Working and Lying Flat

Lady Shostakovich
3 min readDec 29, 2021

This year, I learned there is nothing I want to buy. I don’t want a new outfit. I don’t want to go to a new city. I don’t want to eat overpriced food. I don’t want to ride on an airplane.

The only things I really want are to live somewhere that feels safe — safe from people with crowbars and guns, safe from rodents and insect invaders. I want to know I will not be hungry for too long. To go on long walks and to think quiet thoughts. To read books and look at a tree. To see the faces of my friends. To laugh and be laughed at. To look at my husband and know our love is shared. To go to a family gathering and squeeze the small foot of the newest baby. These are the only things I really want. In the past year, I’ve learned nothing else matters.

I like the idea of having a child of my own, of giving them a safe place to live, but nothing feels that safe anymore. I could move to a wealthy school district where the property is very expensive and the teachers will have long pedigrees, but school doesn’t seem very useful or very safe these days. The kids everywhere, even in the wealthy neighborhoods, don’t seem healthy. They don’t seem like good influences. They seem sick at heart like their parents. Even the best ingredients money can buy are not the right ingredients for strong bodies and pure hearts. Investing doesn’t make sense anymore.