Not wearing pants
That would have made a good name for this newsletter.
Have you seen that part in Taylor Tomlinson’s Netflix special where she goes “Are you fine? I’m fine! Are you fine? I’m fine! Are you fine? I’m fine!” over and over again to the point of total hysteria? I would say even the highest-functioning person among us is past that point now. Everyone must admit - even a little - that they are not fine.
I joke that I’ve replaced “How are you?” as a greeting with “Are you okay?”. Who is OK? I really want to meet this person. It seems like everyone has been through something additionally traumatic this year totally aside from, you know, the Other Thing, which we’re all simultaneously trying to survive. Personally, what I’ve been through incapacitated me so totally that it robbed me, a writer, of my words; I’m only just starting to write again, but I still can’t talk about it. And pretty much everyone else I can think of has been through their own personal hell that has crippled them in some way.
I really thought that we’d talk about the “not fine”ness more than we do. Instead, it seems like we’ve seamlessly adapted into a normalisation of compounded trauma that we’re all just winging, with zero orientation - because it’s impossible to orientate when we’re constantly dodging curveballs that literally threaten our lives, while also trying to maintain a facade of holding it together. But we will sooner be half-naked in a virtual meeting than we will openly admit that we are not okay. “Not wearing pants on a Zoom call” is the perfect metaphor for where we’re at: “why, perfectly normal” at eye level, “eh, why bother” in our private areas.
So here we are, online - working online, meeting online, crying online, fighting online, getting married online, saying goodbye online, drinking online, grieving online, comforting online, loving online, missing each other online. And offline… well, frankly, offline has let itself go.
Recently, one whole year into wearing masks, I was inspired to lift my moratorium on makeup because my friend Caitlin gifted me a lovely new lipstick; I got cocky, even started spritzing on perfume to leave the house. Briefly, I felt uplifted. And then the lipstick got all in the mask, and you can’t wash these FFP2 masks like the old cloth ones (that we now have too many of because at one point this past year we let ourselves be consoled by the idea that we could now accessorise with our faces), so now I don’t wear lipstick anymore. Again. I’ve even stopped wearing mascara. (I don’t neglect my brows though, because I may have given up, but I’m still Indian.)
My body, however, has become a temple of my indulgence and adoration - I learned this year what she is capable of, and I’m so proud of her for taking care of me and want to give her anything she wants. I’m kinder to my body in many ways than I used to be - I put fewer bad things in her, and I also judge her way less. Until this year, I used to measure my body by what it wasn’t - now (after a crisis, obviously - why are we like this?), I’m in awe of everything she is that I never even noticed all my life. So she wants a pastry every morning? Sure thing, honey - we’ll buy you bigger clothes. Physical activity has become something that I do so I can feel myself, my spirit, in my strong body, fuller and softer than before; I do light yoga every morning to keep myself sane, I take my stupid little lockdown-mandated walks, I cycle on my errands if the weather’s nice. “Weight loss”? “Fitness”? Um, I do not know them.
Meanwhile, my days - actually, my days don’t look that different to how they did before the pandemic, because I’m a freelancer. An introverted one, at that. However, even introverts require inspiration and intellectual stimulation (arguably more so), and isolation has been far harder on my creativity than I anticipated. My preferred source of inspiration used to be being around life, observing rather than directly participating in the interactions around me. I got so much of my writing done in the window seat of my favourite coffee shop; now I wistfully look at it when I hastily run in to pick up my daily pastry. This year even took my jokes; I abandoned several comedy-related projects because I was just too sad to see the funny in anything.
Almost a full year ago, I started telling friends, who would confide that they were finding work uncommonly hard, “Babe, I think everyone is operating at like 30% capacity right now.” It seemed to console them, and I meant it. For a year, tasks have taken me three times as long as they used to; my invoices don’t accurately reflect my billable hours because I still don’t think it’s reasonable to charge more than something should take.
A couple of weeks ago I had an overdue lockdown-meltdown aka a lock-down - no, a melt-down - no, a lock... OK, the name-splicing thing doesn’t work here. Anyway, on this occasion it was definitely the result of too much coffee (every now and then I like to think I’m a normal person who can have a cup of coffee every day), but it was definitely also a wearing-thin caused by the Relentless Monotony™. Nothing is changing, and nothing shows signs of changing. The only things keeping me sane are the routines I put in place a year ago to give my life structure - in other words, the same things I do over and over again every day to defend my mental health against the reality of having to do the same things over and over again every day. Somehow, when it’s my choice, it’s easier.
I confided in a friend that I was suddenly finding everything especially hard, and he said, “You know babe, I think everyone is operating at like 30% capacity right now.”
So, anyway. Are you OK?
Stuff that helped this week:
Mind:
I’ve basically stopped using social media for the past month or so - highly recommend for the ol’ mental.
Body:
I started going to this healer and in one session, she helped me let go of deeply internalised bodily trauma that I’ve been trying to release all year.
Work:
This is one of the most helpful things I’ve read on writer’s block. It’s all about permission to just say “fuck it” and call it a day, which is extremely my vibe these days.
Spirit:
Soothings words on letting go of anger (I've been mad as hell this past year, you?).
Reading:
My friend Steph’s newsletter about her own grief. It’s beautiful and important, whether you’re grieving or not.
Food:
I tend to get obsessed with one food til I’m sick of it - this week, it’s miso spaghetti. I took what I liked from this recipe and this one and added kimchi.
Health:
Allergy medicine - because ‘tis the season, and don’t nobody need unidentified cold symptoms right now (pro tip: loratidine is the non-drowsy one).
Beauty:
This is the brand of lipstick my friend gifted me. Even though I’ve given up, I’m still ogling all the other products I want to try.
An aside: I think I will do a whole newsletter on self-care next week - stay tuned.
Cats that helped this week.
Meow welcome.
There are outtakes of this photo in which a hooman attempted to replicate this pose. You do not need to see those.
Yes it’s a violation of his privacy but I need to know: does anyone else’s cat pee like this
There are two cats in this photo. (Scroll down for the BIG REVEAL.)
He was right there, silly.
Until next week then, comrades. Have a good long Easter weekend, and may we all be resurrected in some way by this time next week (don’t mean to offend, Jesus fans - but honestly, I think he’d want that for us too).
Peace,
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