It ain’t easy. It never has been — but these days, its much harder. Because I try to pace myself, the onslaught of news, conjecture, hopelessness and sometimes even hope ramps up from Monday to Friday. By Thursday night I am fully agitated and all-in. Every TV show has been watched and every social media outrage is located in my brain. I admit that I am 100% complicit in it.
Friday night brings me my Sabbath and with candles, wine and good food, I very mindfully start the decompression process. Saturday I try and do things that replenish. It may be farmer’s market, synagogue, walking, nature, knitting or nothing. No rules, no “shoulds.”
Then there is Sunday.
The New York Times must be read. Pundits want in. And so it begins…that Sunday night dread we faced when we were kids has come back. It’s mixed up with vulnerability, responsibility and faith. I’d like to think that naming it is the same as curing it. It isn’t but it puts some distance in the experience. My new self-care strategy is to get out in nature, breathe fresh air and exhaust myself. It’s like when, as a parent, I “aired out” the kids with fresh air and dirt. It’s the best way to try for a restful night so that I can wake up ready for the unknown. Is it always successful? Nah — but it’s good for me which is more than I can say about the reality that Monday brings.