This Weekend I Didn't Fail to Work. I Succeeded at Being Human.
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Dan and I are snuggled into the soft grey sectional.
"You ready?" He says.
"Yes!" I say. Then I peer over at my steaming cup of joe on the small table next to me. "Wait! I haven't had any of my coffee yet."
"Well you better have it. Cuz I don't want any excuses when you lose."
This is how he woos me.
_____
We do the online version of the New York Times crossword puzzle, which keeps track of time and other stats and offers up a celebratory tune when you've done it correctly. Sometimes, many days go by before we can get to it, so we'll end up doing a bunch at once. On average he beats me four out of seven times. I tend to win Mondays and Tuesdays which may just be a function of how fast I type. But I often beat him at a juicy Thursday where the puzzle within the puzzle speaks the language of my brain. And every now and then I pull out a W on an excruciating Saturday. Sunday is always a tossup.
I'm competitive. No shit you're saying. But hey... I came by this the hard way. In my large extroverted blended family where I was the littlest, it was important to win at games and cards and arguments and I jockeyed for relevance, attention, and a sense of belonging. To this day, every time I win at something, I feel... (I know how weird this sounds, but hey...) I feel loved.
It was a couple years back when I mined my psyche and uncovered this explanation for my competitiveness (a journalist writing about perfectionism was asking me some very probing questions). When I offered up this piece of ore to Dan, he said, "Okay. So if I win, but I tell you that I love you, will that work?" I mulled the potential truth of this for a few moments and up burbled the answer that surprised even me: "YES." And so he does. And so it goes.
_____
My family was an industrious bunch. I grew up worrying that someone might call me lazy if I wasn't constantly working. I grew to be a human who knows herself through her work.
But lately it's been way too much. The tasks arrange themselves on the calendar Monday through Friday like Tetris blocks and I save the weekends for the bigger writings, readings, and new projects all of which require extended time and complex thought. For way too long, I've been telling myself Just let me get to the weekend so I'll have time to do my work. When I bring it up to my boss, she shrugs at me in the mirror and says What are you gonna do about it.
So, as 2022 began, I got with a group of trusted girl friends all interested in harnessing the power of now for more of what we need and want. With them, I named three new commitments I wanted to focus on: BODY, ROUTINES, and BOUNDARIES. We've met weekly for support and accountability and these commitments have become a mantra I routinely roll between my tongue and teeth like a hard candy, sucking on the truth of them and savoring the taste of each. The more I do something in furtherance of one or more of them (work out; eat and drink the way that's right for me; schedule time to be with friends; say 'no' unless it's a 'hell yes'), the more sweet life feels (at least in that moment). Eight weeks in, it's been a good and worthwhile pursuit. But I slip. Because life has become work and work has become life and there's an inertia to that which is really hard to counteract.
_____
This past Friday evening, Dan and I drove up the coast for some us time. Prior to leaving, I had stated out loud for both of us to hear that I had to work the entire weekend. But when I woke the next morning, Saturday stretched and yawned and licked its lips at me. I looked around at where I was and with whom. I thought to myself What is wrong with you. My commitments rose up to greet me. BODY. ROUTINES. BOUNDARIES. The day was chilly and overcast. We got up only to adjust the heat and to eat.
Sunday woke sultry. We opened the doors wide and warmer air wafted in with the roar of the ocean mingling with the sounds of us. Then he had his oatmeal. I made my coffee. We pulled up to the New York Times crossword. He threw down the gauntlet (You'd better have that coffee cuz I don't want any excuses when you lose) because he knows that that kind of talk revs my puzzle-doing engines. I sipped that coffee, smiled big, downshifted, took the curve hard and never looked back. Forty-four minutes and thirty-seconds later, I was done. The puzzle was called "Body Language" which felt fitting. The final answer I filled in was "You win." I did. In more ways than one.
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This was lite, which may feel inapt to you given the war and the wars and the laws and the decisions and the regulations heeded and not. It's a lot. You're still a human, is my point. Do your puzzles. Nuzzle with that person who keeps you warm. Enjoy your view. Sow seeds of hope. That's what I'm trying to do.
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🙈 Spoiler alert, an image of the completed New York Times crossword on Sunday, March 13 is below!
📸 Cover Photo Credit: Getty Images/Asbe/E+
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