Basement Days

I’ve been in the basement for the past few weeks. Some secret project that requires complete isolation from the outside world—no contact, no news, nothing. Sometimes I think about emerging and realizing I’ve missed something huge. Did anyone I care about do anything interesting? Probably not. But maybe. I’ll never know until I get out.

The strange thing about being cut off is how quickly you stop being anxious about it. The first few days you’re checking your phone compulsively whenever you surface, trying to piece together what you missed. By day ten you’ve stopped entirely. You become someone who only exists in relation to this one locked-away project. Everything else becomes abstract. The world could be on fire or everyone could be fine—it doesn’t matter from down here.

I wonder sometimes if anyone notices I’m gone. Probably not in any way that matters. Everyone else is living their lives the same way they always do, having the same conversations, thinking the same thoughts. I’m not missing anything important. I’m just not there for the continuity.

But there’s something oddly good about it. No obligations hanging over you, no sense that you should be doing something else with your time. You’re exactly where you need to be, doing exactly one thing, and that’s enough. It’s not peaceful. It’s more like you’ve given yourself permission to disappear for a while.

When I finally get out of here, the world will have done whatever it was going to do. I have no idea if I’ll care about what I missed.