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Quarantine Day 31

April 16. A Thursday.

I’ve been challenging myself to notice things on my runs. Little details, whether I step across chalk art or dart past professionally painted murals. Quotes. Signs. Sweet decorations. Sketches underfoot. I’ve been making a point to pause for them. Or, at least, to come back for them. 

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Quarantine Day 29

April 14. A Tuesday.

“There are years that ask questions and years that answer.” - Zora Neale Hurston

This year seems to be doing both.

What truly matters?

Love. Health. Human connection.

What are you really afraid of?

Dying when I thought I was strong. Unwittingly killing someone else through sickness. Losing all sources of income.

What makes you feel like yourself?

Getting out of the house. Long runs and slow yoga practices. Moments that make me laugh. Opening my eyes to bright sunlight after meditation. Spending time with people I love to spend time with.

Can you be alone with your thoughts?

That still needs work.

How will you help others?

By giving generously when I feel able.

What’s your purpose?

___answer tbd____

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Quarantine Day 28

April 13. A Monday.

“You’ve got it.” 

Ah, to hear those words this morning when I finally gave in to the online yoga class phenomenon. They made me feel awake. 

I’ve been resisting taking online classes during this first month of staying home, since everything else in life right now – work, friend hangouts, family chats, news scrolling – involves video calls or phone calls or internet connections. I wanted to try keeping my yoga practice offline. To work on “moving inward.” 

But I hit a wall with that. My practice has been feeling sluggish and stagnant and distracted. I’ve had trouble getting out of my head and into my flow. I haven’t really felt like “me” a lot of these days. 

I’ve also been hesitant to spend money on classes, at a time when furloughs and layoffs are skyrocketing.

But I decided to pop into a friend’s free, 8 a.m. Zoom class at the last minute. I kept my camera off so I could focus on my flow. Letting someone else’s voice guide the movement, letting someone else’s playlist set the pace, letting someone else’s energy lead me forward – it’s exactly what I needed.

And to hear someone else say those words: “You’ve got it.”

Yes, we’re in an era where we’re digitally over-connected. But it’s ok to lean into internet connections and video calls and phone calls for motivation and connectedness right now. That’s sort of all we have, and it’s our job to make the most of it. For others, and for our own sake. Give yourself a place to show up to, to add a sense of normalcy, even if it’s just popping up as a name in a Zoom call. It all counts.

You’ve got it.

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Quarantine Day 27

April 12. A Sunday.

I’m struggling to find purpose today. It’s one of those meh days, where even though I sleep about 10 hours, I feel tired, heavy. Where even though I ran 11 miles yesterday, the concept of moving on my yoga mat today seemed daunting (I did eventually practice).

I notice these meh days more intensely when I’m not actively showing up anywhere – yoga, work, a coffee date. There’s good in it, though: I’m starting to deeply understand that this will pass. What I feel today, I likely won’t feel tomorrow. Especially if I honor what I feel today. Balancing the tiredness with a healthy brunch, a walk through nature, a slower yoga practice, a long, hot shower, ample time spent reading on the couch, solitude with my writing. There’s an ebb and flow to it all.

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Quarantine Day 22

April 6. A Monday.

Sparks fly off the red charcoal grill and flecks of ash land in Rémy’s hair. It’s getting long, that hair. It reminds me of him when he was younger. He mixes me a drink, just like he’s been doing every year of all these years. Tonight, it’s a margarita. I’ve been craving fajitas, and the lime and the party straw and the homemade tortillas put me in an almost-festive mood. I sit outside after a wave of sunshowers and watch the smoke rise.

This morning, I logged onto my work computer and felt a surge of gratitude. To be able to keep doing what I do. To be able to keep getting paid to do what I do. Such small things. Such big things right now.

This afternoon, I had a long, slow home practice. I wonder: Am I getting to know myself better now?

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Quarantine Day 21

April 5. A Sunday.

I wake up early, watch the sky get light through the window while I drink my coffee and read “The Year of Magical Thinking” (I think this is my third time reading it.). At 7:30 a.m., I tie my running shoes, text my friend so we can sync our watches, and start loping down Shamrock Drive. I’ve never run all the way down before.

I’ve actually been avoiding running down Shamrock and into Plaza Midwood. It’s a busy road that feels exposed to four lanes of traffic and a stretch of neighborhood I wouldn’t walk at night. But in the light, it’s lovely. A soaring adventure. For miles, it slopes sweetly downhill, flanked by flowering trees. I loop through the neighborhoods, pass other joggers, walkers. The forward motion feels freeing.

