I noticed large chain stores starting to stock Halloween candy, costumes, and decorations.  I considered that the inevitable seasonal switch in my wine of choice, from white to red, was probably not far behind.

While I know retailers have to plan ahead and devote a lot of attention to drumming up excitement over a future event, a reason for people to spend money, I looked at my calendar for events to get excited about for personal reasons.

I thought about plans I made with a friend just after Memorial Day. After acknowledging that we hadn’t done much together for months, we decided to attend a concert at a smallish venue, the kind of show I like; featuring good musicianship, decent acoustics, and a guaranteed seat. (Paying over seventy bucks to stand for two hours doesn’t work for me.)

I realized that I had almost forgotten about the event. Tickets are rarely printed anymore. It wasn’t until I had to book an appointment and needed to make sure there was no schedule conflicts that I remembered I had something to look forward to.

Days have blurred together during COVID. For a long time, I didn’t see anyone except my dog and my mail carrier. I have enjoyed some music and gatherings over the summer, but I am cautious about the possibility of future lockdowns.

I considered that I did not just miss choices in entertainment.

I missed ANTICIPATION  itself.

These days, events are scheduled with the understanding that they might be called off or could be moved to a different venue or may come to me “virtually” rather than be held “in person.”

But, on top of that,  I missed the feeling of anticipation that used to part of the concert experience because we live in a paperless world.

Maybe I should schedule countdown notices to ping me on the phone or computer…”Only 13 days to …… (fill in the blank). Only 12 days to….”

While I recognize the value of creating proof of purchase and seating details as a permanent record that can’t be lost, I’m afraid the saying is true. “Out of sight. Out of mind.”

I feel a sense of loss. Not for the actual thing, entrance into the event, but for an important part of the experience. Looking forward to it.

I remember, as a teenager, clipping tickets for a much anticipated concert to my dresser mirror. Paying to go represented many hours waitressing or work at another minimum wage job or saving a portion of allowance money for weeks by walking to school instead of taking the bus.

More recently I remember buying baseball tickets for several Cubs games directly from the box office almost as soon as single game seats were available. I placed them on my dresser, between a jewelry box and small piece of hand-thrown pottery.

Baseball or concert tickets, airline itineraries for highly anticipated trips…I’d keep these kind of things in plain view. I’d see them every day, and I connected with my love of music or baseball or travel or just relish the thought of treating myself.

Just this week, I decided to print the ticket for this week’s concert at Space. I placed it in a very visible spot in my dining room.

I smiled every time I walked through my kitchen and dining room to get to my backdoor.

I knew it represented a special experience; a musician’s craft and the opportunity to hang with others who valued a live experience.

Being reminded of things to look forward to is no small thing.