Belated Notes from Super Bowl Sunday 2021- What Comes Next. (This isn’t about Brady, the game, or the upcoming baseball season.)

I cooked on Superbowl Sunday. I made a stew with chicken thighs, artichoke hearts, spinach, chicken stock, mushrooms, sour cream, and dill.
I ate at the kitchen table while I read the Sunday paper, and thought about work the next day.
Katy and I watched the halftime show, and then another episode of Designated Survivor.
I cleaned something, I don’t remember what, and read a novel that brought me to the world that was when “Friends” was on tv.

I’m used to the day being noisy, wherever I landed for the game and before. This year, it was quiet. I turned up the radio, and blasted my workout playlist through a speaker instead of headphones.

This is the year of quiet. I am learning to listen to my own thoughts and to others- my daughter, family, friends, colleagues, and members for the company where I work.

Sometimes what I’m thinking makes me uncomfortable. Getting older is weighing heavy; I am confronted with my face every day on Teams or Zoom meetings. I was laid off last year, and count myself lucky to have a job, but it’s an entry level position or an amazing company. This means that ninety percent of my colleagues are abbot twenty years younger than I am.

We spend a lot time looking at each other on screens. When I catch a glimpse of myself, the woman looking back is far older than I am ready to be. I am in a digital room with people who are worried about turning thirty and if they’ll be able to get married this summer, or buy their first house. I adore every one of them.

They love it when I forget to put my settings on mute when I talk to my dog, which means they are kind of laughing at me, but people are desperate to laugh at anything. Maybe I should leave my camera on next time I try to convince Sophie The Best Dog Ever to eat barbecued chicken for breakfast.

I’ve been married for twenty years and have a house.

Before class time on camera, I spend extra time on my hair and add mascara, but then I just look like a slightly better groomed woman of a certain age or someone who is trying too hard. Once the weekend comes, I avoid mirrors and spend too much money on moisturizer.

I think about what I miss. Hugs, mostly, and all that came with them.

I think about what I”ll miss when this over.

Katy and I hopped on a zoom meeting tonight, she kept scolding me because I wasn’t following the rules of virtual etiquette. This made me giggle, so she turned the camera off. She explained the rules, and scolded me some more, probably because I’ve been nagging her a lot about keeping her room clean. At the end of the day, does it really matter if she climbs into a bed that was made in the morning?

I know to mute my microphone, and to try to remember to mute my microphone, and that will have to be enough.

I’m going to try to make this a year to listen and learn, and make it less about the line that just appeared in the middle of my forehead.

I’m going to make time to laugh with the people I love, because not much is the end of the world, until it is.
Until then…

Who or what do you want to make time for?

jules

Sanity Guidelines in 2020- (To those of you who are desperate, bored, or willing to try anything).

1. Work a full-time job- This is not in most recommendations since the demographic receiving these tips are primarily those who have been identified as unemployed. But when discussing basic tools that help to maintain mental health- being employed is crucial. There is the paycheck, there is a schedule, and there are colleagues, all of whom are employed too.
2. If you are unemployed, or are laid off, live your day to day life as if you’re employed. Get up in the morning. Look with the diligence you put into your career. Start after breakfast. Be creative. Treat it like it’s an exciting project you chose, and convince yourself it’s an exciting project you chose. Don’t ask for leads from the person standing at line waiting to buy groceries. But ask them what they do, and if they are willing to answer, and you can understand what they are saying from behind their mask, give them your card. If you don’t have a card, which you probably don’t, since you don’t have a job, ask if they have advise, or a contact. Tell them you appreciate their insight, or offer them a roll of toilet paper.
3. Exercise. If you’re working you’re busy. If you’re unemployed and looking, you are busy. But put time in the calendar to move your body. I’m a fanatic, so I won’t say more, but just try it. You have options. Dance to your favorite music. Drag your dog on a walk, but when you’ve been round the block, leave her at home, and spend forty five minutes stepping around your neighborhood. Dance. Ride your bike. Find a friend. You have to move your body for a sustained period of time in a way that makes you lose your breath, or can’t to sustain a conversation. Strolling to Starbucks, or going to the mall doesn’t count, even if you’ll earn more steps than your friends. Sweat.
4. Put your phone away an hour before you hope to fall asleep. Social media is helpful if you need your 884 friends to see how beautiful your cookies look on a plate, or are putting off looking for a job, exercise, or cleaning the kitchen. If you can’t go without, set limits. and if you’re still up at 11:30, watch late night.
5. Spend time outside. In the woods, on the streets after hours, in a playground while most kids are home for dinner- if you can find a space in the world, you might remember life before now. Trees don’t carry covid, watching birds fly, leaves shiver, the glorious colors of the sun, and the moon, placid and silver- open your door and take a walk. The view might beat Netflix.
6. Shower. When we aren’t seeing people, it’s easy to forget basic hygeine. Showers feel good. Body wash smells nice. And when you’re in the shower, you’re not wondering why everyone of Social Media is doing better than you or forcing your family to collaborate with you on a TikTok to show the pandemic has brought you closer together. you can be,
7. While you shower, feel free to create the TikTok in your head, but don’t expect anyone in your family to go along. I use the time to sing along to the playlist called “Songs to Sing Along to in the Car” even though I’m in the shower.
8. Lean on people you love, people you like who have indicated they don’t dislike you, and everyone else.
9. Drop off groceries, check in on a neighbor, visit your friend and hang out on the porch, ask and listen to their answer when you ask “are you ok?” Let people lean on you. Helping others makes me feel even better than twenty minutes on the spin bike, thirty minutes wandering the woods, or a really hot shower.
10. Vacuuming, checking your Twitter, scrolling through Facebook, and matching stray socks, can steal hours from your day. Consider how you’d like to spend your time. It’s valuable.

