Eyes on the Prize
I told my friend Leila I wasn’t writing as much as I used to because people are dying and there’s so much suffering and mostly I like to write about things like maple syrup vs jam on french toast and how puppy Brownie barfed up an earplug and stuff like that and it seemed, well, inappropriate. Leila said, “Well maybe some people want to read about maple syrup on french toast — especially now.”
And I mean, that’s a good friend. Because the factor I forgot is I do what I do for myself first. I don’t know who wants to read about what, but I need to write about it. The writing about it and telling you about it heals my embarrassment at who I am, how I live, how I think. Here I am, being me, in front of you.
I started this blog about five years ago and I invite you to check out the archives. I’ve had notions of organizing them into categories or selecting “the best” ones for a collection. A few times people have told me to try to get published in other outlets to build my “brand”.
It’s a weird kind of time we live in where there’s not a lot of permission — at least I don’t feel a lot of permission — to just keep going, doing what I do one day at a time, for the fun of it, because I’ve noticed a correlation between doing this thing and feeling better.
Like it needs to be leading to something edifying or productive or remunerative or healthy for it to count. Or needs to directly benefit others. What if the only benefit of an activity is me feeling better, enjoying life more? Is that enough reason to do it?
Well, I’m planting my flag on the hill of doing stuff just because it feels good, and allowing that to be enough — the whole point — and a completely legitimate point at that. Not to better myself or better anyone else or for any other reason than it’s fun.
I’ve escaped so many hamster wheels, jumped free, and yet during this time of crisis, of homebound-ness, some old habits of thinking have flared up.
I don’t do enough. I don’t have enough. I am not enough. I’m not on track for the right kind of prizes.
And then, sanity returns: Ok, I’ve seen those thoughts before and wrestled them down. Now I know I can just whisk them away, easy breezy magic wand waving style, like white lint on a black cashmere sweater — obviously this thought doesn’t belong here. But I have to notice the lint thought and risk behaving differently from what it would dictate.
How about this thought: I’m alive! My family is alive! We’ve each gone through our stuff during this intense time and gotten through it. I want to enjoy my life, feel good — that’s the prize I’m after. And today I remember my #1 job is to take care of myself — not the grudging, minimal way I’ve been doing it the past few months while trying to be just a little bit better or different from how I actually am, but all the way. Do the stuff that feeds my mind, body, soul. All of it. The stuff I know helps me feel the way I like to feel. The others will benefit, or not. I’m gonna keep going.
Happy New Year
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