Self-care can be hard. I understand that that’s a truly revolutionary statement, but I think it’s worth noting as I suddenly find myself behind on writing (still 6k words into my fourth book so here we go), on blogging (hey remember almost three weeks ago when my blog was also about needing rest?), on studying (anyone have a shorthand guide to the Rhine?), and on so many other little projects (wasn’t I supposed to start a newsletter?) I promised myself a timeframe on. Laundry’s done and folded, but not put away. It’s there when I get home, whether or not I have the energy to do it. That’s usually the first sign I need to catch myself. That I’m falling.
Maybe I’m being melodramatic. I’ve a knack for that. It gets in the way of properly expressing the things I’m feeling because, for some reason, it feels better to be dramatic about it. A vague sadness isn’t very interesting, it’s like a monochromatic piece of abstract art. I think I prefer my emotions to be Pollocks- full of energy and life. It comes as a result of being equal parts a cynic and a romantic. If things are going poorly, then they must be going very poorly, and if they’re going well, I must be on the road to something wonderful. 2020 started on the prior, and on the surface I suppose things are still going well. It’s a good road to somewhere that is, of course, a very narrow road with some rather deep chasms on either side.
Heaven forbid I trip, and fall, and fall.
I recently took a trip to Vermont as a way of catching myself. It was the first of my days off in nearly two weeks I didn’t spend in a big city, and I think it did some good. In that peace, standing on the edge of the frozen lake I’d grown up on, driving with my windows down, singing along to all the songs from some playlist on my old iPod classic that hasn’t been updated since 2012, I found a kind of happiness that makes one sad.
Melodrama man, it’ll get you.
The reason, I figure, is how rare that kind of joy seems to become as life progresses. The computer that iPod was connected to died in 2012 and tech-savvy me could never figure out how to recover my account so my musical tastes of the middle of high school remain frozen on this little device. I won’t explicitly wax nostalgic about those days, but the fact that such playlist classics as “Party in the Country” and “Rage” resonant with me speaks to a time when the problems if the world seemed, if not escapable, than father away at the end of the day then we do now.
I’m sure if you asked anyone I went to high school with they’d argue I was, if anything, more dramatic than I am now, but that’s not quite relevant now.
There is passion and fulfillment from work, of course, and that’s why I went into the field that I did. There’s pleasure spent in a profession whose focus is bringing others positive experiences. Even if a table arrives ten minutes to close, and stays for an hour and a half after, you can still talk to them, learn about their anniversary and their first time visiting your town and your restaurant, make sure they’ve enjoyed themselves and, even if they notice that the bar’s cleaned up, that you’re writing things to remember for tomorrow in your notebook, and maybe checking your phone a little too much, you can assure them that no, they’re not keeping you, and they can forget about their worries and their world for a little bit.
That kind of thing on repeat can get exhausting for you, of course, and that’s the larger worry. Last week was exhausting, involving a lot of travel, multiple events, and a few late nights that resulted in irritation and a rare pique of actual anger. The latter details are generally brought on by my own inability to get out of my own way and retain composure. But, we understand tomorrow is another day.
There’s always a tomorrow, if you want one, and if you don’t.
No matter the mistakes you make, the people you’ve annoyed, the fool you’ve made of yourself, the relationships you’ve damaged, and the work you’ve left undone- time’s arrow marches forward.
And then, sometimes, you get days of sunshine, of warmth, of clear skies and streams, of old songs that make you smile through your tears, all in a place removed from everything that weighs on you. You can breathe. You can stretch. You remember what it feels like to be alive, officially alive. These things can be hard to find, the days and places like that, but they exist. You can find them.
If not, I believe it essential to create them. For some escape exists in a physical place, a getaway, and in others it exists in the mind. It’s one of the reasons why I like writing, not that the worlds I create are any safer than the one I live in (ask my characters). But the creation of a place apart from my own is a key to reminding oneself to experience living itself, and all the joys and all the pain that come from being alive.
It’s like a reset button, even when you know that when you get back all the consequences of all your actions and all your words will still be waiting for you. But that’s not important, not in the moment. It can wait for a bit. That’s the thing to consider in this thought, overall, I think.
Accept the temporary nature of the joy as much as you do the temporary nature of the pain.
You have a moment to breathe, so breathe.
Really feel your breath.
Your life.
Appreciate it.
Live.