Unabashed Joy

It’s Friday night and I’m surveying my face with a pair of tweezers in my bathroom mirror. These are not my ideal plans for the start of this weekend – but other alternatives are similar solo endeavors for a single woman in her twenties living alone in a pandemic.

Squinting at my eyebrows in a still fogged mirror, I’m comforted by the lull of the passing cars outside and a lo-fi beats playlist. Suddenly, the white noise of street traffic is cut by the scream of an 80’s guitar played at top volume on a stereo. I’m taken aback. My neighbor, a woman in her fifties who similarly lives alone, begins belting the lyrics to “Cryin'” by Aerosmith and hits every note of her guitar solo.

This is the second time I’ve heard her voice in the two and a half years we’ve shared a wall.

Now she’s wailing out the words to “Don’t Stop Believin’” at her side of the vanity. The floor reverberates during “Still the Same,” a gentle reminder to keep her on beat. I brace myself for what feels like an accidental sign up to a full show with two encores.

But then something happens.

Between “Dream On” and “Slow Ride,” I start to feel a silly kinship to the level of passion placed in this impromptu bathroom karaoke session. Things that may have itched at me pre-pandemic (these song choices, this volume, my self-care time) now make me feel closer to June* (her favorite songs, the conviction in her voice, her self-care time).

As she closes out her final performance, I have to resist applauding her. I send over my biggest smile.

This weekend, I want to be like June. Ringing in this quiet evening with unabashed joy. It might even foster connection in unexpected ways.

(Photo: Risky Business)

*Names have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals.