In the Doldrums
Since vaccinations have expanded, many of my friends have progressed to traveling, eating in restaurants, and going to outdoor events where there are crowds. Of people! I, on the other hand, seem caught in the state of what sociologists are terming pandemic “languishing.” Neither depressed nor thriving…just muddling through. A kind of joyless, aimless existence like an endless carwash…going through the motions while going nowhere. Why I wonder, does the prospect of using my ticket for last year’s cancelled Avett Brothers concert at Red Rocks if it’s rescheduled leave me cold? Why do I sometimes forget what day it is and not really care?
Why am I watching reruns of Law and Order that I’ve already seen dozens of times and that don’t improve with age?
I’m embarrassed that I’m not productive, that I’ve become festivity-impaired, that I’m vaccinated but still vacillating about venturing out. The treatment for languishing seems to be taking on small manageable tasks, or what Tamara Shopsin calls an Arbitrary Stupid Goal in her memoir of the same name. A goal that isn’t too important, makes you live in the moment, and still gives you a driving force. Keeping my tomato plants alive is my current ASG. I’m fully absorbed with their daily care in the hope of a summer of BLTs, and I’m so far from a green thumb that it’s a fully challenging endeavor. I’m never sure from one day to the next that they’ll still be standing, which keeps me poised on a horticultural cliff. Bugs, slugs, blight? Too much water? Not enough water? I certainly don’t need to grow my own tomatoes. I live just two blocks from the weekly Farmers’ Market (people! crowds!) and a short drive from my favorite highway vegetable stand, but I’m determined to pull these plants through just to prove I can do it. I guess life is really a series of Arbitrary Stupid Goals unless you’re Stacy Abrams or Greta Thunberg. The trick is to keep moving toward that goal (however small), achieving it, and going on to the next one. Before you know it, you’re not languishing but fully alive. In the process, you might find yourself unearthing the memoir you abandoned, learning a new language, or running a mile. And maybe eating BLTs every night.
Nikki Hardin is a writer of stories, musings, and memories. Her poetry has been published in Riverteeth Journal. She was the founder and publisher of skirt!, a monthly women’s magazine in Charleston, South Carolina. You can reach her at nikki@thedailynikki.com.