Binge Watching

I’m still in my flannel pajamas. I’ve already had coffee and breakfast. I’m moving on to lunch. I’ve been binge watching my Spanish TV show all morning because the booster shot ran me rough shod. I feel like I’ve just gone through the washer and dryer. My head is about to explode, my body aches all over and I have waves of chills that come and go.

I’m supposed to be getting on a plane to Barcelona tomorrow with two dear girlfriends. We’ve been planning this trip for months. I’m going, in part, to celebrate my upcoming sixtieth birthday. They are getting on that plane.

I’m not.

So, not only am I binge watching because the booster shot kicked my ass, I’m in part, having my own little pity party. It’s not a full blown party, just a tiny “poor me” party that I’m not going to Spain tomorrow with my friends. Nothing like the rager pity parties of the past.

And, mind you, this is all of my own volition. It’s not like my friends said, “You can’t come anymore.” No, I did a risk evaluation a few weeks ago. Omicron was peaking in the US, Europe’s infection rates were on the rise. People were getting stuck at borders. International flights worldwide had been canceled. People got stuck abroad. For weeks. Oh, and my house-sitter-friend isn’t available to stay on.

I noticed anxiety had replaced excitement about the trip. 
Anxious I’d get stuck in Spain.
That my elderly dogs would be left with no care.
That I wouldn’t be able to teach my upcoming immersion.
That I’d have to shell out more cash to stay in some Barcelona hotel, and just stare at the walls.

I checked in with friends in Europe to get the on-the-ground-report. “Stay home,” was the overarching message.

Stay home.

My inner pre-teenager had a moment. “I don’t want to stay home. I want to go with my friends. It’s not fair. I don’t have anyone here to help me. I want to go. I want to go. I want to go.”

Shortly after this internal outburst, my nearly-sixty-year-old took over. “It’s ok, Diane. Spain will be there. Your friends will be there. This will not be the last time you three will do something together. You need to stay put. You know you do.”

When I made the decision, when I felt it in my body, I relaxed. I could feel my stomach soften, my shoulders released and my breath deepened. That’s when I knew I’d made the right decision. 

But today, a day before the scheduled departure date, feeling like shit, still in my pajamas, I’m binge watching, listening to Spanish, getting a glimpse of Madrid. This is the closest I’ll get to Spain right now. Like a good adult, I wished my friends a wonderful trip.

At least I’m not feeling guilty for binging. Last year’s six months of long-haul COVID taught me to relax into it and watch TV in the middle of the day. In the morning for that matter, because guess what? I couldn’t DO anything else. The virus had zapped me of all energy, my lungs burned for months and I depended on people to grocery shop, walk my dogs and pop by with a smile.

So, while this decision to stay is not what I wanted, I’ve learned, again, that life doesn’t always turn out the way we want it to and to find a way to relax into what’s here in front of us. Even if we have to have a tiny pity party for a moment.

I've Been Binge Watching TV Shows!

I’ve been binge watching a new TV show and I notice my inner critic is having a field day. 

“You could at least watch something educational.”
“You might want to read a book.”
“What about meditation? Where’s that gone?”

But my rebellious teenager is fighting back:
“Give me a fucking break. 
I’ve had CoVID. 
I’m still tired at night and I don’t want to use my brain. 
So, LEAVE      ME        ALONE!”

She tells me it’s ok to sit around, make hot chocolate and watch hours of How to Get Away with Murder. 
She does it. 
She has no problem wiling away the hours staring at the walls. 

Pondering. 
Thinking. 
Feeling.

The truth is, I really can’t do much at night lately. It’s been three weeks, and I’m back to the daily rituals of cooking, laundry, dog walks and work, which feels like a minor miracle.

When the big C-bug took me down, I could barely move out of bed the first week. Making breakfast was a heroic effort, much less feeding my dogs and then getting ready to nap. I was lucky to get a sunny week, so I spent languorous hours resting in the warm sundrenched rays stretched between my dogs in the backyard, soaking in vitamin D. 

I felt my body relax. I felt my whole being relax. 

Something was changing.
Shifting.

I got some information while resting.
I reflected on how hard I work to make things happen.
How much I try to manipulate results – of my work mainly.

I could feel myself starting to let go.
Let go of how I do things.
Let go of my ideas about how to make things happen.

It felt like the creative process in play. 

It felt exactly like the process of creating a painting. I know that point where I have to let go into the abyss and settle into the discomfort of not knowing. Rest in the place of trusting some outcome that hasn’t arrived.

Yes, that was it. 

Except the creative process was about my life, and the balance of all the parts – my passions, my financial flow, my adventures, my relationships.

I began to ask myself questions like, “What do you REALLY want to do?” “How do you REALLY want to spend your time?”

I’m still in the process. I continue to ask the questions and listen for the answers. I follow intuitive leads and I’m excited about unknown possibilities. 

I have no idea how it will all turn out.
I have no idea where and when those magical moments will happen, but I know they will happen. I know I will land in some new paradigm of my life that will last for a while until some other transformational experience comes along.

So, the TV shows – in the end I trust my intuition to choose and to teach me what I need through the characters, the plot or simply the rest from thinking too much.