Life is a process.
We get some things right. We get some things wrong. We learn as we go — never getting “there,” but moving along, continuously discovering, attempting, succeeding, failing. It’s a messy and beautiful process that, until our time is up, is always in motion.
I’ve been thinking about this as some less than ideal patterns have started to emerge in my daily routine during social isolation at home.
In mid-March, I wrote about how it’s okay to not be super productive while cooped-up at home. It was the encouragement I needed at the time. I had been working hard on a few projects, but I could barely force them out. I was trying to push forward while the world was shutting down, and it simply wasn’t working, especially as home life intensified at the same time.
It seemed clear that I needed some relief — to reduce pressure, lighten my load, and go with the flow. I figured I probably wasn’t the only one, so I wrote about it.
In many ways, my shifted approach worked. I chilled out.
And I went too far.
Less productive days melded into easygoing nights. Generous pours of wine and binge-watching TV became routine. It was really enjoyable for a while. Then it got icky.
It wasn’t just the treat-filled routine (to which I started to feel somewhat addicted). My internal dialogue was part of the problem, too.
I value mindfulness. I teach yoga and meditation and write about self-care. Other people in this arena, like the authors and teachers I follow surely don’t binge Homeland and indulge like this, I thought. They have it all together. They’ve figured it out. I’m a hot mess and a fraud.
Thankfully, I realized I was thinking myself into a black hole quickly enough to only taste a few moments of despair before stepping back and seeing the situation with some remove. Here’s what I came to then:
Life is fabulously fluid and disorganized. What we need one day is not what we need another day. What feels good today may be too much tomorrow. Our best bet at balance may be to keep this in mind and learn to adjust with greater ease.
As far as I can see, that comes down to keeping perspective, staying as tuned-in as possible to recognize what is and isn’t working, and being mindful of mental traps like comparisons, self-judgments and over-attachments.
In my case, once I reflected on all this and stopped beating myself up, my habits started shifting. We began playing games at night. It’s been a nice way to feel more engaged and connected, instead of like a couch potato. I’ve also had basically no desire for wine. I’m still obsessed with Homeland, but I don’t feel icky like before.
Overall, I’d say I feel more freedom and vitality. That may very well be gone tomorrow.
And that’s part of the beauty of this wild and precious life.