It’s almost the end of August. And the pandemic has been going on for about six months. It’s also been six months since I was let go from my job (thanks 2020). In that time, I’ve tried a lot of new things. In fact, I’m the proud holder of many pandemic badges due to all the bandwagoning. I’ve done it all. The baking, the cooking, the sourdough-ing, the puzzle-ing, the cactus plant-ing, the bingewatching of truly terrible movies and shows. BTW Jurassic Park III really is terrible. Like the kind of terrible that makes you laugh out loud.
Ever since lockdown started, at least once a day, I would get this little flame inside me that filled me up with energy. It urged me to bake an apple pie or clean out my closet or reorganize the entire apartment or do an at-home full body workout class or make enough fried rice for a small dinner party (an event that obviously wasn’t going to happen). And I’d set upon the task with gusto.
Looking back though, it seems like those activities weren’t really coming from a place of inspiration. Horrifyingly, it seems like it was the stress from doing those activities that I was after.
Clue #1: I would dedicate an obscene amount of hours to making sure every single thing was done just right. Clue #2: I’d make up arbitrary deadlines and create unnecessary expectations. This was especially true when it came to ridiculously complicated recipes. Example: I was compelled to make a salad that had seven different kinds of greens, all of which had to be washed three times and chilled, and accompanied by a homemade dressing that took 45 minutes to make. Clue #3: I had to make this salad faster than the time indicated. Just because. I. HAD. TO.
And finally. The biggest clue of all: Whenever I wasn’t overwhelming myself with a giant list of great expectations, my heart would beat a little bit faster, my legs got restless syndrome, and my brain immediately craved coffee. But why? Why did I create such a hostile environment for myself? Was it because I was so used to being busy, I experienced withdrawal?
On my hunt to find people who were going through the same thing, I stumbled upon a post about how difficult it was to find a job these days—essentially complaining that they wouldn’t have anything to show for once this was over. To which an anonymous commenter replied (and I’m paraphrasing here because I did not take a screenshot), “While everyone else is working from home trying to pretend like everything’s okay, logging in business as usual, slowly burning out day by day, you get to spend more time with yourself—a chance to know the real you. You get to discover what you’re actually into. You can focus on goals you actually want to achieve. So, do the things you’ve always wanted to do even if it’s in vain because spending time on you is invaluable. Enjoy the opportunity.”
Alright, I get it, I was chasing the wrong feeling. I remembered constantly being inundated with busyness before all this happened—before I lost my job (again, thanks 2020). And I tried to recreate the normal I once had. But somehow I confused being busy with having intention. Trying to make the salad 20% faster was missing the point. Creating unrealistic deadlines wouldn’t give me back my old routine, my previous goals, or the sense of accomplishment I got from seeing things through at work. Which is annoying, but I digress.
So, here’s to do-overs. Here’s to doing all the pandemic activities again, and actually enjoying the process. The baking, the cooking, the sourdough-ing, the puzzle-ing, the cactus plant-ing, the bingewatching of truly terrible movies and shows; I'll relive it all. I'm going to spend time on my own but this time, with a greater sense of purpose.
