Quarantine Diaries: Appreciating the little things

Last night, as I tried to fall asleep, I felt an ache in my head and a weight on my chest. There is so much darkness in the world right now. So much darkness in my own country. And last night, it felt as though that darkness was as deep as the sea—and I was treading water, trying to survive. 

Editor’s note: I’d like to acknowledge that the sea of darkness that I’m treading in is nothing in comparison to others. To continue the metaphor, I am treading water with the assistance of a buoy. Others are not lucky enough (read: privileged enough) to have a buoy at all. They are clutching at floating planks of wood or to others who are treading with them—and sometimes, to nothing at all. What I wrote about in this post is just one way that I, personally, am able to deal with depressing feelings during this time. Here is a resource for more external actions you can take.

For the sake of this post, I want to speak to the validity of feeling like you’re drowning in the darkness that continues to swell. And how, taking time to hone in on the little things (if you are able to), can make it feel like you’ve been given a life vest, if only for a moment. 

Noticing and appreciating the little things in life:

I’ve written in the past about a gratitude journal. Taking a moment every morning (whether you write it down or not) to think of three things you’re grateful for. I’ve found, in my own experience, that this really helps to shape my outlook for the rest of the day. Of course, some days, it can feel like there’s nothing to be grateful for. Still, if you’re able to, I encourage challenging yourself to list at least one thing every morning. In my limited experience, there’s always been something that I’m lucky enough to have in my life.

Today, however, I decided to do things a little differently. Though I still plan to write down or meditate on things I’m grateful for, I also wanted to take time to slow down and take pleasure in the little things in my life, as they happened. Again, I want to acknowledge that I am privileged enough to be able to do so.

On the weekends, I tend to go on runs either Saturday or Sunday mornings. On those days, when I get back to my apartment, it can feel like the rest of the day is jam-packed with chores or other obligations (yes, even in quarantine the days seem to slip by, don’t they?). 

However, on the day that I don’t go for a run, I like to purposefully take things slow. To enjoy breakfast. To write. To watch a television show. To read. 

Today is Sunday.

Today I decided to relish in the little things. 

I woke up late (for me) at 8:30. I made Four Sigmatic mushroom coffee with adaptogens. I cut slices of banana bread that my neighbor had made for me. I sat on my sofa and watched Fixer Upper as I savored each bite of the bread. It felt glorious. Thirty minutes of enjoying the sweet treat followed by the rich flavor of the coffee. It felt like a luxury. It was also a challenge not to think of all the other things I could be doing. But I focused on appreciating each moment of that lazy Sunday breakfast, and it has felt like a little vacation.

I then came over to my little desk and sat down. I read a bit of an old blog post then I started writing this one. I put on some classical piano music and enjoyed the sound of each note as a cool breeze filtered in through my window. 

Lighting my favorite candle, I took some time to appreciate the musky scent of teakwood and tobacco. I haven’t used this candle in a while, so the familiar aroma was incredibly comforting. As was the deep orange flickering light on this foggy day. 

Now I’m thinking of washing my dishes. It seems like a chore, but I have a new book on tape. Washing dishes gives me an excuse to listen to it. As the warm water and soap attach to the food and push them off the surfaces of each plate, Tupperware, and the inside of my blender, I can take pleasure in the fact that I’m cleaning while enjoying a story. 

Final thoughts:

Flowers are blooming on the vine outside my apartment. It covers my fire escape, providing privacy as well as greenery. The flowers are bright pink. They promise life. They bloom as we seem to bury ourselves in turmoil. They bloom in the face of this virus. They do not care about our troubles. They exist outside of humanity. They show our insignificance. 

Later, I will break up my day with research, educating myself. 

I will stretch my body. I will cry. I will learn. 

I will notice the relief of Shavasana. I will not cut it short. Dead man’s pose. What is more powerful than giving yourself death in order to be reborn? To feel the heat and exhaustion of muscles and to allow them to relax. To cool. For more than just a short minute. Then to come back to life as you rise to a seat. 

In front of me on my desk, a new Monstera leaf is unfolding. Bright green life unrolls, contrasting with the dark green of older leaves. I watch it every day, taking note of each curl as it slowly unfurls.