If you’re just meeting me, or are new to my blog (which is new to everyone), you might know that I really like plans. I thrive on schedules and structures. I like when I make them, and I like when things go according to them. The first Saturday during my quarantine, I was determined to make the most of this. I was determined to maintain structured days. I woke up and had a plan to be productive. The plan looked like this:
Between 8-8:30, wake up (I went to bed at 11pm the night before, so that would give me plenty of time to sleep, be well rested).
8:30-9: morning coffee and meditation.
9-9:30: morning walk, get the blood flowing, move, boost some creativity.
10am: Write. Indefinitely. Write like a mad woman, fingers flying across the keyboard, expanding blog posts, writing the next chapter for my novel.
Noon: force myself to take a break, tear away from the computer to eat a healthy and nutritious lunch for brain power followed by Mid-day yoga.
Noon- dinner time: keep writing in a frenzy. Until I’ve not only exhausted myself but have already started making income from my art. Once again, pulling myself away from my work only when it was once again time to eat.
8-10pm: read, share a valuable and insightful social media post, drink tea and go to bed early.
I usually thrive with a schedule. In my book, I have a chapter about how important it is to manage your time and I offer millennials tricks and tips on how to do so.
After years of making plans, I know that sometimes, things work out. Sometimes you make a schedule and you do what you’re supposed to and the train is on time and you eat when you’re supposed to and you’re well rested and ready to accomplish the next task. But sometimes, most times, you can make a plan then have to resort to plan B, then C, then and then and then until you realize you just can’t plan for this.
Here’s what actually happened on this particular day.
I woke up at 10:30. Yes, even though I had gone to bed at 11pm the night before. I really like my sleep. I didn’t set an alarm, even though I know that in order for me to wake up “on time” I need an alarm.
10:30-11:30, I had my coffee and made myself breakfast then I checked my phone, telling myself that I’d start writing after 10 minutes of social media. I ignored the timer that went off on my phone.
I ate a handful of garbage snacks. Realized I hadn’t had any water yet, decided to get up and refill my water. I sat at my desk, but opened my phone once again.
I wrote one paragraph and took a “well deserved” break.
I went on social media again.
Before I knew it, it was 7pm, I was starving and had accomplished nothing I had intended to. I went down a rabbit hole about how other people are experiencing a lack of structure, a lack of schedule during these crazy times too.
I know that is one way I am struggling in this quarantine time – time doesn’t seem to exist. Or rather, it exists, but it doesn’t really matter. You can wake up at noon or stay up well past midnight and no one seems to mind, no one seems to care, because chances are, they’re doing the same thing. And of course, you could do all that before this pandemic, but now It’s more acceptable. It’s funny how quickly things can change.
While most days during this quarantine, and in general, are very productive, and I’m checking every item off intended to do lists, in their intended order (because I enjoy it and I feel better about myself when I’ve done something noteworthy), there are a handful of days like the actual – do nothing days. I’m learning that not every minute of every day has to be planned out – even in our socially distant world, especially in our socially distant world.
There is no “time” any more.
There is no structure, no rules.
There isn’t even a designated spot. Usually the couch is for lounging, the bed is for sleeping. The dining table is for eating. I’ve moved from eating a veggie taco in my bed, to reading on the floor to the couch, then back again.
It’s not that nothing matters, it’s that all that matters is that I’m home. I’m staying home. So if I wanted to drink whiskey at 8am or drink coffee at midnight, so be it. I’m facetiming the friend who used to only text. I’m dm’ing people I used to have long conversations with. I’m connecting at home. Of course, this is different, but I’m making the most of it.
I was perfectly happy to do all this, to make adjustments to my schedule and make it work within the first 4 weeks of quarantine. I was creating the structure I had lost. I was at my work desk, during my designated working hours. I was making sure I went to bed at a reasonable hour so I could be productive and efficient and well rested the next day.
I felt good because suddenly I had time to do things I’ve been saying I wanted to do but hadn’t made time for. I could get some writing done, I could go on long walks, I could try that new recipe I’ve been wanting to get to, I could practice my Spanish.
I was creating structure in a new structureless world. I was going to the track after work, just as I used to go to the gym after work. I was journaling in the morning and practicing good self-care routines. I was coping during all this, and I was doing a damn good job of it.
Then something else happened. A punch to the heart straight from the cosmo’s fist. It was tragic and unexpected and it has affected me greatly and will continue to affect me, my thoughts, my actions, those around me, for quite some time. What exactly and how will be uncovered in another post or never.
The point here, is that it was another upset. Another thing that is so far out of my control that no amount of list creating or closet reorganizing would help me understand.
You see, whenever something unexpected has happened to me in the past, I would move, I would spring forward into action. I went through a breakup so I worked harder in my career and excelled in a contest. I crashed my car and was unable to drive for work so I taught myself how to braid my hair and I gave myself homework assignments to evaluate fictional characters in my favorite books. I lost a job so I worked on my writing, I worked to find a better job. A deadly virus spread throughout the world, places closed, so I was once doing what I could to maintain control. I created, I practiced yoga at the same time every day. I created structure because I craved control. Now, I feel like I can’t do any of that. I can’t move. At times, I can’t create. Then I feel bad for not creating and making the most of of this wide breadth of time I’ve been given. It’s a vicious cycle, really.
Now, time doesn’t exist and it doesn’t matter. Nothing that once mattered does now. That is not dark and dreary. There are many things that matter to me. But many things that I thought truly mattered, like washing your face at the same time each day, don’t. “wasting time” matters more now.
I’m questioning my usual routines, my “normal” rules. Why can’t I drink whiskey at 8 am? Who says I have to do my meditation in the morning? What’s wrong with not working on one project just because it’s 11:30 and I should be working on that particular project at that particular time.
Time is a structure that I created, we as a society created. It doesn’t matter if I call a client at 10am or at 3pm, as long as they get the call. It doesn’t matter that I eat breakfast at noon instead of 7am like I used to. All that matters, to me, in this moment, is getting through. How do I get through? How do I cope?
I’m creating different structures, new rituals (vicious, remember). My new rule, though. Is that I’m only creating structure, I’m only following the rules, that make sense to me, that bring me joy in some way (drink water, especially if you’ve been crying). I’m not creating rules or schedules ONLY to maintain control over things I have absolutely no control over.
So even though I have lost a lot of control, and I have no perceived structure, there are still a few rules I can live by. And I’ll live by those rules until I don’t. And in some time, in some way, things will make sense again. My rituals will become habits, or not, but I will once again create a “normal” world.
Erin A Clark 