Again?

 I have Covid. Again.

I'm kind of hoping that third time is the charm. I'm fully vaccinated (what - five, six times now?), and because of my cancer history and age the doctor easily agreed to prescribe Paxlovid, so I'm halfway through that treatment (thank you to telehealth appointments - 25 minutes after signing up, I was talking to a nurse practitioner from the comfort of my home; the next day, a friend delivered my prescription). I last had Covid over a year ago, and given that my immune system took some huge hits with cancer treatment and I work with teenagers (150 kids a day coming in and out of my room, and some of their hygiene is... questionable), it's probably amazing I haven't had it more often, but I'm glad that the drugs appear to be working. Saturday I was pretty miserable with a headache, sore throat, stuffy nose, and general fatigue. Yesterday it was pretty much just leftover fatigue.

Today, my main symptom is cabin fever. It's mid-winter break, and I am supposed to be with my beloved friend Carolyn in California, going on little adventures and having fun together. She had planned some super fun activities, and we always have the best time together, so to say I am disappointed to be at home rather than on that trip is an understatement.

But the real "again" isn't Covid, I think. The real "again?" is my wake up call.

There are some parts of my life that are going swimmingly well. Work is actually pretty good. My friendships are lovely. I adore my West Seattle home and community. Tessa's launching as she should, and I breathe easier knowing that she's a junior in college and well on her way to finding her path.

But there are other parts where I swear I need ... what? A swift blow to the head sounds violent, but that's the first image that came to my mind. Since I don't believe in violence as a solution to anything, let's say instead, I think I'm getting a wake up call.

There are two things in my life that I am really mismanaging: my health, and my writing. And I think that this round of Covid - and I really am hoping that third time's the charm! - is my wake up call, the persistent alarm going off that screams "pay attention! get out of bed! go! go! go!" and I'm going to try my hardest to pay attention.

My commitment to writing is stronger than ever, and my commitment to caring for my body has somehow gotten lost, but these things are connected. When I move my body, I swear I can feel my braincells activating. When I don't move my body, I swear I hear them mumbling "whatever, leave me alone!" and rolling over to zone out, die, shut down, or nap. And I think that Covid is a reminder about two things this round:

1) Health is everything. On Saturday, I was just trying to get by, blowing my nose with disgusting results, counting the hours between ibuprofen doses. I could not be creative, or accomplish anything. I ate leftover takeout, I stayed in my pajamas all day, and I was pretty genuinely miserable. I was glad when it was bedtime, because I hoped sleep would block the discomfort. And... I know this all too well. I know that everything can change in an instant, and that without health everything else stops. I know it because of Covid, I know it because a dear friend had a heart attack and is now on a strict regimen designed to save her life (pills, lifestyle changes, diet), and I know it because I'm a freakin' cancer survivor. 

When I first started recovering from cancer, I took up running, watched my diet, and got into the best shape of my life. I knew how important it was to prioritize health, and I just felt - aglow. I felt energized, and alive. How did I let that go?

Covid is a reminder, again. I can take care of myself, or my body will fall apart.  There is no other option. I am reminded.

2) I think the universe is telling me to stop procrastinating and to write more. Not a half hour here or there, but to really actually get moving and write and write and write. Brainstorm, chart characters, churn out chapters, edit, edit, edit. Covid, in my case, and after the first day, is more about boredom and cabin fever than anything else. I am trapped in my comfortable home, with all the supplies to sustain me. Friends have offered grocery runs, and I am always well stocked anyway. I am forbidden from engaging in person with other humans until Wednesday at earliest (or whenever I test negative for 48 hours), so I'm alone with no demands on my time. It's mid-winter break, and I cannot travel or socialize, so.... what will I do? There are no excuses left. No stack of grading due tomorrow, no social commitments, no errands to run. There's just me, and my choices. How will I use my time?

No lie, I spent two days moping. Saturday I had a pretty good excuse - my head was pounding. Yesterday, maybe I had half an excuse... I made a big batch of soup (which is good for health, and food is a necessary item after all) and then I felt tired. I sat in front of the TV and crocheted, finishing a blanket I have been working on for two months. (Michelle Obama was right - doing this kind of thing - she knits - is so good for my mind, stilling the anxious voices, and creating something lovely in the process.)

Maybe I could have written a bit yesterday, but maybe not. Reading was fatiguing yesterday. Or is that an excuse?

But today I'm out of excuses.

