When I wake up in the morning these days, I poke around in my psyche for something worth getting out of bed for.
As I’ve mentioned in earlier posts, the zip went out of my life when my husband died two years ago, so lately I’ve had to come up with my own zip.
In the morning, as I slide back into consciousness, I find myself in a bed whose only inhabitant is me, and once again I have to come up with a reason to make my next moves — open eyes, put feet on the floor.
If I am to go to the trouble to get out of bed, I’ll I need something to look forward to today, some small thing, or big thing, to put some meaning into my life.
So, I poke around in my psyche. And there it is, right where I left it. My to-do list.
You’d think that at the life phase I’m in now, with husbands and cousins and friends dying all around me, or getting ready to, that I’d be in a more existential state of mind. You’d think that, by now, I’d have hit upon something deep, something transcendent, to give my life meaning.
I’d be meditating my way to enlightenment, maybe. Or, working on my karma. Or, giving up something for Lent — my bedtime bowl of granola? — in hopes of a mystical encounter with Jesus.
If transcendence is setting my sights too high, then a more down-to-earth undertaking could be in order. A cause, perhaps, a horizon-expanding project — AIDS patients in Uganda. Earthquake victims in Turkey. The future of democracy in America.
But no, at the moment it is not lofty thoughts or expansive projects that get me out of bed in the morning.
It’s my to-do list.
My to-do list is where it’s happening. The meaning of life? It’s my to-do list.
My to-do list is a lot like those super simple crossword puzzle that appear daily in a newspaper that lands on my driveway each morning. With each correct word I find, I get a dose of endorphins lobbed into my bloodstream. Same thing when I tick an item off my to-do list. A cheap thril.
On a good day, just looking at my to-do list gives me a kick.
- Dig up the blackberry in the front yard. Show it no mercy. Obliterate it.
- Face the fact that you can’t hear the alarm on your wristwatch any more. Make an appointment with an audiologist.
- Alternatively, get a louder watch.
- Buy a cute outfit for Grandchild No. 2, who’s turning 4 this month. If the girls’ clothes on offer are too pink and too girly, check the boys’ side of the aisle.
- Do the yoga class. During shavasana, avoid thinking about your to-do list .
In other words, I have things that need to be done. Significant things. Things that are right in front of me, right now. Things that only I can do. Which means it matters whether I get out of bed or not. So I do.
As for figuring out the true meaning of life. I’ll get to it one of these days. It’s on my to-do list.
More to read at “A Half Century Later, I’m Still a Size 10 . . . OK, 12.” And, “For China’s Young Fashionistas, the Cultural Revolution Is So Over.”
YES the To Do List!!, It does feel good to check them off.
Thank you Barb for again expressing the emotions of our widowhood and the need to have stimulation to function (like getting out of bed), whereas when we were whole, with a spouse, those functions came easy without thought. Love your work and sharing your most inner thoughts with us. Nancy
Nancy, Thanks for reminding me that I am not alone in all this. We’re not the first ones. I suppose widows have been having trouble getting out of bed in the morning for centuries. Millennia?