Catching My Breath

It’s been over a month since I wrote anything here. So much for that “goal” to write a blog post every week. After I wrote about Christine Balsey Ford’s disappearance from Washington, I proceeded to disappear myself. I kind of folded inward to regather and then I got stuck in that position.

WARNING: I say S*&T repeatedly in this post.

Cursing is one of my forms of self care.

It is in the interest of self care, but it is also worth noting “People Who Swear May Be Happier, Healthier And More Honest,” and we are also smarter.  So, read forward to bask in my happiness, healthfulness, honesty and intelligence.

Shit was getting me down and my mind was really spiraling. The firehose of a news cycle was driving me mad. The more I yelled at my radio, the more it responded with even more insane shit. So, I shut off NPR and relished the silence.

It wasn’t just the news, I was out of town for six of eight weekends in September and October. The trips were fun stuff – motorcycle riding, concert going, hiking and leaf peeping – but I was feeling crazed. I figured I was behind on something, except I didn’t know exactly what. I was just doing things as they arrived from my calendar or at my inbox. It made me feel like I was moving along breathlessly and running up an isle in a train. While the world and the news were zooming by like scenes in a train window, I’d catch a snapshot of something interesting and try to tuck it into a ‘remember that’ slot of my head. All while the train just keeps plowing forward.

I needed to catch my breath or jump off the train or whatever metaphor I am writing about here. But, while I slowed down, I got settled into my isolation for the next five weeks. Every week, I had good intentions to write something here, but the time wasn’t right.

Sometimes, I feel like a shell of my former self. I admonish myself for needing to stop, jump off or catch my breath. I used to be invincible and impervious. If I felt breathless, I would just gulp in air and trudge forward. Progress, progress, progress! I did not fold inward and shore up myself inside. Rather than jumping of the crazy train, I would be in the engine room pushing on the accelerator.

I sure the fuck would not stop because of crazy news stories or because of feeling tired and exasperated or because that nagging pain in my neck, my back, my stomach, my head, my heart. Nope, no stopping.

Shit did not get me down.

Example, on 9-11, I was in Texas. It was my second day of my first job out of grad school. As everything in our office stopped, as my coworkers were glued to their monitors, as people gathered around the TVs in the cafeteria, I kept working. It was my second day of work, what could I have possibly had to work on? No matter, I was invincible, impervious and on the train. It wasn’t until later in the afternoon that my mind caught up with me and I realized I had friends in both NYC and Boston.

Maybe, back then, shit just piled up.

Maybe, now, I am just a shell of my former self, a former self that was filled with shit that was just piling up.

So, yeah, I spent a month dealing with the shit in my head. Catching my breath, watching the train leave the station without me and emptying my shit from the shell of my former self. Call it self care.

Then, I turned NPR back on.

Happy cooking and cheers to shoveling shit when shit needs to be shoveled!

Side note: Yes, I had a field day searching for images fitting with the theme of “shit”.