be at about 11% right now. I would have placed myself in low power mode, and turned off all notifications—except for texts, because otherwise how would my children contact me to tell me they need a ride home from so-and-so’s house? No, wait — they don’t, actually. Another so-and-so’s mom can give them a ride. No, wait, they can’t actually. Can you come in like 20 minutes? And can you give so-and-so and two other people rides? Actually, wait, can you make it more like 40 minutes? Hi again, we decided to go downtown, so can you pick me up at Dunkin’ in maybe an hour? And then take us to the mall? (Meanwhile I am already in the car on the way to so-and-so’s house, my battery now at 9%)

For me, the main symptom of a battery at critical levels is feeling utterly allergic to casual social interactions.

Last week, I ran into a friend at the grocery store and could barely string together a coherent sentence. It was like I’d forgotten how to human. I spotted another friend a few minutes later—one I would have normally enjoyed a quick chat with—and totally hid from her, by which I mean stared intently at a box of organic mixed greens until I was pretty sure she was gone. Then I went home and took a two-hour nap. (Tiredness is another symptom.)

And yet, I totally had enough energy to hike a 11.6 mile loop, including a punishing stretch up a 50-degree rock slide that I bet even Maria Von Trapp would have been a little freaked out by. She wouldn’t have been able to sing her way up it, at any rate.

Sometimes I go to the hills with other people—my beloved hiking pals—and that’s great too. But this time, being alone, not having to talk to anyone, and hearing nothing but the sounds of birds and rushing water and the wind (the sound of music whereof Maria sings, I assume) was just right. Beyond just right. Amazing.

My battery isn’t quite full, but it’s definitely back up over 50%. So, this week, if I see you in the grocery store, I will say hello.

Until then — so long, farewell.

Where it all began: When I was in second grade, I played Gretl in a local high school production of *The Sound of Music*. That’s me, post performance, in my not-quite-a-dirndl-but-close-enough dress, with my dad in his very on-fashion glasses.

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Jane’s Calamity

Battery level critical

When I need to recharge, I do it a la Maria Von Trapp—sort of.

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