Some Days
Some days I wake up feeling reinvigorated, raring to go in the morning hours as early as 5 a.m. Have a Nice Day by Stereophonics is blaring in my ears and everything falls into a blissful place. The happiness filter taints my vision and the mundane world soon becomes colourful and vibrant, awakening my senses.
Flavours of a simple breakfast meal tantalise the taste buds: The fresh-pressed Columbian coffee tastes of liquid courage and even a simple bowl of porridge mixed with berries and a spoonful of peanut butter is absolutely divine. The energy levels rise and I’m fueled up.
On these mornings I’m ready to tackle the day. The engine cylinders are burning and my mind is pumped, the motivation and passion ignite and the Hollywood-esque montage commences in an undisturbed flow.
The daily checklist is ticked off, one by one:
Meditation - CHECK
Yoga - CHECK
Workout - CHECK
Breakfast - CHECK
Reading - CHECK
Writing Projects - CHECK
Lunch - CHECK
Studying - CHECK
Errands and chores - CHECK
More productive stuff! - CHECK
CHECK, CHECK, CHECK, CHECK.
My mind is rampant with productivity and creative inspiration. My body is bursting with energy from eating well and keeping active. Any free time is filled up instantaneously with more accomplishments: I’ve already created new tasks - new projects - more chores - more errands and any manner of things to preoccupy the rest of my day. And it is only 1 p.m. on a Monday.
I allow myself to think, The week ahead is sure to bring success. I can achieve anything.
An ill-informed belief.
***
Some days I mistakenly snooze the early alarm, sleeping in till late. It is only when I wake up just before noon, that I curse and chastise myself for ruining my impeccable morning routine. The bad mood brews to the surface. I fend it off as much as I can, but it is impossible to resist.
The hours flee by on “fast forward” with someone else holding the remote. I no longer have control. I supplement my day with... nothing.
My former morning routine is untouched, existing as a passing fantasy by the late afternoon. Poofing back into extinction. Or perhaps it was always a fairy tale.
Instead, I sit there idly on the sofa, scrolling through social media feeds, watching YouTube videos, craving more coffee. Knowing fully well (by now) that the [late] morning brew did nothing for me and simply acted as a short-term comfort. The brain remains foggy and my weary body confuses the daylight as a cue for more sleep.
Another pot of coffee is brewed. This time, it is stronger than before, enough to punch me in the face with alertness.
I sit and wait, sipping away. Sitting and waiting and sipping and waiting and sipping...
I think about tackling one major thing: either preparing to take on a gruelling workout, finish up a challenging writing project or anything noteworthy. First, I start small, building the momentum with a chore like washing the dishes or watching something informative and stimulating such as a documentary. Though my mind cannot fixate on just one thing, but on ALL manner of things to achieve today. The overwhelming odds are stacked against me as time races forward… and I still don’t know where to begin and what to tackle first. The hours creep by and yet there is still no energy left in the reserves.
I wonder, Perhaps, I maxed out my energy yesterday?
I retire the idea of “work”, relinquishing my non-existent state of productivity and switching it in for a relaxing day instead.
I decide to read a book, but the words on the page don’t register with my brain and it keeps churning out the same process, trying to understand word-for-word what the beautiful prose is trying to say out loud to me. I fidget, my legs splaying wildly in different positions, clenching my fists, pinching and tugging at my skin, even reading aloud at odd moments. Nothing helps to fix my concentration. The focus is simply not there. Even when I think I finally understand the words in the book, my eyes shift back, re-reading, re-reading, re-reading, re-reading… until I cannot take it anymore.
The book is slammed down in frustration. My body is now tense and pent up with stress. I sip more coffee, praying it will give me newfound superpowers. Yet before I realise, I’ve had too much and my mind is now running amok, unable to slow down to even do anything at all.