Eleven miles later, I’m almost home again. My friend finishes her stretch of road 20 miles away and calls to catch up while we walk our tired legs home.

I’m grateful for these little connections. Long, post-run conversations. I’m grateful for what our bodies can still do. Just because we’re stuck at home doesn’t mean we can’t grow stronger.

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Quarantine Day 19

April 3. A Friday.

I paint my nails bright blue just so I can feel a little more put together. Put on red lipstick, a white tee and an actual bra. Tuck it all into my sweatpants.

The morning starts in abundance. I get back from my run and my new running shoes are in a box by the door, just delivered. I pull them out, slip them on. The arches are so cushy. Ten minutes later, the third installation of the wine subscription my brother bought us as a wedding present arrives in the arms of a delivery person. She gets a little too close when Rémy signs, in my social distancing opinion. Soon after, he leaves and brings back armloads of groceries – that sweet, fresh produce and those frozen blueberries (finally!). So much has been out of stock, to the point that I’m wiping with tissues (and throwing them in the trash) just to be conservative with the TP stash.

It’s funny what people start to fixate on. A hyphen that seems out of place (it’s correct, please leave it). The absence or abundance of masks worn by others at the store. Trash in the lawn, cut up by the mower. The color of paint for chairs. What the neighbors are doing with that U-Haul. That the neighbors have their caged hamster out on the lawn. (Guinea pig? Gerbil?) The distance between people. The number of miles run. Or walked. The alcohol consumption of a spouse. A burnt-out bulb in a string of lights. Whether a vine has latched onto the fence, started crawling.

Does any of it matter?

Maybe it would be better to relax. Let it all be. Unfold.

It will anyway.

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Quarantine Day 17

April 1. A Wednesday.

“This loaf is even sexier than the last!” Rémy sets the fire alarm off with the heat of the bread. I spasm, throwing wet salad onto the floor that I'm washing for lunch.

“We’ve got curry in this pot for days!” I uncork a chilled white wine my brother gave me; I’m out of non-expensive, non-dusty bottles of red.

“Rémy’s out there, being a man. He’s so cute.” Rémy pushes the lawn mower past the bay window. Revs up the weed whacker.

"I love you so much.” Rémy kisses me in the kitchen.

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Quarantine Day 13

March 28. A Saturday.

There’s a feeling of perpetual Mondays. Something’s dragging. There are so many days to go until relief comes. Not that weekends feel the same anymore.

I text my friend a day-late “happy birthday.” I say I’m sorry for not knowing what day it is. In general.

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Quarantine Day 12

March 27. A Friday.

I have a quick, morning cry over my coffee. (The quarantine grief.) It’s my father-in-law’s 75th birthday and I just finished listening to him and Rémy debating over the phone whether or not it’s a good idea for us to drop off BBQ and wine at his place, and maybe even hang out on the patio.

It doesn’t feel like a good idea. There’s just so much unknown right now. We want to keep him healthy and safe. But a birthday alone?

I feel wide awake. I’ve been going to bed earlier this week, sleeping longer. And it’s been magical for my mood, combined with daily, intuitive yoga practices (both short and long) and long runs.

My friend gave me her old pink Garmin running watch in exchange for a bottle of red wine. (Quarantine bartering.) I adore it. It emits a bright, enthusiastic beep when I hit another mile and it tells me my pace. I love how no one can reach me on it. I just want those numbers, that beep. It feels simple, the way it keeps track of my distance for me. So I can set out in any direction with no plan, no predetermined route, and just run.

On shorter runs, another friend and I have started calling each other on our Bluetooth headphones, carrying our phones in one hand and letting our Garmins and our legs do the work. The audio is wind-battered and a little broken, but our words get through. We catch up as the miles unwind, until we hit our goal for the day. Then we walk each other home, talking.

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Quarantine Day 10

March 25. A Wednesday.

“What’s worse: your fear of the virus or your fear of the future?”

I’m afraid for the future. I’m afraid for our jobs, for our friends’ jobs. For everyone else’s jobs. But also for our family’s health.

“This is all foreign to us.”

I start to hear myself parroting what my therapist said to me through the phone. I admit I’m having so much trouble adjusting to my new normal.

“Maybe you don’t need to adjust to it. Maybe you need to learn how to tolerate it.”

We just had our first phone appointment last night, after years of monthly sessions in her office. I’m so used to sinking into her couch, clutching a notebook and a pen like I can catch all the answers (neatly, there) on the lines.

“Trust your instincts about what you need.”

Instead, I moved room to room, scribbling notes on the chair, then the daybed, then standing, trying to get out of earshot of my barking dog.

