Climb aboard the log flume of life
The log flume of life
On Friday night, I opened my front door after a long day of working at my desk, to discover my key was still in the door from when I had come home the night before.
I had let myself through the gate onto my porch, dug the keys out of the black hole of my purse, navigated it into the always-hard-to-connect-with keyhole without reading glasses, opened the door and then closed and locked it behind me. All the while, my keys remained in the lock, awaiting any maniac to come by and just let himself in to murder me and then drive away in my car.
Earlier in the day, I had walked away from my desk to go upstairs to use the bathroom, and found my handheld vacuum abandoned on one of the stairs after a manic cleaning session that morning before work. Seeing the vacuum sprawled across the step, which I had left in the middle of sucking up dog hair to suddenly run off and tackle another chore, made me cringe.
“There’s that busy brain again,” I thought. But then I found the keys and was like, “Woof.”
When I had gotten home the night before, I had a bag in my hand from a quick stop at Trader Joe’s after an acupuncture appointment. Before all that, I had driven to the vet to pick up meds for my dog. Even though I moved last summer, I still drive about a half hour north to get my needs met. I still use the same vet and get my nails done by Esther at Nails Plus in my old town.
So by the time I got home, it was nearly 9 p.m. and I’m sure I was super focused on heating up something to eat for dinner and not really paying attention when I closed the front door and locked it for the night. The funny part is that I am an absolute nut about locking this place up. I’m pretty close to a busy roadway with a lot of randos walking down the sidewalk, and I get scared sometimes when I’m sitting in bed and the dog starts to freak out and act like there’s someone in our kitchen. Like, I’m not in the mood to get murdered, you know?
I was kind of disappointed though, to find such glaring evidence of my self-diagnosed ADD, since I thought I’d cured myself of that affliction a few months ago when it was at an all-time high. I kept doing things like forgetting to put coffee cups underneath the Keurig to catch the hot liquid. I’d walk back into my kitchen to find a puddle of coffee pouring off the counter and splashing onto the floor. And this didn’t just happen once. Or twice. It happened A LOT.
All summer, it felt like I was standing in the middle of a sandstorm, trying so hard to see what was right in front of me. A cloud of challenges swirled around me so quickly, I didn’t know which one to focus on at any given time. Instead, my head swung around as I tried to determine what needed my attention most. There was my move, and all the million little and big details that went along with that. My dad and stepmother were both in and out of the hospital around that time. And I had signed up to be a part of a year-long writing project to complete a full manuscript. On top of it all, I had a full-time job.
It was a great case study of what it looks like when nothing goes according to plan. I had committed to writing a book after I had a year of both sobriety and my job in Corporate America under my belt. They had been my biggest priorities the year before, but I felt like I had built a strong foundation for both and was ready to turn my attention to writing a book. I felt really confident that I had the time and energy to devote to this endeavor every morning before work and on weekends.
And then, of course, the Universe laughed.
My financial situation dictated that I do something drastic to save my butt, so after a lot of hemming and hawing, I hired someone to come take pictures of my house and put it on the market. Getting the house ready to show, marketing on social media, negotiating with buyers, finding a place to live, packing everything up, getting rid of all the furniture that would not fit, fixing up the rental I found, scrubbing it from top to bottom, and then — finally — moving in, was an ordeal. It took every ounce of strength, physically, mentally and emotionally, to pull it off.
Layer on top of that a dad and stepmother who are not in great health and live 2 hours away, and you’ve got the recipe for a cup of coffee, minus the cup. Things started falling apart at work and I knew I needed to pull it together and settle down.
As summer stretched into fall, I started meditating every morning and taking medication to help me calm my thoughts. I reported to my doctor that I was really starting to feel a lot calmer, even during the normally stressful holiday season. And then the new year began and all the usual issues popped up like a really bad game of whack-a-mole.
I know it’s bad, too, when I can’t turn my brain off at night. When I find myself actually writing things for work in my sleep.
Recently, I had a conversation with Dan, my exercise guy. We Facetime at 6:30 a.m. twice a week and solve the mysteries of life while he watches me squat. Dan has been in the fitness biz a long time and has a huge roster of clients he sees each week, so I was shocked when he shared the other day that out of all of them — all of them — I’m his only client who’s single.
“How can that actually be?” I asked him as I lay on a mat and tried to lift my leg in the air and sit up to touch my foot with both hands.
We talked about how busy everyone was with their lives and kids and work and trying to keep it all afloat.
“That’s why I give you a lot of credit, for doing all of that by yourself,” Dan said, and I felt a lightbulb go off over my head.
It never occurred to me that if I had a partner, it would relieve some of the burdens of life. I mean, maybe I’d still have a job and be writing a book, but there’d be somebody else to, like, remember to take the trash out or pay the AmEx bill. Maybe that person would have remembered to cancel the homeowners’ insurance policy when we sold our house or could put our Christmas decorations away.
And listen, even if you are sitting there reading this and thinking, “My motherfucker of a partner only makes my life worse,” I don’t want to hear it.
Because in the end, Dan’s words let me give myself some grace. His words let me be a little more gentle with myself and reminded me that I am one human being who is really doing the best that she can. For better or worse. Frankly, we all are. We don’t get up each day and think, “Today I will do a terrible job with everything I touch” and then make a cup of coffee.
And sometimes, life gets really hectic and we have a lot of things on our minds that distract us from what's right in front of us. Things flare up and then die back down, week after month after year.
Life is a lot like the log flume ride at your local Six Flags, full of little dips and reassuring straightaways and then a sudden plunge into the unknown. But unlike the amusement park ride, the log flume of life never ends. We just keep going around and around, navigating its ups and downs and bracing ourselves for those big plunges.
The good news is that we always level off again. We get to the bottom of the drop and look around and usually, once the adrenaline stops coursing through our bodies, we laugh. Then we wipe the water from our eyes so we can try to see what’s up ahead.
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SUNDAY SHARES: Read, watch, cook, buy
When I've got the Busy Brain, I don't do a lot of reading. She can't focus, y'all. But I can listen! And sometimes, I even pay attention! That's what happened when I had The Moth on the radio this week when I was tidying the kitchen and heard this man tell a story about his beloved granny that had me BAWLING at the end. Also, he's a hairdresser, which proves that anyone can craft a great story (not just "writers").
I started watching HULU's Fleishman is in Trouble, and I am liking it even more than the eponymous novel. And that's saying a lot. I've also written before about my obsession with its author (and the show's showrunner), so please go stalk her and some of the features she wrote before Fleishman.
I'm back to not cooking. I made farro the other day and got the recipe wrong and had to endure crunchy nuggets with my curry. I have, however, been drinking a lot of water and seltzer. The famous Dan is pushing the electrolytes right now, and I have to say, I don't hate this variety pack I recently bought. Apparently, this will help me absorb all that water I sip out of my giant 40 oz. Stanley cup all day.
My daughter gave me this perfume for Christmas that smells like the beach, which is apparently a knockoff of something fancy, and who cares I love it.
Ordinarily, I hate oranges. The peeling. The pith. The rind. I can't handle it. So it makes zero sense that I am OBSESSED with sumo oranges. They are SO expensive at Wegman's (like $3 each), but you can get a bag of like 4 at Trader Joe's for $5.
xoAmy
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