how to flee an emotional hole
i notice a pattern with me and this blog: the last time i returned here {circa 2022}, after a two-year hiatus where all i had to show for myself was 10 unwelcome pounds and my winning recipe for dorito pie casserole*, i couldn’t contain the middle-aged joy i felt returning to this space. laden with links for peptide serums, goodreads recommendations, and playlists procured for your next bunco party i was determined to de-influence the quiet luxury space with my own clamorous frugality.
and then russia invaded ukraine.
any motivation to write vanished like ukrainian human rights. watching a flaccid despot tear a country to shreds rendered me mute; it felt gross to put out anything other than a giant middle finger to all of the morons in charge.
my most recent gni return roused the same gratitude and energy to re-engage. drafts are already stacking up: promo-codes waiting to be shared, i want to hear your thoughts on fitness classes these days: do we need the pilates police?, and a poll for your favorite “mom has cancer” movie. but, like clockwork, another wanker of the same impotent ilk, this time in our own land of milk and honey, unleashed his version of “let me distract you all from the epstein files”, which resulted in a murdered nurse and a local santa barbara mom doused with bear spray.
i fell into that same ukranian hole, where any endeavor, other than running down the street lugging a protest sign, seems vulgar {and we all know how disgusting i think cardio is}. i’ve spent these weeks, not locking arms with my fellow patriots, but in my bed, researching portuguese citizenship, with an around-the-clock supply of van leeuwen’s ice cream cake.
when i fall into my k-holes it takes more than a “nature walk” or “phoning a friend” to unearth me from these bottomless, emotional trenches. mind you: my friends are superb and miramar beach is closer than my grocery store. but there are a couple of tried and true practices which bring me back into the kingdom of shaving my legs again.
spooning something 4-legged: it’s a scientific fact that petting an animal releases happy hormones. i can physically feel my panic morph into peace when i adhere myself to one of my dogs. in these recent mornings, instead of getting on my computer, where my already jacked-up cortisol begins its rapid ascent into the territory of panic + hyperventilation, i have been having my coffee with eleanor on the porch. in pitch black, we listen to our neighborhood owls filibuster over what to do with the influx of frogs that have overrun our creek due to the record rain we had in december. by the time the rest of the house wakes up, the sun is up, my coffee pot is drained, and eleanor is ready for her morning nap.
this new, henry david thoreau persona of mine is more effective for my mood than any internet prescribed nature walk. i notice i get more household stuff done when i’m not refreshing my x feed over and over, and i’m more easygoing getting sutton ready for school; although this morning i pulled over and made her walk after one too many eye rolls.
rewatching somebody somewhere. i audition new friends with this show: if they don’t compulsively love the characters like i do, they don’t make the christmas card list. i only need a couple of episodes to put me in dance party-mode; especially the purple party bus episode where the iconic insult “you think you’re pinterest, but you’re really hobby lobby!” is flung.
house purging: for this endeavor i pretend i’m a compassionless, professional organizer on hgtv, whose popularity and grand prize winnings correlate to the amount of stuff she cold-heartedly expunges from her sobbing daughter’s hands. squishmallows, incomplete uno decks, abandoned crafts from michaels, and halloween candy fom 2020 don’t stand a chance….the supremacy i feel throwing stuff out is how i imagine mariah carey feels when other people sing her songs.
selling said expunged items on ebay takes me from mariah to beyonce status. there’s nothing like somebody willing to pay money {and shipping} for my old salon selective hot rollers or a cold-shouldered, bebe blouse i bought for a rhoc costume party. trashie, clearout, thred-up, and retold are in heavy rotation at our house; they’re less work than ebay and often they just recycle/donate for you.
non-digital solitaire. last year, in an effort to get off of my phone, i started playing solitaire with an actual deck of cards . it’s become my version of meditation. the tactile process of shuffling and laying each card out precisely is rewarding, and the concentration required doesn’t allow for catastrophizing or zoning out.
crossword puzzles: again, the pen and paper versions not online. like solitaire, crossword puzzles demand the same obligation of being present and, as a result, force me to ignore my typical ruminations. last year, in an effort to turn my phone off before 8pm, i added crossword puzzles into my bedtime routine. i’ve now become a strung-out NYT crossword junkie who stays up past midnight trying to get “just one more” puzzle completed, but at least i’m a junkie at peace.
are these practices going to solve your generational trauma or cure your clinical depression? absolutely not! are they going to get you early bird entry into AARP? potentially. but it’s the accumulation of your baby steps that take you from point annihilation to point wearing mascara again.
let’s crowd source dears! leave me your foolproof tactics for getting out of a funk in the comments.
love,
katie
*for sure this gave me cancer