“You are in control of your own feelings.”

Ha! On my end, I tried to figure out what I’m feeling. Discomfort, sadness, some sloth. On her end, I kept hearing rustling papers.

“Give yourself more freedom.”

I always feel like I’m interviewing her for answers. She offers such great prompts, such nice little sparkles of sapience. But we need to dig up the answers for ourselves, don’t we?

“Trust that what is going to happen is going to happen.”

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Quarantine Day 9

March 24. A Tuesday.

None of my coworkers seem to know what day of the week of it. Neither do I. It doesn’t really matter anymore, does it? Every day holds the same uncertainty (How will this pandemic affect our clients today? And how will that affect our work capabilities?). And none of us has anywhere to be 9-5, except for the odd appointment and various childcare/dogcare needs.

I share an article from the Harvard Business Review that everyone already seems to be reading: That Discomfort You’re Feeling is Grief.  

“We’re feeling a number of different griefs. We feel the world has changed, and it has. We know this is temporary, but it doesn’t feel that way, and we realize things will be different. Just as going to the airport is forever different from how it was before 9/11, things will change and this is the point at which they changed. The loss of normalcy; the fear of economic toll; the loss of connection. This is hitting us and we’re grieving. Collectively. We are not used to this kind of collective grief in the air.”

The loss of normalcy.

No plans beyond the morning workout or the frequent call. The lingering deadline.

Often, it feels like listlessness.

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Earthing

I don’t fully understand it yet, but I’m trying it out: earthing. I stumbled across the term when studying a bit of Ayurveda, a whole-body healing system focused on mind, body and spirit. In theory, my surges of anxiety indicate that my Vata dosha (mind-body type) is imbalanced. And a recommendation for pacifying that imbalance is: earthing.

I’ve only done it once a day for at least two minutes since this week began, but I’m intrigued. Earthing is the practice of standing or walking directly on the earth, barefoot, to help you feel more grounded. How: because your body is directly connecting with the earth as well as with its magnetic field. Studies have shown that earthing “helps regulate our body’s nervous systems; helping to reduce inflammation and stress, increase antioxidants, and improving sleep.

For the Vatas, that tendency toward racing thoughts and a feeling of being ungrounded can be soothed.

For the fiery Pittas (my other dominant mind-body type; most people have two), earthing can bring on more clarity, pushing aside irritability. (You can find your dosha here.)

So far, I’ve kicked my socks off before work. Once after a morning run and once between rainstorms. I’ve stepped outside, listening to soothing music, and pressed my bare feet into the soft pine straw and leaves that blanket the edge of our backyard. I’ve stood there, breathed, looked up, closed my eyes. Blinked. Breathed more.

And I’ve relaxed in those moments. Found ease. I just have yet to carry that fully throughout my work days. I suppose that’s the practice.

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Delight

“An important part of delight is that it’s an invitation. By loving something, we allow other people an opportunity to love it, too. Sharing. Tapping someone on the shoulder to say, ‘Hey, look.’”

I had to rewind to this excerpt a couple of times when I was out this morning. It’s from “This American Life” episode 692: “The Show of Delights.”

Isn’t it beautiful?

I’ve been listening to podcasts a lot lately while I jog my newfound four-mile loop in my neighborhood. And this is what I heard this morning, halfway through. 

Delight. There are so many moments and details we could point out to the people around us. Hey, do you notice how delicious that saucepan you’re stirring in the kitchen smells right now? Hey, do you have any idea how lovely you look, right here? Hey, a stranger said these words to me, and I want you to hear them, too. Hey, I just had this thought, and it surprised me. Hey, turn up that song a sec; did you catch those lyrics? Hey, can you see that it’s snowing?

So many details, so many moments, so many little delights. Point them out. Share them. Let them be felt.

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Little pleasures

I ended up with a lot of meals out on my calendar this week.

Birthday dinner at Paco’s Tacos & Tequila for a friend.

The usual Pizza-Peel-after-teaching-yoga-on-Thursday scenario with more friends. 

Deejai Thai takeout and a movie at another friend’s house when our Andrea Bocelli tickets got postponed (he had last-minute laryngitis).

Date night at the new cocktails-and-small-plates bar Kiki (I was in heaven with split pea pate, Greek reds and giant warm beans with salmon bacon and black pepper crumbs). Not to mention my dapper-looking company.

Breakfast at Eddie’s Place with some repeats (so casual, such great eggs).

As I’m typing this, I’m thinking, Holy crap. I never spend this much on restaurant food during a typical week. We tuck into a lot more meals at home. And I prefer it that way, both in terms of budget and in terms of how it makes my body feel.