I'm here with you, my little audience of readers, rambling on as a warmup, and my body is warming up as well, the treadmill beneath me set to three miles per hour, the fastest speed at which I can walk but also type. I have a notebook next to me where I jot my thoughts about plot, character, and theme sitting next to me. The document with my first draft is pulled up on another screen.

I think that Covid might have been necessary. It would have been so easy to visit Carolyn, to come home and do chores and grade a bit and visit a few local friends, and never write a word.

But without my health, I have nothing, and I can't think straight. I am reminded.

And if I don't create the time, the habit, the wordcount, this book will not write itself. I am reminded.

So, dear readers, Covid has a silver lining. Now that the worst has passed, I will take it for what it is, and do what I keep saying I should do.

My plan: 1000-2000 words per day for the rest of break, a minimum of 7000 words. And yoga, and walking on the treadmill, and if my body lets me, running on the treadmill too. It would be nice if I could do some walks outdoors, and even try to run to Lowman Beach and back, but I don't need that to happen to hit my goals. I can treadmill walk, do Yoga with Adriene videos, do a little yardwork (always good for a workout), and I can use that energy to fuel my writing.

I'll be back here - I'll let you know tomorrow how it goes, because warming up here is really helpful. And if I'm not here, feel free to call me on it.

Health.

Writing.

After my love for my daughter and my hope for the future, there is nothing more important.

So here I go!

Reset, version one million and twenty two

 This weekend I've been hitting the reset button in a small way. I was sick for most of January with some generic crud (negative Covid tests) that made me tired, crabby, unproductive, and not my best self. Worse, it was my biggest grading assignment of the year and so instead of having extra energy to grind out all of those papers, I fell behind when I needed to be be getting ahead. By the time I felt well enough to tackle all of the things I fell behind on, I had to dig myself out of a big hole full of grading, a messy house, a diet and exercise plan that had turned to junk food on the sofa, and motivation in the toilet. First, I had to do the basics - get those papers graded so that I could turn in my semester grades. Then, I got to celebrate Tessa's 21st birthday in a weekend filled with festivities.

But now I'm actually hitting reset. I'm not sick anymore, and there is no giant looming deadline - to the contrary, there is a break just a work week away. The semester grades are turned in, and now I can think about doing better instead of merely surviving. It's time to hit the reset button.

I hit the reset button a lot. Sometimes it's a giant reset button that I hit while the factory floor is blaring with emergency alarms yelling "DANGER! DANGER! STEP AWAY NOW!" like when I got divorced, or when I finally acknowledged that my family is suffering from inter-generational trauma that I had to step away from or be sucked into. Sometimes it's a medium reset - but medium resets always feel gigantic when you're in them - like when I've needed a new job, or to restructure my finances (like when my basement flooded and I needed a HELOC to fix it, or like when Tessa went to college and I needed to figure out how to make up 18 years of not saving enough with 4 years of college (which, in all honesty, is looking closer to five years).

This reset is minor by comparison. A few weeks of having some flu-like thing, the doldrums of the post-holiday letdown in rainy January, the daily grind of work in a busy season - these things are not so important that I'll remember the feelings that accompanied them a few years from now.

But I love a good reset anyway.

I listened to a podcast (whose name I have long since forgotten, but it might have been an episode of Hidden Brain?) years ago that talked about how when you have a change in your life is the best time to create new habits to create the life you most want. This can look like after graduation, after marriage, after a child, after a death in the family, after a disaster, after a health crisis, when getting a new job, when moving to a new city, etc. This intuitively makes sense to me: when the balls of my life are thrown up in the air and some fall to the ground, it's an obvious time to decide which balls to get rid of, which ones to take care of, which ones need adding.

So my January mini-crisis is a good time to hit reset again.

Whenever I get sick, I remember cancer, and how it nearly stole my life, and how it did steal several years that should have been joyful (raising a small beloved child) and turned them into high cortisol level continuous freak outs and pain over surgery and drugs and loss. When I got better, about eight years later, I vowed that I would live my life to the fullest. I vowed that I would remember how I nearly lost it all, and I would live my life fully. It was a major reset: I lost 40 pounds, got divorced, became a hiker, ran a half marathon or two, embraced my life, created a career out of what felt like thin air, parented intentionally. If I was a super human, this would be the end - learn the lesson, live the lesson, happily ever after. But I'm not. I'm absolutely, 100% human, and I'm prone to forgetfulness and mistakes, and slowly the lessons slipped away. I didn't go back to hell - I didn't remarry my ex, or restart chemo, or enter a financial no-(wo)man's-land, but I slid. I gained pounds. I complained more often about stupid stuff. Some days better, some days I was worse, but on all days I was human. Perhaps you can relate? For isn't this everyone's story?

