Have you seen this off and on for the last six weeks?
New Year, New You!
I believe that was my battle cry one year ago. I was going to eat healthier, reduce stress, improve my sleep quality, and go to the gym. I had great motivation one year ago. I had actually been able to lose a few pounds, bought a used treadmill from an estate sale in my hood, was sleeping better, and making strides in acknowledging the stress-producing triggers in my life. And then the big ole shoe dropped: Covid19. And it dropped right on my motivation. How rude! We found ourselves in a pandemic requiring isolation and quarantining for safety.
Suddenly all those areas of improvement began to languish.
My healthier food became more difficult as I began to have my groceries delivered. My seeming inability to get organized with meals and grocery lists resulted in limp lettuce, moldy cucumbers, and unrecognizable liquid veggies appearing in my over-crowded fridge. Planned meals invariably had one key item missing and my husband, who overnight turned into a self-made Covid Policeman (CP), would not allow me to take a quick trip to pick up the missing item.
My big plans to use the treadmill and go to the gym evaporated like the cream on top of a Starbucks mocha frappuccino. The gym was beyond the list of acceptable ventures out of the house by Bob (the CP). The treadmill is still sitting like a quiet sentinel whose buttons and keys appeared to be giving off a look of scorn, which resulted in us using it like a gentleman's valet stand for tee shirts and other items of discarded clothing. However, there is never anything so difficult to remove it might prevent one from walking on it.
Sleep has always been my super power. In the previous normal I could drop to sleep like an anesthetized grizzly bear. In the new normal I find myself feeling fretful in bed. Visions of my sorely missed grandchildren often prevented me from drifting off to sleep. (Where is a veterinary dart when you need one?) In addition to trouble falling asleep, I found myself sleeping lightly and with dreaded anticipation of CP sneaking up to my side of the bed and trying to quietly put his digital thermometer to my forehead in an attempt to monitor my temperature. Beep. This behavior is just the dark-thirty of his daily vigilance when I sneeze or clear my throat, prompting a full court press on my forehead. Beep. Beep. Beep.
Providing you with a full discourse on stressors in daily life would be like a parrot teaching YOU to talk. My daughter contracted the virus and was out of commission for a month. Even though she is 40 years old, I had that same panic that I had when she had health trials as a child. That mommy gene. I'm sure that gene is what propelled those witches in Macbeth: "For a charm of powerful trouble, Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and caldron bubble." Right? They sound like mothers on a mission.
Today, February 11, I am going to take that "New Year, New You" to heart. I realize that it has been 42 days since New Year's Day, but the sun is shining bright, there is a slight breeze, and the afternoon high will be 80-degrees (with apologies to those of you in the polar vortex, which actually sounds like something I may have failed in Algebra 2). I going to put on my shades and walking shoes and get some movement (which sounds infinitely more fun than exercise).
I salute you all . . . new year, new you!