The journey continues.
This week, the Ministry of Health and the College of Dietitians threw more policy down the pipe and now I'm working from home unless something specific calls me into the LTC homes where I work. The idea is to reduce transmission of the virus from home to home, and since I work in three, this makes sense. It does bring up a bunch of ethical considerations regarding what constitutes essential on-site nutrition care and I'm definitely struggling with that. I do feel better knowing I'm not going in and using up valuable PPE so the nursing staff can give the best care, but I'm also concerned that my residents are not getting the best care from me right now.
That's a whole ball of wax. I've had at least 2 video conference calls per week teasing out what it means and I don't want to spend more time on it here, but it's on my mind, so I mention it.
In the meantime, I have been trying to maintain some level of not-going-crazy in the 1000 sq. feet that I share with my husband. Here's how:
1. I get dressed for work every day. Even though I'm not going anywhere. I change into lounge clothes when I'm done. It helps me to distinguish between work time and home time. Also, it means that if I do have to go in, I'm already dressed.
2. Staying in contact. I've been keeping in touch with friends and family a little more than I had been pre-COVID-19. I'm happy to know they're safe and we commiserate about what's hard about this and what we're hopeful about. It's nice and I should have been doing more of it.
3. Staying active. Right now I'm finding that the weather is beautiful all morning and garbage at right around the time I'm clocking off, and this one would be easier if I could get on my bike and ride without getting pneumonia...but I'm trying to get moving regularly. My gym is closed, but my trainer sent me at-home workouts which I've been doing. I'm still finding that my joints are starting to feel sore, probably from underuse, and I need to focus more on this.
4. Deleting Facebook from my phone. I had been toying with dropping FB from my life altogether, but too many groups I'm part of use FB to communicate, including my family. I disabled the app on my phone, which means I can still use messenger to communicate with people, but I'm not finding myself scrolling through the multiple graphs showing the totally disheartening case-doubling rates of my province, my country and our neighbour to the south, and I'm not doing deep-dives in my friends' comments and getting into flame wars with people I don't really know about whatever it is I disagree with. I log on once or twice throughout the day from my laptop or desktop, but that's it and I feel better about it.
5. Online scrabble. My family and I have been playing Lexulous. This has been good because I have to focus on something very concrete - making the letters I have fit into the letters that are on the board. I'm historically terrible at this game even though I have a fairly extensive vocabulary. I remember a friend inviting me over to play scrabble and pulling out all his best stops because he thought I'd be really good. He skunked me. Anyway....it's also been good because I'm actually better at it than I remember (or my opponents are taking it easy on me...either way...), and that makes me feel good about something.
Still and all, I'm walking a fine line with my mental health. I'm actually finding weekends harder because there's less structure to the day and my mind wanders to places it maybe shouldn't go right now. I'm watching a lot more TV than I normally would and I'm not so proud of that. Most of what I'm reading is suggesting we've got another month or more of this, so digging in to what's working and getting rid f what's not is going to be extremely important.
I hope everyone's coping. I would be really interested to hear what's working for you.
Saturday, March 28, 2020
Tuesday, March 17, 2020
The One with COVID-19
These are strange times, friends.
And I'm in a strange spot. I'm a healthcare worker, but not a frontline healthcare worker. I have contact with a vulnerable population, but not *intimate* contact. One of my employers has asked me to work remotely. The other two have decided that I'm an essential service. I'm confused about what that means.
Every once in a while I get that strange feeling that what's happening around me is happening, on a greater or smaller scale, to every single other person around the world and then I feel very small. Because nothing that's happening to me is special, except everything that's happening to everyone right now is special.
I don't have any cool advice on how to deal. Part of me was feeling a little overwhelmed with life and is a teensy bit relieved to have government-mandated stop-everything-you're-doing-and-stay-the-fuck-home time. I recognize that feeling has a lot to do with the level of privilege I enjoy. I own a functioning bicycle and have access to all kinds of streaming workouts. I have a fairly large stockpile of food in my cupboards and freezer, although some of it is a little...unconventional (anybody need a box of cocoa nibs? I have three. Will trade for dry pasta or eggs). My yarn and fabric stashes have been calling my name for *years*. The internet/cellphone waves keep me in touch with my loved ones far and wide. And let's not forget the famed movie list. I'm crossing things off of that baby like crazy.
