I think I wrote about this a few days ago, but - seeing as I am literally walking around in circles from my living room to my kitchen and back again these days - it seems to make sense that I am circling back to some common themes in my writing, too. Lately, time has ceased to be a reason - or an excuse - for not doing things. I think many of us can say that we have “nothing but time” right now. This is honestly a bit (a lot) unsettling to me. I hate being rushed, but having no sense of a deadline - for anything - gives me that black-hole-in-my-soul feeling that is usually only triggered when I look at really big ships (not sure why, but big - like REALLY big- ships scare me). I used to speed-walk with my dogs - not to get my heart rate up, but rather because I needed to get home to get dinner on the table, do the kitchen clean up, help with homework, do my own marking, make lunches for the next day, drive a kid to a practice or myself to a basketball game, and get into bed by ten in order to get up by 6 for work. Now that the world is on pause, I stroll - meander, even - down the quiet city streets, and I notice who has done their raking (almost everyone…I gotta get my raking done…I am failing at Pandemic Raking…), who has washed their cars (lots of people…my car is disgusting…and how will I get my summer tires on?), and who sits on their front porches to talk to their neighbours, who are also sitting on their front porches (mental note - get to know my neighbours better when this is all over). I am slowly, slowly starting to slow down. Having “all the time in the world” is such an unusual feeling. More than unusual, actually. More like deeply uncomfortable. Every time I let go even a little bit, my psyche revolts and lists off the myriad things I should be doing - like raking, washing the car, painting my garage, deep-cleaning my kitchen…I could go on and on. I really could. I don’t think my list would ever end, and it’s not because I have more jobs to do than anyone else. It’s because having a “to do” list brings me a sense of order, control…and comfort. Without a time-sensitive to-do list, I panic. If I don’t DO my to-dos…if I just stop and do NOTHING…what will happen? Well, my house will look like a house on the Hoarders. There will be boxes everywhere, dog shit on all the carpets, dirty dishes piled in the sink, rotten food in the fridge, and the toilets will all be clogged. Like, immediately. And I will get lazy and fat and addicted to crack. Maybe not immediately, but within 24 hours, max. This pandemic is challenging this whole fear-based scenario I’ve got going on here. Because some days - like today - I actually don’t WANT to do anything - and (gasp) - I allow myself to do nothing. I give myself permission to go back to bed or sit on the couch in front of the t.v. and do absolutely nothing my dad (King of the To-Do list) would consider productive. Some days, I sleep in until 9 or 10 and…well, actually, I do still feel guilty about it. Sleep-in guilt might be too deeply ingrained for even a pandemic to shake loose (“you’re WASTING your WHOLE day!!”) But sometimes - for brief moments of time - I don’t feel guilty about doing nothing. I get these feeling-glimpses of what I can only assume is peace. And it’s these feeling-glimpses that I hope expand during this time. Because, on the opposite side of shedding the “do nothing” guilt is the feeling of “I WANT to do THIS” when it comes to actually getting out of bed or off the couch in order to participate in life. What I mean is this - when I let myself do nothing for as long as I want to do nothing, I naturally come around to wanting do so something, and then - when I do it - I enjoy it. It’s not a chore, but a joy. For example, I let myself go back to bed today because I was feeling “heavy” after reading through my Twitter updates. I lay there and felt sad and overwhelmed for about an hour. Normally, I wouldn’t let myself do this, but would instead force myself to “stay busy” (or life would force me to go to work or get groceries or drop a kids off at work). But today I let myself wallow, and - after an hour - I wanted to get up. And I wanted to go for a run. I WANTED to go for a run. I wasn’t forcing myself to do it because it’s good for me, or because I needed to get my mind off of sad things - but because I WANTED to run. I know that I like running, deep down. I like the physicality of projecting my body forward, and I feel better about myself and life in general after a good run. But that doesn’t stop me from internally moaning and groaning about it when the time comes to go for a run. However, today - after my down-time - I wanted to go running right from the start, with no internal protesting. I am realizing that life B.P. (before pandemic) lacked the downtime that makes the up-time enjoyable. “Doing nothing” is not a lazy indulgence; I will not become an obese crack-addicted hoarder when I give myself down time. In fact, “doing nothing” is crucial for renewal, positive productivity, and creativity. It is only by taking the time to do nothing that the desire to truly do something can emerge organically - otherwise, I am just going from thing to thing to thing, without every truly taking the time to pause and listen to what I WANT to do. And, if this pandemic is bringing anything good (and I KNOW it’s bringing lots of bad - I am not trying to put a silver crust on a shitmeat sandwich), it is bringing me the gift of the PAUSE. I am learning to pause, to listen, to savour the down-time so I can truly enjoy the up-time. I hope this learning is permanent and endures even p.p. (post-pandemic).
