Slight update to the below post: Wrote this last night to post today and somehow woke up feeling slightly less unhinged after a good yoga sesh. Exercise is the key to keeping me sane- two days without it and I fell apart...anyhoo- read on.
Good morning, Friday. TGIF. Looking forward to the weekend.
As an early adapter but also late bloomer, the sad and hopeless part of this rollercoaster ride called quarantine came for me this week. The early adapter in me had me loving working from home, working out once if not twice a day, indulging in self care, and taking care of business and myself. I really thought I had the shelter in place thing on lock, and I was feeling great.
Then I went on vacation for a week which was just glorious.
I swam, I sunned, I ate ice cream on a regular basis. We rented a lovely house at the shore and explored local towns while socially distancing. I continued my workouts and felt great, almost like normal life. But the second we got home, I felt different. Gutted. Anxious. Hopeless.
I know so many have been feeling that for months but this was the first time I was in a true hole. I worked from under the duvet most days this week, and my workouts were sucky and even skipped two days. I had a glimmer of joy Wednesday night when I had dinner with friends in a beautiful yard in Brooklyn, with way too much wine and loads of laughs and support for the city we love. i was happy. Way too drunk, but happy. It felt so good to be with friends and hang at a perfect New York dinner party. And there were rocket pops. I love a rocket pop.
But the next day, hangover in tow, I felt crappy again. I'm having a hard time being productive or focusing or really doing anything at all. I'm craving eggplant parm. And ice cream. The news of an economic apocalypse is too much to take, and I found myself tearful watching Obama at the John Lewis funeral, because I miss having a president with class, dignity, grace, and intelligence. My only consolation this week was my refusal to post a black and white picture of myself, because I didn't feel that searching for a selfie that made me feel good about myself was the best way to support other women. Turns out I was right.
Lest you think I'm whining, I may be. And I know beyond know how fortunate I am to be healthy and working and generally keeping it together. Maybe this era of uncertainty is getting to this freshly minted 50 year old in a big way, and it's a tough time to be an optimist. The other night I went for a manicure in the evening and then picked up dinner on the way home and it made me feel normal for two seconds. I'm missing some version of that. I'm not missing the chaos of modern life, but right now I'd take that chaos over this version any day. I also feel that as a creative person living in a city as inspiring as New York, not being able to take part in culture as we knew it is lethal. I miss walking the streets and popping in shops and spontaneously visiting a museum or meeting a pal for dinner. It's not that you can't do that stuff, but it doesn't feel the same with a mask and a pocket full of hand sani.
So does one eat the parm and allow some wallowing for a few days so one can just get back on the train? I don't know what the answer is but just wanted to share that Pollyana had a week. The question is- do I order fries with the eggplant parm? Inquiring minds.
Cause that's what's up this hoping for a better week next week kind of Friday in the heart of BK. Yours, in thrills, chills, ups, downs, and everything in between. Rest easy, friends. And eat the damn parm. XO