The takehome here is that I'm probably going to be fine. But I have worries. I have people who are maybe not going to be fine. The fact that the various curves I keep refreshing on various public health-ish websites could go either way still makes me worried. I'm terrified that someone's going to sneeze on my coat at the grocery store and I'm going to be partially responsible for flattening a whole floor of octagenarians because my service was deemed essential. Everything is cancelled or closed "until further notice" and the lack of expiry date on this thing makes me hyperventilate a little.
I still don't have any cool advice on how to deal. Everything is normal and abnormal at the same time. Shit's weird. Everybody shits.
And I'm in a strange spot. I'm a healthcare worker, but not a frontline healthcare worker. I have contact with a vulnerable population, but not *intimate* contact. One of my employers has asked me to work remotely. The other two have decided that I'm an essential service. I'm confused about what that means.
Every once in a while I get that strange feeling that what's happening around me is happening, on a greater or smaller scale, to every single other person around the world and then I feel very small. Because nothing that's happening to me is special, except everything that's happening to everyone right now is special.
I don't have any cool advice on how to deal. Part of me was feeling a little overwhelmed with life and is a teensy bit relieved to have government-mandated stop-everything-you're-doing-and-stay-the-fuck-home time. I recognize that feeling has a lot to do with the level of privilege I enjoy. I own a functioning bicycle and have access to all kinds of streaming workouts. I have a fairly large stockpile of food in my cupboards and freezer, although some of it is a little...unconventional (anybody need a box of cocoa nibs? I have three. Will trade for dry pasta or eggs). My yarn and fabric stashes have been calling my name for *years*. The internet/cellphone waves keep me in touch with my loved ones far and wide. And let's not forget the famed movie list. I'm crossing things off of that baby like crazy.
The takehome here is that I'm probably going to be fine. But I have worries. I have people who are maybe not going to be fine. The fact that the various curves I keep refreshing on various public health-ish websites could go either way still makes me worried. I'm terrified that someone's going to sneeze on my coat at the grocery store and I'm going to be partially responsible for flattening a whole floor of octagenarians because my service was deemed essential. Everything is cancelled or closed "until further notice" and the lack of expiry date on this thing makes me hyperventilate a little.
I still don't have any cool advice on how to deal. Everything is normal and abnormal at the same time. Shit's weird. Everybody shits.
Tuesday, March 3, 2020
New List
Ugh...I keep trying to write something and I'm not getting past the first few sentences.
I've been trying to read more lately. More books, first and foremost, but also articles and commentaries on current events. One of my aborted attempts at this post was inspired by an article about African American installation artist Kara Walker.
More recently, I read an article about how the internet has become a giant library of top 10 listicles. It's not too far from the truth, and as a lifelong list-maker myself, it hit home for me. The piece made the argument that the ever-expanding archive of ranked lists is really part of the capitalist machine to steer our collective consumption. When I see a top 10 list, my gut reaction is to add the things on that list into one of my own lists. I have a list of podcasts I want to listen to, a list of books I want to read, a list of movies I want to see, a list of recipes I want to make, a list of crafts I want to craft...the list goes on. The part of me that wants to eat the rich and smash the patriarchy tells myself that I will only buy these things when I actually need a new one, or when someone asks me what I would like as a gift, or I will only borrow it from the library (I guess that one only works for books...)...
I could go on to defend myself with the notion that most of the lists I'm culling for my own list-fodder are written by people or groups that ascribe mainly to my own particular ideals, the deeper part of me knows that it's still all just part of the WANT machine that's been driving us more and more lately. A large part of me knows I can never possibly listen to all the podcasts, read all the books, watch all the movies, bake all the cakes and knit all the hats because I simply don't have the time or money to do that and still go to work and exercise and eat right and sleep a full 8 hours every night. That part of me is dying of FOMO every second.