But some weeks, it’s good to remind myself to just go with the flow. To let my frugal habits rest and to lean into the fun of being out in the world with the people I care about, enjoying time and meals with them. It’s the easiest time to connect -- we all have to eat.

It’s all also a good reminder that I create for myself the means for enjoyment. I work a day job to be stable, yes. But I also work to be able to enjoy life’s little pleasures (even when they add up). Reminder: I work so that I may also find joy.

Do you?

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Why you dream that you’re late for work

I kept waking up and reentering the same dream last night. Each time, I dreamed I was running late for an all-day event with a client that was a two-hour drive away. First, I overslept and knew I’d be two hours late for the early-morning start. Then something came up and I’d be there by noon. Then I realized I’d miscalculated the driving distance and I’d never actually get there that day. I kept waking up from the dream, stressed.

Pam Muller, a spiritual director interviewed for a Bustle article, offers different interpretations of what a dream like this -- running late for work -- could mean. And whether or not you believe that dreams can carry meaning, interpretations of them are interesting to consider, prompting some insight into subtle life experiences you may not be paying attention to. Life experiences that may be affecting you more than you realize.

So, why might you dream that you’re late for work?

Stress and anxiety are cited. (Got it, I’m in a continual state of practicing to reduce my anxiety levels. Thank you, yoga, meditation, therapy and mindfulness techniques.)

The possibility that you’re working through a new pressure related to life goals is also suggested. Like planning an upcoming wedding or adjusting to a new job path. (Mmm, not my deal at the moment. Both of those particular changes are behind me now.)

But I loved this third interpretation by Muller: "Another way to understand this dream symbol is that running late might be showing us that the dreamer has missed some signs, indicators or nudges in waking life, and the unconscious mind is trying to remind the person that they've already been given the green light to begin."

Oddly, I recently got a green light to start a new project with the client that was in my dream. A project I’ve been pushing for and craving, that I finally got a chance to pitch. Now I get to execute it. But here’s where I’ve been quietly bumping into doubt in my subconscious: What if I screw it up? What if my deliverable isn’t strong enough? 

For me, this running-late dream feels like a late-night reminder that I have some imposter syndrome to work through. And whether or not I believe in the meaning of dreams, this realization is real. And something I overlook. Got it.

You? What are you dreaming about? Work? Running late? Teeth falling out? Notice what it could say about you, even if you don’t really believe it. What can you learn from it?

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Bundling: Creativity + Exercise

Sometimes there’s too much going on in a single day to feel like you have time to be creative outside of work. I like to bookend each day with some form of exercise and social time, plus dog momming, and it doesn’t always leave time for much else (I don’t know how you actual parents do it all).

I was listening to one of the latest episodes of The Happiness Lab podcast by Laurie Santos, a psychology professor at Yale. It’s called “A New Hope” and discussed a term called “temptation bundling” — or allowing yourself to indulge in a personal temptation only when you’re engaging in an activity that actually benefits you.

Example: You habitually binge-watch Neflix shows. To allow yourself this pleasure but transform it from a time-suck into an activity that helps you reach other goals, you only allow yourself to binge-watch Netflix when you’re riding your stationary bike at home. So (a) you give into and enjoy your temptation, and (b) you fulfill your goal to exercise more.

I had trouble pinpointing a daily guilty pleasure that feels like a time-suck (TV-watching tends to be more of a social activity for me, and it doesn’t feel excessive), but I did notice that my increase in freelance projects outside of my day job has made me feel short on creative time. When am I supposed to brainstorm for these projects? When do I allow myself this extracurricular pleasure?

The answer: bundling creativity and exercise. I’ve done it before but hadn’t consciously made it a point to treat it as a habit. Because I feel like a crazy person when I sacrifice my exercise time on a given day, and because my dog needs a walk every day, AND because I’m really into some creative, extracurricular projects these days, I decided that, any time I need a focused creative brainstorm session, I’d combine it with walking the dog, riding the stationary bike at home or going on a fast-paced walk by myself. I just type all of my thoughts into the Notes section on my phone and email it to myself as soon as the 30-ish minutes are up. 

The beauty of it: I’m executing an act of self-care but I’m also able to focus on the concepts I need to think through. I knock out a personal need and a work task at the same time, so I feel doubly productive and fulfilled. And it’s not mindless multi-tasking. Rather, it’s a strategic pairing of two needs that don’t really distract from the other, with a productive outcome. Let’s call it exercise-creativity bundling.

What needs can you tackle when you’re on the move? Try it.