On getting through the day
Nobody said this would be easy
I’m in a heightened state of extreme distraction lately. And the truth is that my ability to concentrate is reserved for getting through a workday on my computer screen and not much else.
“Do you see any pepperoni on this pizza?” says my spouse Janyce, standing at the stove bent over the cast iron pan.
“What! They forgot the pepperoni again?” I say. “Do you want to go back?”
“I’m not going back now, it’s late,” she says with her head in the refrigerator looking for the bag of turkey pepperoni and swearing. I grab it from her and start arranging slices in a circular design on top of the flatbread in the pan.
“I need to take the dog out,” she says and abruptly walks out the door with the dog on his leash.
I’m watching the cheese start to glisten as I press the circles down with the back of a spoon. They don’t seem be cooking properly, looking thoroughly unappetizing and unsatisfying, reminding me of the weary work week we recently logged off from. It’s been a day of too much digital consumption and too much time in the house. For a second, I consider picking them all off again and tossing them in the trash.
It’s 7pm on a Friday night in June. It feels like summer. It’s muggy. And we’re both in bad moods. But the sun is still high in the sky, so we take the pizza outside to eat, both of us chewing silently and watching a tiny pair of finches flitting up and down on the strangled maple tree by the driveway. I had the tree guy over a few weeks earlier, pointing out to him the vines that have a firm grip around the branches, forcing it to grow down low to the ground. “In all honesty, I’m not going to get back here till end of the month, he said. We’re busier than ever.”
The other day I read an article in Medium by Dan Sheehan where he describes the rollercoaster of emotions that everyone is on right now. He says that chronic stress can lead to mood swings and we’re all feeling them, but we experience them mostly alone. My bad day is often Janyce’s good day. Not this time.
Janyce leans back in her Adirondack chair and stares up at the clouds. I’m paying close attention to the bird with a minuscule green inchworm hanging from its beak. They’re waiting for me to look away—even from this distance they seem to know I’m staring—so they can fly to their babies waiting in the cup-sized nest concealed in the bush in my garden. My flower garden has seen better days. I can’t get it together to rake the rest of the leaves, because I don’t want to disturb the snakes, or cut back the overgrowth on the bushes, because, you know, I might mistakenly topple over a bird nest. At least that’s what I tell myself.
Really though, I’m in a heightened state of extreme distraction and inertia lately. And the truth is that my ability to concentrate is reserved for getting through a workday on my computer screen and not much else.
Across the street our neighbors are having a picnic on their lawn with their kids. I can hear them talking and laughing with their guests who remain sitting in the car, socially distant in the driveway. I’ve decided that making conversation with Janyce is too much of an effort, so I stop talking.
Earlier in the week I thought that trying an online qigong class could help us both, especially since I’ve stopped sleeping well lately, too.
“You want to try this with me?” I said to Janyce. “It’s one hour and we can do it together right here in the living room.”
Wikipedia describes qigong “as a means to still the mind and enter a state of consciousness that brings serenity, clarity, and bliss.” I thought it might be a little more accessible than sitting meditation. A bit like Tai Chi, but easier. I was wrong. Turns out that standing with your arms outstretched and breathing in time to almost imperceptible movements takes a certain kind of competent focus.
“I don’t like this.” said Janyce after making an ahh sound breathing out.
“I think this is going to work” I said, after making a shh sound and then breathing in.
That night, Janyce slept like a baby, but I did not. I vowed to try it again next week at the same time.
The sun is beginning to set across the street, lighting up the sky above my neighbor’s house and the first mosquitos are coming out. I slap my exposed ankle and take the last sip from the warm bottle of beer.
“Want to go back inside now?” I say.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” she says.
It’s just one of those bad days, I think to myself, as I gather up the glasses and my phone and follow Janyce through the garage and into the kitchen. Not a big deal. Not the end of the world. Tomorrow is another day.