A gentleman I know who used to work in the publishing industry told me that the reason for all the lists on the internet and all the franchise reboots in the movies and all the sampling and covering in music is that the planet earth is DESPERATE for content. Always be (making) CONTENT so we can ALWAYS BE CONSUMING.
How can this possibly be? I feel like I'm *figuratively* drowning in CONTENT. I can't even keep up with the articles I'm trying to read about how the content that's out there isn't even very good. This entry I'm writing isn't very good, but that's because I'm trying to force myself to create content.
...
I know this is where I usually have a tidy little resolution where I find a way to resolve things for myself. But the truth is, I really don't know how to stop making lists. And the corollary to that is that I also want to remove things from the list...Hmmm...
New list:
1. Eat the rich.
2. Smash the patriarchy.
...
There's the denouement I was looking for.
I've been trying to read more lately. More books, first and foremost, but also articles and commentaries on current events. One of my aborted attempts at this post was inspired by an article about African American installation artist Kara Walker.
More recently, I read an article about how the internet has become a giant library of top 10 listicles. It's not too far from the truth, and as a lifelong list-maker myself, it hit home for me. The piece made the argument that the ever-expanding archive of ranked lists is really part of the capitalist machine to steer our collective consumption. When I see a top 10 list, my gut reaction is to add the things on that list into one of my own lists. I have a list of podcasts I want to listen to, a list of books I want to read, a list of movies I want to see, a list of recipes I want to make, a list of crafts I want to craft...the list goes on. The part of me that wants to eat the rich and smash the patriarchy tells myself that I will only buy these things when I actually need a new one, or when someone asks me what I would like as a gift, or I will only borrow it from the library (I guess that one only works for books...)...
I could go on to defend myself with the notion that most of the lists I'm culling for my own list-fodder are written by people or groups that ascribe mainly to my own particular ideals, the deeper part of me knows that it's still all just part of the WANT machine that's been driving us more and more lately. A large part of me knows I can never possibly listen to all the podcasts, read all the books, watch all the movies, bake all the cakes and knit all the hats because I simply don't have the time or money to do that and still go to work and exercise and eat right and sleep a full 8 hours every night. That part of me is dying of FOMO every second.
A gentleman I know who used to work in the publishing industry told me that the reason for all the lists on the internet and all the franchise reboots in the movies and all the sampling and covering in music is that the planet earth is DESPERATE for content. Always be (making) CONTENT so we can ALWAYS BE CONSUMING.
How can this possibly be? I feel like I'm *figuratively* drowning in CONTENT. I can't even keep up with the articles I'm trying to read about how the content that's out there isn't even very good. This entry I'm writing isn't very good, but that's because I'm trying to force myself to create content.
...
I know this is where I usually have a tidy little resolution where I find a way to resolve things for myself. But the truth is, I really don't know how to stop making lists. And the corollary to that is that I also want to remove things from the list...Hmmm...
New list:
1. Eat the rich.
2. Smash the patriarchy.
...
There's the denouement I was looking for.
Saturday, February 15, 2020
New Orleans, New Outlook
My husband and I went on our extremely belated honeymoon in January. We went to New Orleans, which had been something we had discussed pretty soon after it became clear that our relationship was going to last the long haul. It's good that we had determined that already because the drive there was a REALLY LONG HAUL.
We chose New Orleans mainly for the music and food, and to a lesser extent its open container laws.
We enjoyed all of those things to the fullest extent possible given our time and budget, but what I came away with was a sort of confused sense of identity. Before we arrived, I had heard or read that New Orleans is the black sheep city of America. It really did seem to be a place where weirdos of all stripes congregated to do their thing. Our Garden District tour guide didn't JUST tell us about which houses had which famous people living in them, but would also get SUPER excited about the Italianate ironwork on the galleries. Both of our French Quarter tour guides billed themselves, first and foremost, as paranormal investigators, which I thought was just a job for people on TV. Vampires roamed the streets at night and drag queens roamed them by day. Guys who looked down on their luck would sit on a curb with a cell phone, a microphone and a tiny speaker and sing their hearts out for change. Just down the street, a multi-piece brass ensemble would be doing their best to drown him out. Psychics and mediums were set up everywhere waiting for someone to sit in the lawn chair across from them.
