You can either wallow or you can go jump in the lake.
Maybe it is just human nature to wallow.
"I don’t want to get out of bed. It must be happy hour by now. I can’t spend another weekend watching tv. Man, I sure could use some time away from my coworkers. I can’t believe they want me to work from home. I don’t know what to do. Instagram is so boring. Tiger King is just okay. All American is not worth watching. Ugh, last night was kind of a late one, maybe had a few too many. Woke up 5 minutes before I logged into work. We’re doing this for a whole another month!?" Said various despairing souls.
It’s not my nature to wallow. I’m afraid of it. I loathe seeing it in my personality or in my actions. I am afraid of seeing it in myself. So whenever I see somebody else wallowing in pity and inaction, I feel the contempt bubbling up in me and I rebel against the pull, the invitation, to be idle. Anyone that wants to wallow, anyone that is okay whiling the hours away, anyone that is more capable than myself at just being content, good for you. Occasionally I am envious of you. But, for now, I can’t be you. It’s my problem, my compulsion. I won’t wallow. I have to go jump in the lake.
It’s not a metaphor. On Sunday I jumped in the damn freezing cold lake before sunrise. And went on to crush the day. I journaled. I took a few focused hours for Pulse LLC finance work. Peloton strength workout. Elk roast into the slow cooker. Hike in the Kettle Moraine with a weighted pack. Set up a seed tray and grow light and started chard and pac choy for the 2020 farm garden. Zoomed with friends. Jammed out to Italian dinner music while rolling homemade linguine pasta. Baked banana bread. Stood outside in the wet and warm spring air. Fed the birds. Read aloud from a book. Perused pictures in a magazine. Sought out, picked and ate baby dandelion leaves. Kissed a lovely girl. Drank from a box of wine. Guzzled a couple quarts of water. Slept like a baby.
Jumping in the lake is not for everyone, metaphorically or physically. It sure is for me though.
You can’t go to work. The bar is closed. You only see your friends virtually. The party/show/wedding/conference/whatever is cancelled. Wah. You either work in healthcare or something else that matters and find yourself 100% occupied, or you don’t, and now that commuting, shopping, concerts, bars, and friends dinner are all in prohibition you have found yourself with a remarkable amount of discretionary time. You might not even have work. Two choices. You can wallow. Or you can jump in the lake.
This is an unusual time. We will look back and remember this period. Open your eyes and take it in. Feel some compassion for those afflicted by biological and economic woes. Donate some money. Do your part. Then steal yourself away from the glowing rectangles. You are likely living in a kingdom of abundance. An estate of opportunity. You should take advantage of today.
Spring is in the air. The land is coming to life. Daffodils and hostas are emerging and the robins and loons have returned. The air no longer stings your face. The grass is asking to be run across, the pavement to be ridden on. Parks and trails are calling to you. The owls hoot and frogs chirp against the eternal backdrop of a starry night sky. Your mom/sister/girlfriend/old buddy/cousin/farmer/college roommate wants to facetime/skype/zoom with you. You get to spend more time with your miraculous kids. Little humans! The ideas, stories and experiences of 1,000 years of humans are available to you in any book you would like. The world’s library of music available to you. Turn it up to 10, sing and dance along. And, yeah, at the end of the day, there is a liquor cabinet of fine spirits and a refrigerator of suds for your merriment or complacent lounging. How fortunate we are.
Let me know what you’re up to.