I had to take a day and just regroup. I was haunted by anxiety, overwhelmed by details, feeling like I was clinging to a cork in white-water rapids. Those obnoxious, if well-intended little inspirational messages preaching Take Time For Yourself, Simplify Your Life, Slow Down and Appreciate the Beauty of Things kept showing up on my feed, reminding me incessantly of the impossibility of following their blithe advice.
Sure, if you have the luxury of being able to say, “I’ll just blow off those commitments I made to my friends/family/associates/community,” then you can sit with that cup of tea and listen to the birdsong, have that glass of wine on the deck, watch that sunrise or whatever. You can schedule “You” time and not feel guilty about it.
Never mind those other inspirational messages telling you how you need to care, you need to act, only you can change the world for the better, get out and get active or the bad guys will win.
Never mind those articles you read about how important it is to be there for your kids, to work hard on relationships and friendships, to listen, to reach out to people, to be compassionate.
Or how important it is to take time to exercise every day, to cook wholesome food from scratch, to read books, to meditate, to take time with your appearance, to shop carefully and read labels, to do regular breast exams, to brush and floss after every meal.
Or how important it is if you want to be a successful writer (or whatever) in today’s competitive world you need to get your name out there, market aggressively, write blogs and articles, get involved in organizations, attend workshops, retreats and classes, go to conventions, read marketing blogs and articles, devote time every day to social networking as well as keep cranking out the material and submitting it.
I’ve gotten so that the morning dawns and I dread facing it, because I know I’m going to go to bed that night feeling like I’ve failed to do even a small part of what I ought to have done. I won’t have spent enough time being there for my kids and devoting myself to my spouse. If I took the time to exercise, I won’t have gotten in the social networking. If I finished the revisions to the short story, I didn’t get to making that wholesome dinner and planning meals for the week. I meditated, but I didn’t get to the volunteer work for the (insert worthy organization here).
The world is filled with misery and injustice. My “friends” on Facebook can’t wait to share the latest pathetic puppy or homeless cat that needs adoption, the latest disease or disability I need to be more aware of, the latest outrageous thing the GOP/Christian Fundies/Right-wing loonies/gun nuts/greedy corporations/Supreme Court/corrupt politicians have said or done. Kidnapped schoolgirls, rapes in India, war and aggression and terrorist attacks. And everybody tells me I need to get involved, I need to care, I need to do something about it, and I am a bad person if I don’t. Martin Niemoller keeps getting thrown at me (“They came first for the Communists, and I didn’t speak up…” etc. etc.). I weep with helpless ineffectuality because all I can manage is some Slacktivist sharing of memes and signing of Internet petitions. Evil will triumph because I didn’t do enough to stop it.
There is a scene in Jesus Christ Superstar (It’s on my mind, as we recently watched the new production with Tim Minchin as Judas) right after Jesus has thrown the moneylenders out of the temple. He is gradually surrounded by people begging to be helped and healed. The crowd gets thicker, the chorus of voices pleading for attention swells as Jesus struggles to deal with them, saying, “There’s too little of me, too many of you–” and finally, overwhelmed and mobbed, he shouts, “Heal yourselves!”
That’s how I feel right now.
Okay, sure, I need to prioritize. But how do I choose when everyone clamoring for me to adopt their pet priority has a valid point? There is no clear guideline for what is right, no guarantee I’ll make the correct choice, that I won’t look back and regret that I didn’t spend more time doing something else.
“Me” time just becomes one more voice in the mix clamoring for attention, one more thing which, if chosen, means I neglect something else. But I guess it beats laying curled up on the bathroom floor weeping from indecision and guilt.