Strange though it may seem, I really felt that I was with my people.
I wrestle with that statement because I'm a pretty straight-laced person. My friends and family have always joked that trips with me involve the clipboard of fun because I've planned every detail to the last. I once suggested to a boyfriend that I might shave one side of my head and do that rockabilly undercut thing. He laughed and said I would be way too self-conscious about it to pull it off. I don't wear a lot of makeup, even for special occasions. I don't drink too much. I make lists. For everything.
I like a nice cardigan.
Maybe I just appreciated that so many people could let their inner weirdo out and feel ok about it.
I also, perhaps surprisingly, consult oracle cards every morning to help set an intention for the day. I'm not trying to see the future or call on a deceased loved one - I'm just trying to centre in on how I should approach the day. The cards keep suggesting changes coming and I'm not sure how to fit that into my daily intention box.
I'm hopeful about a few things, but if all the cards portend is that this is finally the time that I take all of my mundanities and my idiosyncrasies and realize that I can be boring and weird at the same time, then that's fine with me.
Because I do believe that I can get guidance from the ether through a set of cards I bought at Chapters.
But I also REALLY like a nice cardigan.
We chose New Orleans mainly for the music and food, and to a lesser extent its open container laws.
We enjoyed all of those things to the fullest extent possible given our time and budget, but what I came away with was a sort of confused sense of identity. Before we arrived, I had heard or read that New Orleans is the black sheep city of America. It really did seem to be a place where weirdos of all stripes congregated to do their thing. Our Garden District tour guide didn't JUST tell us about which houses had which famous people living in them, but would also get SUPER excited about the Italianate ironwork on the galleries. Both of our French Quarter tour guides billed themselves, first and foremost, as paranormal investigators, which I thought was just a job for people on TV. Vampires roamed the streets at night and drag queens roamed them by day. Guys who looked down on their luck would sit on a curb with a cell phone, a microphone and a tiny speaker and sing their hearts out for change. Just down the street, a multi-piece brass ensemble would be doing their best to drown him out. Psychics and mediums were set up everywhere waiting for someone to sit in the lawn chair across from them.
Strange though it may seem, I really felt that I was with my people.
I wrestle with that statement because I'm a pretty straight-laced person. My friends and family have always joked that trips with me involve the clipboard of fun because I've planned every detail to the last. I once suggested to a boyfriend that I might shave one side of my head and do that rockabilly undercut thing. He laughed and said I would be way too self-conscious about it to pull it off. I don't wear a lot of makeup, even for special occasions. I don't drink too much. I make lists. For everything.
I like a nice cardigan.
Maybe I just appreciated that so many people could let their inner weirdo out and feel ok about it.
I also, perhaps surprisingly, consult oracle cards every morning to help set an intention for the day. I'm not trying to see the future or call on a deceased loved one - I'm just trying to centre in on how I should approach the day. The cards keep suggesting changes coming and I'm not sure how to fit that into my daily intention box.
I'm hopeful about a few things, but if all the cards portend is that this is finally the time that I take all of my mundanities and my idiosyncrasies and realize that I can be boring and weird at the same time, then that's fine with me.
Because I do believe that I can get guidance from the ether through a set of cards I bought at Chapters.
But I also REALLY like a nice cardigan.
Monday, August 12, 2019
My World's on Fire
A few months ago, I did something called a Cheer Session at Ludy Luck Photography Studio. It's a photoshoot in which the owner, Jennifer, sprays or splatters you with the paint colour of your choice and you celebrate yourself while Jennifer documents it on digital film.
Jennifer asked me why I was there - usually, people have something to work through when they're there. I gave her a true answer: I hadn't quite rebounded after the excitement of my wedding last summer. That was the truth, but it wasn't the whole truth. I chose red because my world's on fire.
It's been a tumultuous few months. I'd blame Mercury in retrograde, but it's bigger than that.