Yet, my body says otherwise. It creaks with fatigue at the slightest gesture and action as if turned into an old aged pensioner overnight. The mind gets foggier with each rushing wave of thoughts: Did I reply to “So-and-so's” message? What was on the schedule today again? How about dinner, what are we cooking tonight? Damn it, I forgot to pick up milk from the shops! I should really exercise - if I miss one more day this week, I’ll have to repeat the program… Come on already, get on with your writing, stop leaving things unfinished.
It becomes difficult to concentrate. I relent to an afternoon nap - a break between the insanity.
Though I cannot sleep. My mind is too awake. It wants to do things. What things? I ask. It simply shrugs. Just something…. Anything really. I cannot win.
The rest of the evening is filled with cooking, eating, watching TV or playing some games. In the end, [my perceived] laziness and procrastination are not surmounted and I vanquish the memories of today with sleep.
***
Some days there are no intentions. No alarms, no reminders, or to-do list in sight. There is no judgement, as I lay in bed longer than socially acceptable. I drag my bulky frame to the kitchen for a cup of black brew, inhaling the rich coffee aroma. I don’t need it - especially at 4 p.m., but I love indulging in the taste of coffee.
I perch up on the sofa, nestling into the corner and turn on the TV. The dulcet tones of Friends or New Girl (or whatever I’m in the mood for) on the screen puts me at ease, and I allow myself to relax into the late evening.
Though it feels short-lived. My brain lectures me on how I should get “X, Y and Z” done, but I shove the thought aside for instant gratification and ignorance. Breaks between TV show bingeing and video games are filled with trips to the kitchen: spending some dedicated time to craft a delicious meal or snack.
Though this day feels unearned, my mind and body are grateful for the much-needed break.
***
Some days I give up.
I wake up with no concrete ideas or schedule set in stone. I insist on sleeping in - or at least lying there - within the confines of the bed, sandwiched between the duvet and mattress. People try to motivate me, though it does nothing.
I am asked if I want to eat or go for a walk, but I shrug and mumble a few words. I don’t want to be disturbed. I stayed glued to my phone for longer hours, flicking through videos, Instagram and Facebook - with nothing, in particular, to peak my interest or spark even the slightest curiosity. I turn the TV on and sprawl all over the sofa in the hopes of some respite.
Ten minutes in, nothing gives me satisfaction.
Meals rotate around convenience snacks and a myriad of takeaways: who can say no to binge-eating chocolate, doner kebabs or pizza? This cycle lingers - sometimes only a day, other times it can be a week.
I have no impulse to do anything - be it productive or leisurely.
On these days, I simply don’t care.
***
Some days, I lower my expectations. I carefully look at the overwhelming number of goals and tasks I scheduled for the week and revise the list: Setting aside only one thing to achieve that day. No matter how small or benign it might seem, only one thing is scheduled. Sometimes, it is something off the list like running an errand, or simply reading or writing for five to ten minutes.
Other times, it is getting in some exercise. Or cooking a healthy, nourishing meal.
Anything that can help bolster my mood. However the weekend arrives, and when I look at all the unfinished things on my weekly schedule, I sigh. The disappointment and shame weigh heavily on my shoulders. Although the lofty intentions for the week were delusional and require more time and patience, I cannot help but feel guilty.
Then, at that moment, there is a little voice, at the far end of the hall in my brain, whispering: ‘You’ll get things done eventually, it will just take more time than you initially thought.’ The voice is met with laughter and is chided by swarms of anxiety and self-loathing.
I focus on the little voice’s message, and a lingering hope rekindles to the surface.
***
Some days, the unexpected things cheer me up. An old friend reaches out with an affectionate message. A belly-aching laugh wrestles me into bliss. I stumble upon a nostalgic memento. A warm cuddle on a cold day. Impromptu dancing and head bobbing to a song I love. A heartwarming post or video enrapturing my attention for a few minutes. Awaking from a peaceful sleep. Savouring the taste of incredible food. The mindful process of cooking. Being in the presence of the ones I love.
Subtle reminders telling me that I shouldn’t take life too seriously. Their charming presence soothes the fear and uncertainty for now.
All of these things rekindle my weary spirit. They urge me to move forward.