All my love,

Jules

On Day Fifty-Six, I am lonely

At 7 pm, I was curled on a recliner watching a new show on Netflix with Kate.

By 8, I’ll be working out, Sophie watching from the sofa. When the music gets loud, she goes outside. I hope the rain holds off.

Sofie is still confused by all the activity in the living room, and wishes we would eliminate this part of our new daily routine.

At 9, I might be on zoom with friends, trying to figure about what I can add to the conversation- does anyone really need to know about my chicken meatballs?, on the phone with family, (who actually might like to hear about the damned meatballs,) or talking about payment plans with Sheldon.

This lonely feeling comes and goes, like an ice cream craving, or bliss during the drive to work on a beautiful Monday morning.
I am not alone. I have family here, and a touchscreen away, friends send texts, call, and we promise to see each other soon. Then there is a quiet moment, when we wonder how long it will really be. It’s not uncomfortable, anymore, it’s the way things are.

Maybe it’s the weather. Maybe it’s the world. Maybe it’s just the way I need to be right now.

If you’re feeling lonely too, you have company.

Stay strong, and amazing.

Love,
Julie

Forty-one days- Not the best of them. (My daughter’s flute recital, which should have been mentioned, was not. It was amazing.)

Today, I was part of a conversation with some amazing women who do amazing things. My mom even said, when I told her about them, “you’re lucky they have chosen you to be part of their lives.”

I am blessed to know so many amazing people, and that these amazing people return my calls, laugh at my jokes, include me to their zoom meetings, and will invite me into their homes, for holidays, dinners, games, and just because. They have good wine, better snacks, and we get each other, in a way I haven’t felt in a long time.

But, sometimes, it’s hard to know where I fit in.
I’m currently not working at Quincy College, currently unsure what my next steps are going to be, or where I want them to take me.

I bring to the table funny stories about life with Colin, and heartwarming anecdotes about Katy still letting me into her room, even flop on her bed, and sometimes, talk to me, (this morning, she told me I needed a shower. I’d just hiked the Blue Hills.) I bring to the table good table manners, excellent taste in music, a sometimes irritating and occasionally helpful cheerful demeanor, muted first thing in the morning for most of my friends, and I’m willing to be the one who decides which restaurant and what time- Not critical skills at the moment.

I know it’s not good to compare yourself to others, the doors that have closed will open to amazing opportunities, I have a house, a husband, beautiful kids and the very best dog.

I know all of us have been pretty close to where I am now, at one point or another.
I know this, in my head.

But in my heart, I feel like I”m running the Boston Marathon and, somehow, find myself alone, lost in Cleveland. Everyone’s talking about Boston, and I’m wandering around Cleveland hoping to get home for the

byForty-One Days- and not the best of them.
(The flute recital, not mentioned, which should have been mentioned, was amazing.)

Today, I was part of a conversation with some amazing women who do amazing things. My mom even said, when I told her about them, “you’re lucky they have chosen you to be part of their lives.”

I am blessed to know so many amazing people, and that these amazing people return my calls, laugh at my jokes, include me to their zoom meetings, and will invite me into their homes, for holidays, dinners, games, and just because. They have good wine, better snacks, and we get each other, in a way I haven’t felt in a long time.

But, sometimes, it’s hard to know where I fit in.
I’m currently not working at Quincy College, currently unsure what my next steps are going to be, or where I want them to take me.

I bring to the table funny stories about life with Colin, and heartwarming anecdotes about Katy still letting me into her room, even flop on her bed, and sometimes, talk to me, (this morning, she told me I needed a shower. I’d just hiked the Blue Hills.) I bring to the table good table manners, excellent taste in music, a sometimes irritating and occasionally helpful cheerful demeanor, muted first thing in the morning for most of my friends, and I’m willing to be the one who decides which restaurant and what time- Not critical skills at the moment.

I know it’s not good to compare yourself to others, the doors that have closed will open to amazing opportunities, I have a house, a husband, beautiful kids and the very best dog.

I know all of us have been pretty close to where I am now, at one point or another.
I know this, in my head.

But in my heart, I feel like I”m running the Boston Marathon and, somehow, find myself alone, lost in Cleveland. Everyone’s talking about Boston, and I’m wandering around Cleveland hoping to get home for the afterparty.

I have the sense of direction of a ninety year old drunk from Medford, waking up alone in Los Angeles, who lost his glasses on the flight.

But I am determined as hell, so I’ll get there.

And if I don’t, I’ll jump on Katy’s bed until she makes me laugh or figures out how to throw me off.

Love,
Jules