It started with some bad news I'm not ready to share. Then came my annual physical with my doctor. The idea of an annual physical makes sense - screen me for risk factors, signs and symptoms of common ailments and give me advice and treatments for the same. The reality is it's really just a time where my doctor makes it clear to me that she has not read my chart at all prior to our visit, has no idea who I am, and then pockets $50 or more to tell me that my BMI is above 25 kg/m2 and I should "keep an eye on that." You know, because every magazine I've ever read hasn't already made it abundantly clear that EVERYONE ELSE is already keeping an eye on it.
This time, even though I had just finished telling her about my work AS A DIETITIAN she suggested I try Weight Watchers, OR THE DIET COMPANY THAT CAUSED A FAMILY MEMBER TO LOSE A GALL BLADDER. All while wearing a johnny shirt that doesn't tie up around me.
And I wanted to tell her all about the work of the Health at Every Size movement and the fact that zero percent of my other chronic disease indicators were throwing up red flags so the point of this appointment was for her to fat-shame me and make me even less engaged with my personal health because my primary care provider makes me feel like a giant waste of space (emphasis on giant). But I didn't. I held my johnny shirt together, nodded politely, put my clothes back on after she left, drove home and cried.
I'm fairly lucky, actually. I'm a straight, cis-gender, white, upper-middle-class person who grew up in a western democracy. What I mean by that is that I was born with a great deal of privilege already loaded onto my pre-paid credit card. The only ticks in my negative column are the fact that I'm female and obese. Even so, it feels like there's a boot on my neck a great deal of the time.
About a month after that, I started listening to this podcast: Uncover: The Village. It purports to be about the serial murders by Bruce McArthur that took place in the Church-Wellesley area of Toronto, but branches out into the history of the gay village in Toronto and the multiple reasons its occupants might have to distrust the police and their handling of the case. Spoiler alert: It's because, for decades (and likely centuries before that), the popo and the system of governance they represented engaged in a systematic campaign to ruin (and sometimes end) the lives of those who lived a homosexual lifestyle.
And then last week, a man with an assault rifle walked into a Wal-Mart in Texas with the express purpose of killing persons of colour.
And, of course, the earth is ACTUALLY on fire. Fueled by a crippling reliance on petroleum and an endless supply of single-use plastic packaging.
And I just can't anymore.
When I talk to people about how I feel, they tell me I'm taking on too much. I'm shouldering other peoples' burdens when I should really take care of myself. But since I'm a straight, cis-gender, white, upper-middle-class person who grew up in a western democracy, and if I'm even a fraction as woke as I think I am, self-care has to be something a little more meaningful than a bubble bath and a pedicure because the things that are keeping me up at night are bigger than me.
The photoshoot with Lady Luck was a great start. It made me feel good. It sent a message about how I should feel about my body to everyone who sees the pictures and hopefully inspired some people to feel differently (better!) about theirs. It supported a business that I think is doing something inherently good in the world. And, in a small way, supported an organization that I think is doing something inherently good in the world.
In my effort to learn about how to make the world a better place, I saw one of those inspirational quotes on an Instagram account I'm following that said that the world doesn't need one person doing things perfectly so much as it needs a million people doing things imperfectly. Part of what's burning me right now is that the fire is so fucking huge that I'm not sure I can handle the extinguisher I'd need to put it out by myself. I feel like I've got the equivalent of a garden hose to fight a forest fire. I need more people. Who will fight fires with me?
It seems pretty simple, but there's more to it. Jennifer spends a crazy amount of time promoting fat acceptance and body positivity on her various social media sites and in real life. It really is a transformative experience. And a portion of the proceeds for each Cheer Session is donated to CAMH.
Jennifer asked me why I was there - usually, people have something to work through when they're there. I gave her a true answer: I hadn't quite rebounded after the excitement of my wedding last summer. That was the truth, but it wasn't the whole truth. I chose red because my world's on fire.
It's been a tumultuous few months. I'd blame Mercury in retrograde, but it's bigger than that.
