To Chillin Out

Chillin out is not hanging out; it’s not even hangin out. Hangin out usually involves other people, but the beauty of chillin is that it can be a social or solitary event. 

If you are chillin with others, you may not have planned it, but suddenly you realize you are in the company of someone who is also chill, and so you are chillin together. Say, waiting in line for the opening of a movie the whole nation has been anticipating. Spiderman. The line is out the door, down the block and around the corner. The theater has devoted 7 screens, so you aren’t worried. 

You don’t mind seeing movies alone; in fact, you prefer it. Sit wherever. When you go to dip your hand in the popcorn, you don’t bump another hand, which, for a second, jolts you out of the story experience and reminds you where you are. Movies alone are best, especially the first time.

The woman behind you reminds you of someone. Unlike everyone else in line, who is either talking to the person they came with or is looking at their phone, she’s doing neither. You can’t tell if the woman next to her is with her. The other woman is scrolling through something on her phone, her finger flicking up up up. The woman who reminds you of someone is watching the traffic pass, checking out the other people in line. You catch her eye and she smiles lightly. Nods. You nod. Then smile.

Several seconds go by.

“I hope this doesn’t sell out,” you say.

She raises her eyebrows to let you know she hears you. But she’s not gonna answer. She’s chillin. You can talk and chill, but you don’t have to. You know this, and because you are chill, you don’t mind. If you wanted to hang out, you’d have to talk. The folks around you are hangin.

Chill is being, not doing. Chill is accepting, not judging. Chill is letting the world run through your fingers, rough, then smooth, cool, then burning. You keep your fingers open and feel it all.