My Self-Care Regimen Is Killing Me
On the Other Hand, What a Way to Go
Seemingly overnight, I became one of those assholes — you know, the ones who get up at 5:00 a.m. to meditate, eat hand-ground muesli, and then take a quick sprint around Lake Michigan before heading into the office on their Vespa for meetings from 8 to noon, siesta from noon to 3, and the reading of seven major dailies plus Marcel Proust until 8 pm?
(I really am reading Marcel Proust these days. The muesli, I’m still trying to master.)
After I recognized in August that I’ve been doing frugality all wrong, I vowed to take better care of myself, have more fun, and prioritize joy. The first thing I did was change my commuting routine. Instead of waking at 6:30 or so and getting a ride to the train from my husband, I decided to incorporate walking into my days and save money by taking the bus.
Which is what led to my waking at an ungodly hour.
Here’s what I’m doing in the mornings now.
I wake at 5:00 a.m. so that I …
can read with my coffee in bed for an hour, and
eat a decent breakfast, then
walk to the bus to work, about a mile, then
ride two buses, read my newspaper, look out the window, eavesdrop on my fellow humans’ lives.
(I don’t know why life is more interesting on a bus than on a train. It just is.)
Most people would look at that schedule and be far from envious. I know: It is actually a little exhausting, but the joy of it is hard to capture. Suffice to say that it’s a beautiful way to start each day, though it requires some energy.
Here’s my evening.
Try to leave work at a decent hour, then
walk a few blocks to catch the bus home, and
take two buses again, while I
unspool my tensions and do the crossword, read a book, think, converse with a stranger, then
walk the nearly mile home from the bus stop, where I might
run into a neighbor I know, or a dog I love, or just smell the evening scent of a suburban street with plenty of flowers and trees, and
Arrive late to an adoring husband who cooks for me (yes, I do have a good life)
Wiped out, yeah, but alive and getting more so.
Thing is, I am a little old for this shit. I still fall asleep on the sofa by about 9 p.m. most nights, just as I did before when I was conserving my energy. This doesn’t even count how tired I am by 10 am. Some days I feel like my day is over at noon.
Thing also is, I wouldn’t trade this new routine. I’m sleeping better. I’m getting stronger. I’m more alert first thing in the morning. I feel alive again.
Wiped out, yeah, but alive and getting more so.
Now, you might point out that it’s not so much the early coffee, the walks, or the reading that are doing me in, but the work and life demands that call for me to wedge my joy in at such odd hours. You’d be right.
You might also say that the fact that I’m so tired is a red flag telling me to change my life in still other ways: eat better, try to cut back on commitments, direct even more of my energy toward the activities I love: coffee, bed, reading, writing, thinking, walking, working of the kind that replenishes and excites me.
Right again.
So what if this new routine of self-care is killing me right now? I’m sticking with it. I can’t imagine a better way to go: tired but happy.
Say, drop me a line and tell me how your plans are going. I’d love to hear your goals. Keep going — and don’t lose your nerve!
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