***
Some days the anxiety and depression arrive from nowhere. Perhaps they were already there, hiding and disguised as friends. They knock on the brain’s door, invited in by my mind’s gracious hospitality. When did they arrive?
My body feels unusually heavy, drained of its vigour. Though I barely did anything the day before. Only one simple, noteworthy task. Maybe it was too much?
My brain is on fire, thoughts scream and yell, harassing me at every turn. When are you going to finish tasks “a), b), c), d) e), f) i-, ii- ...” You’re already so far behind today. And you just woke up! Oh, also, you have to call “So-and-so” later today, do your scheduled workout, finishing reading the last hundred pages of that book you’ve been meaning to get back to, do grocery shopping and cook a few meals, then go back to your old writing projects - the short stories from January remember? Oh, and have you forgotten about your novel, hmm? Tsk tsk, you’re slacking. You’ll never achieve anything if you don’t get to work right this sec—.
Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. SHUT UP!!
The stress is overwhelming. Everywhere online, there are reminders to make the most of your time. But what if sometimes I can’t? Is that okay? I try to silence all the noise.
Then the depression wraps me up in its warm, deceitful embrace. It whispers the things I want to hear. I listen to this newfound ally. At first. Then it poisons me with words and thoughts and ideas that seemed archaic, yes so fresh and heavy in my head. Dark, troubling thoughts. Things that I usually pay no heed to, though they persist again and again.
The anxiety tags back in, and the deadly duo unleashes blow after blow on my fragile weary state. Till there is nothing left but trauma… and numbness.
On those days, I want to remember what it is like to feel and be normal again.
***
Some days I am grateful.
No matter what I have achieved so far, no matter what is left on the agenda, I remind myself to be grateful.
There is still time to do things in my life. Even if I don’t believe there is. I want to rush, surging forward with progress in a linear fashion. But that is an outdated belief. Progress is cyclical. Some days, things will be achieved and conquered. Some days I will fall and spend time mending the wounds. Some days, nothing noteworthy will happen and I will simply exist. And on some days, I will be content right where I am.
With this reminder, I press ahead with motivation and discipline - but also mindfulness and clarity - as a refreshing new week begins.
The cycle then repeats itself… with some days always being, inexplicably, yet somehow miraculously, better than others.
A couple of weeks ago, I wrote this in a sheer bout of frustration.
I thought about all of the “some days” I’ve had in the past couple of years and jotted them down. Funnily enough, I noticed a cyclical pattern. This neurotic fixation focused on productivity and achievement, that I believe we all have.
But there are always days when things don’t go the way we initially planned: tasks and goals fall through. Other things come up and get in the way. Other times, we simply can’t force the process of productivity, no matter how disciplined or determined we are to see things through.
It took me a long time to figure out how to be patient with progress, especially with my writing. The creativity isn’t always there. There were times where my “non-existent” state of productivity impaled my hopes and I began to blame myself for not trying hard enough.
Truthfully, I was trying as hard as I could, but I kept hitting the wall.
Eventually, this attitude bled into my emotional state and disrupted my lifestyle. If there was no forward progress, I’d chastise myself and condescend my skills and abilities. Telling myself that “I’m not good enough”. In these moments, everything feels lacklustre. The world seems greyer than usual. It’s easy to blame bad habits or our inability to be consistent with things important to us.
But it’s not the case.
Perhaps, we’re just too hard on ourselves. Trying to be “more” instead of “enough”, because society tells us that we need to chase this idea of perfection on a perpetual loop. Rather than simply existing today.
Some days, we can’t force things. Eventually, we finish things in our own time - there’s no rush. It’s better to take things slowly, rather than listen to the count-down timer in our head. There is no need to stress ourselves out about such matters. Everything is more difficult and challenging in the current climate. Lockdowns are lasting longer, daily news updates cause more distress.
So on some days, when things aren’t going the way you want them to be, tell yourself that it is perfectly okay.
Whether you believe it or not, what you did today is enough. You are enough.