It started with some bad news I'm not ready to share. Then came my annual physical with my doctor. The idea of an annual physical makes sense - screen me for risk factors, signs and symptoms of common ailments and give me advice and treatments for the same. The reality is it's really just a time where my doctor makes it clear to me that she has not read my chart at all prior to our visit, has no idea who I am, and then pockets $50 or more to tell me that my BMI is above 25 kg/m2 and I should "keep an eye on that." You know, because every magazine I've ever read hasn't already made it abundantly clear that EVERYONE ELSE is already keeping an eye on it.This time, even though I had just finished telling her about my work AS A DIETITIAN she suggested I try Weight Watchers, OR THE DIET COMPANY THAT CAUSED A FAMILY MEMBER TO LOSE A GALL BLADDER. All while wearing a johnny shirt that doesn't tie up around me.
And I wanted to tell her all about the work of the Health at Every Size movement and the fact that zero percent of my other chronic disease indicators were throwing up red flags so the point of this appointment was for her to fat-shame me and make me even less engaged with my personal health because my primary care provider makes me feel like a giant waste of space (emphasis on giant). But I didn't. I held my johnny shirt together, nodded politely, put my clothes back on after she left, drove home and cried.
I'm fairly lucky, actually. I'm a straight, cis-gender, white, upper-middle-class person who grew up in a western democracy. What I mean by that is that I was born with a great deal of privilege already loaded onto my pre-paid credit card. The only ticks in my negative column are the fact that I'm female and obese. Even so, it feels like there's a boot on my neck a great deal of the time.About a month after that, I started listening to this podcast: Uncover: The Village. It purports to be about the serial murders by Bruce McArthur that took place in the Church-Wellesley area of Toronto, but branches out into the history of the gay village in Toronto and the multiple reasons its occupants might have to distrust the police and their handling of the case. Spoiler alert: It's because, for decades (and likely centuries before that), the popo and the system of governance they represented engaged in a systematic campaign to ruin (and sometimes end) the lives of those who lived a homosexual lifestyle.
And then last week, a man with an assault rifle walked into a Wal-Mart in Texas with the express purpose of killing persons of colour.
And, of course, the earth is ACTUALLY on fire. Fueled by a crippling reliance on petroleum and an endless supply of single-use plastic packaging.
And I just can't anymore.
When I talk to people about how I feel, they tell me I'm taking on too much. I'm shouldering other peoples' burdens when I should really take care of myself. But since I'm a straight, cis-gender, white, upper-middle-class person who grew up in a western democracy, and if I'm even a fraction as woke as I think I am, self-care has to be something a little more meaningful than a bubble bath and a pedicure because the things that are keeping me up at night are bigger than me.
The photoshoot with Lady Luck was a great start. It made me feel good. It sent a message about how I should feel about my body to everyone who sees the pictures and hopefully inspired some people to feel differently (better!) about theirs. It supported a business that I think is doing something inherently good in the world. And, in a small way, supported an organization that I think is doing something inherently good in the world.
In my effort to learn about how to make the world a better place, I saw one of those inspirational quotes on an Instagram account I'm following that said that the world doesn't need one person doing things perfectly so much as it needs a million people doing things imperfectly. Part of what's burning me right now is that the fire is so fucking huge that I'm not sure I can handle the extinguisher I'd need to put it out by myself. I feel like I've got the equivalent of a garden hose to fight a forest fire. I need more people. Who will fight fires with me?
Saturday, March 2, 2019
The Daily Challenge
Some of my loyal facebook and instagram followers will be aware that I have been intermittently engaging in daily challenges which I post on the sosh-meds for accountability purposes.
But those loyal followers will know that I haven't been super engaged with the challenges lately, and that's because they don't really resonate with me. And here's where I hit my usual conundrum: I'm really bad at being self-directed; I really need the challenge to have some relevance to me.
Recently my challenges are wanting me to consider people who can support me in my healthy living goal, consider ways I might be supported, and then ask one of those people to support me in that way. Lame.
Don't get me wrong, I understand very well the importance of having a support system, knowing what support you need, and communicating your needs to your support system. I was just really hoping for a challenge where I was going to do actual stuff. Stuff that I could photograph. Thinking about stuff just doesn't translate to a 4x4 image on Insta. Or maybe that's an excuse to cover up my trust issues, which are the real reason, perhaps, that I haven't asked my support system for the support I need.
New conundrum: Is the challenge really lame, or is the challenge too challenging for me right now?
