It’s A Hamster Wheel Kind Of Life
It’s February 10th. Tuesday? No, Wednesday. Really, it could be any day — because I’m living a hamster wheel kind of life.
Every day is the same. I wake up, caffeinate, answer emails, work, think about how much I don’t like meetings, attend them anyway, write and write and write (or, I don’t write — but I think about how I should be writing), take a walk on the beach or, around the neighbourhood or, back and forth between my laptop and livingroom for no reason at all.
Every day, I stare at the same walls in our house and consider a time, not long ago, when I found solace in being alone.
Now, I miss people. I miss noise. I miss constant chatter in crowded coffee shops; miss seeing speed-walkers on the beach, who look like they’ve emerged from a 70’s fitness commercial; miss my friends; miss going out.
I miss being unafraid of people and proximity.
When we first tucked ourselves into our homes last year, like scared snails into their shells, we were looking for ways to keep ourselves entertained. Happy. Sane.
I’ve started looking to make each day memorable again — because I can’t stand when they blur together like this.
Yesterday, I re-pierced by ears. The day before, I baked cinnamon rolls. I’ve played tag on the beach with my brothers. Plotted a short story. Read a book a day for five days. Wrote a list of 100 things I’m grateful for. Learned about the history of chopsticks. Tried not to complain for a day (failed); tried again.
In February last year, life was so different.
I danced the night away at a 21st, visited art museums and libraries, hugged friends and colleagues and almost-strangers without a second thought. I ate lunch at seaside restaurants, went for picnics, took pictures of tourists who were visiting Cape Town for the first time and thought of facemasks as conduits for self-care (and nothing more).
Today, I’ll stay at home.
I’ll make flapjacks for my youngest brother (it’ll be the highlight of my day).
It’s nothing like my Februaries used to be. But still, I’ll find it in myself to be grateful for what I have — because I still have so much.
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