I was in a bad state on a recent Sunday. A couple of family members were going through tough times, I had a headache, and nothing was going right. I was dispirited and out of sorts, and I just wanted things to be happy and easy for a while.
I felt sulky and unmotivated. I considered a scenario where I did absolutely nothing, but I knew that flailing around in the quicksand of self-pity doesn’t make me feel better. And yet, I could not muster the pep to carry out a chore as simple as unloading the dishwasher. It was a running rest day but even a brisk morning walk with the dogs did not raise my spirits.
A day of deliberate indolence might be in order. Though I am usually full of energy and driven by task completion, no one would criticize me for taking a day off. Lassitude-induced laziness might just be the ticket for soothing my depressed and anxious soul. I could sit in the sun and absorb its healing warmth. I could read mindless fiction and nap when summoned by the sleep gods. HGTV television beckoned beguilingly.
But I have learned about myself in the past 67 years, and I do not ignore those teachings: for me, the antidote for doldrums is accomplishment. Maybe it is a band-aid approach, but I needed to focus on something other than how sad and mad I was.
I gritted my teeth and composed a to-do list of ten tasks, all of which could easily be done in a day. None of them inspired me; in fact, driving to a mini mart to buy a lottery ticket that was guaranteed to result in a $1,000,00 win was more than I could bear to contemplate. But this was an emotional experiment for me: could intentional achievement of basic and routine duties improve my mood? It was worth a shot, as the day was otherwise destined to be a complete waste.
My list included items so mundane, they practically burst with boredom. I made beauty appointments at two different salons for the upcoming week. I downloaded a return label for a pair of shoes that I had bought on-line and forced myself to box them and drop them off at the parcel carrier. I then purchased the same shoe in a smaller size on-line. I ran to the grocery store for food to sustain me for the upcoming work week. I did laundry and cleaned the bathroom in our primary suite.
I caught up my daily journal, as I was three weeks behind. I researched air fares for an upcoming trip to Palm Springs.
I crafted and emailed family members a communication about a sensitive and distressing issue. It had been on my to do list for several weeks, but I had been procrastinating. I was immediately filled with relief, and the responses from the recipients were understanding and kind.
When the day was over, calm had replaced my angst. I still felt a vestige of sadness, but its painful edges had softened. My perspective, though not exactly cheery, had muted to untroubled. I know that busyness can be an avoidance technique, which was not my goal. But I had a choice: either finish the day with doldrums combined with nonachievement or finish the day with a bit of melancholy mixed in with a dash of accomplishment.
I’ll take the latter, and maybe add a side of satisfaction.