So here's my crossroads decision: Do I find a new set of challenges (like with a different app or something), or do I actually expose my vulnerability to the people in my life who could really make a difference by being the support that I need. I guess the fear is that I'm going to haul out my foibles and nobody's going to be there. I'll be standing there with my hang-ups flapping in the breeze like the luckless idiot in a horror or war movie who's just been disembowelled, holding my guts in my hands with nobody to shove them back into my abdominal cavity and sew me back up again.
It's hard to say to people that I need a buddy to check in on me to see that I'm still logging my food, or getting my steps in, or going outside sometimes instead of ensconcing myself in the rabbit-hole-like comfort of the cool glow of endless streaming television. But that's what I need. And I need to tell my people that's what I need. And trust that they'll be there to give me what I need. But that's hard.
I guess that's why it's called a challenge.
But those loyal followers will know that I haven't been super engaged with the challenges lately, and that's because they don't really resonate with me. And here's where I hit my usual conundrum: I'm really bad at being self-directed; I really need the challenge to have some relevance to me.
Recently my challenges are wanting me to consider people who can support me in my healthy living goal, consider ways I might be supported, and then ask one of those people to support me in that way. Lame.
Don't get me wrong, I understand very well the importance of having a support system, knowing what support you need, and communicating your needs to your support system. I was just really hoping for a challenge where I was going to do actual stuff. Stuff that I could photograph. Thinking about stuff just doesn't translate to a 4x4 image on Insta. Or maybe that's an excuse to cover up my trust issues, which are the real reason, perhaps, that I haven't asked my support system for the support I need.
New conundrum: Is the challenge really lame, or is the challenge too challenging for me right now?
So here's my crossroads decision: Do I find a new set of challenges (like with a different app or something), or do I actually expose my vulnerability to the people in my life who could really make a difference by being the support that I need. I guess the fear is that I'm going to haul out my foibles and nobody's going to be there. I'll be standing there with my hang-ups flapping in the breeze like the luckless idiot in a horror or war movie who's just been disembowelled, holding my guts in my hands with nobody to shove them back into my abdominal cavity and sew me back up again.
It's hard to say to people that I need a buddy to check in on me to see that I'm still logging my food, or getting my steps in, or going outside sometimes instead of ensconcing myself in the rabbit-hole-like comfort of the cool glow of endless streaming television. But that's what I need. And I need to tell my people that's what I need. And trust that they'll be there to give me what I need. But that's hard.
I guess that's why it's called a challenge.
Sunday, February 17, 2019
Marie Kondo and the Discontent
My last post began the autumn of my discontent.
I resolved to get singing lessons or piano lessons and achieve goals and I did none of those things.
I did become mildly depressed, so I can't say I didn't do anything.
January is a funny month. On the one hand, we feel like it's a time to set intentions and become new people. On the other hand, it's cold and wet and unpleasant out there and mostly all I want to do is curl up in a blanket, eat and drink warm things, and watch the endless stream of blockbuster entertainment that flows from my smart tv.
I've been starting slowly, but there is a lot of "new" in my life.
I'm in a new band. I have new furniture which has sparked a Marie Kondo-esque purge of my house. New goals. New approaches. New hopes.
But the general malaise of autumn 2018 is not so far behind me that I don't see myself slipping back into it if I'm not careful. And my most burning of desires still seem so far away that I'm not sure I'll ever achieve them, which makes the general comfort of stress eating and couch potato-ing that much more appealing.
I get that feeling that I have to do something big. I have to turn my whole life completely upside down. After I do that, I'll have a purpose again and feel like things are going the way they should. It's kind of like rearranging your purse and starting by upending it to dump everything out onto the floor in front of you. Sure, it's easier to find things when you've gone through it, but there's always the danger that in the upending, one of my most prized lipglosses is going to roll under the couch never to be seen again (this is a metaphor, btw, I'm not really talking about lipgloss here), and it is basically guaranteed that within a month of two my purse is going to become the same old shitshow of crumpled receipts, unwrapped restaurant cheque candies and tangled phone charge cords it always is.
So what I'm saying is: I need to be vigilant. Or I'll never get my purse clean.
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