Postcard 051 - Overstimulated
Sometimes more is, indeed, more.
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I spent last weekend with my family and some of my family’s family. It reminded me that a strong dose of close contact over a weekend can bring you closer than weeks or months of occasional face time. There’s something about the sheer surface area you can (or are forced to?) cover in that time that really opens people up.
In Iranian culture, we use the word “family” (especially specific terms like “cousin” or “uncle”) pretty loosely, which I’d argue is one of its many beautiful attributes. The cousin of my cousin is somehow my cousin. My friends (are supposed to) call my uncle, “uncle.” It’s as if we all have some sort of transitive social capital — because you are connected to me, you are given the same treatment I am (should you want it).
While I could write essays about the things I value about my family, one thing I’m always proud of and recognize is the way that they show up for each other and make space for others. Growing up, my parents’ house was like a lighthouse — a place my friends and I gravitated to after school hours. To this day, my friends love visiting my parents house because of the memories that were forged in their kitchen.
One of my (direct) cousins has been actively carving out new rituals for the group of us that are around the same age, and while this weekend started with a small group (or at least as I understood it), we ended up with almost three dozen people.
As you can imagine, it can be hard to get that many people to agree to anything, especially when you have 4 generations of people present — all with different preferences, abilities, and mobilities (I so often forget that logic is as foreign as calculus to a toddler). But we made it, with few fights or frustrations (though we did have a flat tire and a great story for another time).
Being the introvert that I am, I found myself regularly retreating to my room throughout the weekend — taking a break from the group to deregulate my nervous system and recover from sensory overstimulation.
As I drove the two hundred miles home on Sunday night, I found myself reflecting on the weekend and experiencing a different kind of overstimulation - the kind that comes from gratitude. It’s not just that this weekend happened, but that weekends like this are and have been a regular part of the fabric of my life and my family.
While I may have found myself needing little breaks from the group during the weekend, I’m grateful I feel no desire to break away from the group in my life. If anything, I’m feeling very much the opposite.