But the gift of backsliding far enough is that it makes me hit reset.

Yesterday, I cleaned my house. I took out all the vacuum cleaner attachments and got into the corners. I pulled all the shoes and storage bins out of the bottom of my closet, and vacuumed up the (shocking amounts of) dust I found. I wiped down the fridge, cleaned the bottom of the trash bin, organized the mail. I got a pedicure and a haircut (the last ones were in...AUGUST?!), brought books in for credit at my local bookstore, gassed up the car and got a car wash. I went to the yoga studio for a class for the first time in the month (and remembered how much better an in person class is than a session of basement yoga, even if I have a good video lesson). I threw open the doors and windows of my house, and let the fresh air blow through, cleaning the air, but also whispering over my skin and waking me up. I flipped my mattress, and washed everything including the throw pillow covers and the mattress cover.

And then I sat back and thought "yes.... yes yes yes." 

This morning, it's a different kind of house cleaning. I'm on the desk treadmill, writing to you, clearing the cobwebs from my brain and warming up to work on my book. I've listed major threads of the book - themes that I am weaving together - in a fit of brainstorming and organization for said book. I am pysching myself up for some grading later on today, reminding myself not how much I hate grading but how good it feels to start the week on top of things (this is a major reset in the way I think of things, something I struggle with a great deal).

Even at three miles an hour on the treadmill - hardly strenuous - I can feel my body waking up, feel my brain tickling with the reset. It feels filled with possibility - maybe I CAN make the life I want! - but also energy creating. In the time it has taken me to write this, I feel a light sheen of sweat inside my pajamas (one benefit of an at home treadmill is that I don't need to wear workout clothes - I can work out in last night's pajamas, saving myself a bit of laundry!). Heat is building inside myself.

I've made myself a promise to finish the first draft of my book by the summer. I've made myself a promise to stay out of the grading hole (hence tonight's plan). I've made myself a promise to hit the treadmill or the yoga studio on the rainy days.

It's a little reset, and one I'm well prepared for. The book is underway, and I have pages of notes to guide me when I get stuck. My little office whiteboard (how lucky am I to have an office?!) is covered with ideas. I have a desk treadmill so that I can move my body even when going outside is unappealingly grey, cold, and wet. I have students I love, and I'm not in the grading hole yet, so I can stay caught up. And I have a week of vacation right around the corner - a few days visiting my bestie in California, and a few days to work on that book and be introverted and catch my breath (in between runs or walks to Lincoln Park, and yoga classes, and reading books).

I love a good reset, large or small. I know that I'll probably struggle some days - after work, it's SO HARD to remember to write when I'm tired and hungry and crabby; same thing with exercise. But the days are getting longer, and I'm renewed with energy, so I'm pushing that button.

What a joy it is to be healthy. What a joy it is to be freed from toxic relationships. What a joy it is to have lovely plans on the calendar! Cleaning the house wasn't as fun (it took longer than expected and it was quite a physical workout), and grading isn't as fun, but I remember again how much I like living in a clean house and how much satisfaction I feel when my grades are up to date.

This summer, I'm looking forward to saying "I wrote a book. I'm editing it now." I deserve that satisfaction, and so I'm hitting reset on how often I write. I'm thanking Ann Patchett for mentioning that she wrote her last book on a treadmill like the one I was inspired to get, so that I can take care of my body as well as my mind.

Reset!

Filled with gratitude that I don't have to do a huge reset - same job, healthy, same friends, same hopes and dreams, and projects in the works to remind me of my creative self - I hit the button lightly, but intentionally.

What are you resetting right now? How do you manage your reset? Do you have times of year that you hit reset? This one has beautifully coincided with Lunar New Year, which is not my cultural holiday, but still contains beauty that I can learn from. I love to hit reset at the semester, at my birthday, at the beginning of school, at every break, in summer, on actual New Year's, and any time life changes a bit (like recovering from being sick). Some of the resets stick better than others, it's true, but all of them count, and my life improves a little bit with every hit of the button.

I know I'll go up and down forever until I die, and these days, that doesn't scare me at all - it is the cycle of life. But I also know that as long as that reset button awaits me in my life, as long as I remember where it is, anything is possible.

Anything is possible.

Reset!