My joy ground to an excruciating halt sometime in August. I noticed that I was barely cooking (something I mostly love to do), barely drawing (a newish passion), and resisting moving (dragging myself to walking dates with two friends, and complaining loudly about my yoga classes). I would plunk myself on the couch in my living room after breakfast and read the New York Times until 9 or so, then wander listlessly around the house in my 20 year old blue seersucker robe until finally I would manage to pull the first pair of pants out of my closet that my fingers touched, without looking to see what color or style they were, and the first T-shirt out of my bureau, again without looking. I have not worn make-up in a month; masking is my excuse, although there are many more days that I return to that living room couch than days I go outside to exercise or do much of anything.
Funnily (is that a real word?), I’ve read at least four articles this week by others who are feeling the same way — not exactly sad and not exactly depressed — but not anywhere near happy in this extended no-future time. One psychologist labels this time one of ambiguous loss. We’ve lost lots of things but can’t put our finger on which ones are dragging us down. Life is different now, but saying “It is what it is,” doesn’t really move the needle in any positive direction. The symptoms, to the degree that I can generalize, seem to be an all encompassing listlessness, a complete or near complete lack of motivation to do much of anything, even things we have to do to meet professional deadlines, and a feeling of emptiness, if there is any identifiable feeling at all.
My friend Diana called me to say that she hadn’t called because the phone was too heavy, or she was too heavy, she couldn’t tell which. I’ve missed calls I promised to make, and been out of touch when I promised to be in touch. I had a birthday last week and one friend offered to host a Zoom party. I said I really didn’t feel much like celebrating. My middle daughter arranged a family Zoom celebration, and I cried when she told me about it as I was afraid I couldn’t manufacture any enthusiasm, much less gratitude. (I did, but it was minimal.)
I’m not usually like this. In fact, I’m almost always the glass half-full partner in a marriage to a glass half-empty guy. He’s doing a lot better than I am. I’ve tried to analyze this and I think I have a partial answer, although it doesn’t help me much. He is an introvert, happy to make puzzles on his computer, or watch comedy on You Tube literally all day long for almost six months. He’s not a bit bothered by the relative lack of real human interaction. I NEED real human interaction.
Knowing why he’s OK doesn’t really help me be OK. I need some advice as to how to jettison myself off of the couch and into some new pattern that is even a little better than what the last month has been like. Here’s what I’ve found:
Experiment with doing ANY POSITIVE “next best thing.” So, I bought myself a smaller sketchbook when the bigger one felt daunting. I can sketch a hand, or a finger if the whole body seems too much to manage. I can take two easy yoga classes instead of the hard one that makes me feel clumsy and incompetent.
I can join Living Room Conversations, www.livingroomconversations.org, an online platform through which volunteer organizers match up small groups of people to discuss timely topics. I’m already in four Zoom groups for writing and exercise, but I still find myself without enough of the human interaction an extrovert craves. Once upon a time, these conversations were in actual living rooms, but now, like everything else, they are virtual. This may have to do.
There are hundreds, maybe thousands of MeetUp groups, www.meetup.com, at least 50 in my own community, designed to help folks connect around things they like to do — bike, hike, or you name it. While the forum is online, the meetings are in real time. One woman in an art class I started this week (I’m doing a little every day to pull myself out of this snit), noted that there are meetup figure drawing classes. I’m not quite there yet, but it’s nice to know they exist when I feel competent to draw the human form.
Last week, a New York Times reader wrote to the newish section At Home (a section specifically designed to address the needs of the thousands who are at home most days all day with dogs, kids, and/or grandkids), asking how to create structure for her days. The advice columnist suggested starting small, rather than making an eight hour schedule. A working motto might be “Expect LESS of yourself.” One example might be to start the day with a shower and coffee or tea. That takes care of the first hour after waking. A variation on that theme might be to walk or bike to the nearest coffee shop and get our favorite latte before the rest of our household wakes. I see the walking coffee getters most days when I drive to the supermarket in the morning. While waiting for our coffee, we get human interaction which may help us to feel less lonely during the rest of the day. Changing the light bulbs and fire alarm batteries in our home is another small but productive activity.
And for those of us who are serious about finding joy again, here’s a helpful chart from the same friend, asking herself to look for moments of happiness and record them (so that we savor and repeat)!
