The later exercise time I thought I’d ‘treat’ myself to starts to feel like a punishment as I pace my room, waiting for the appointed time.
Having had so very many (delightful!) calls from friends in the first week, I decide to give myself a quiet day, only briefly talking to Jared. I’ve hardly watched any TV since arriving, as I have the attention span of a gnat in here. I settle in to enjoy this ‘binge watching’ that is supposed to be relaxing. After 2 hours my butt is numb and I want to hurl things at the TV.
Ostensibly, you’d think that isolation would be relaxing, right? These are the perfect conditions to be able to catch on some reading, sleep. None of this seems to be true for me. It is a very real battle to stay on task with anything, and sleep… well it’s hit and miss at best.
I mean I guess my options with this are continue to try and beat myself up and accomplish something ‘of worth’ or simply embrace the laze – or hyperactivity as it were.
I do definitely feel better after exercise, so what if I just spent the whole time doing star jumps on the hour? Is there such a thing as too much exercise? Or would it be so bad if I just wallow in a quagmire of self-pity and boredom, and be in a funk for a while? This obsession with being happy and upbeat all the time is just a little false to be honest. I think the current situation warrants just a little woe-is-me, but maybe draw the line before full blown existential I-should-quit-my-life crisis. These four walls aren’t big enough for that kind of shenanigans.
Have decided that I would make a terrible prisoner. Or a brilliant one. I have already plotted my escape about 3 times over. Some people seem to adapt to the sloth lifestyle quite easily but, alas, I am not one of them. I am like a deer on my step dad’s farm trying to avoid being caught who can suddenly now leap over 9 foot fences.
Reason and sanity are holding me back from an escape attempt right now, but I can certainly see how people would get to the stage where out of sheer boredom they would see if they could sneak out just to see if they could, like a giant real-life escape room. I wonder if anyone has escaped and been truly undetected?
I do not feel like being a national headline today.
I remember marvelling when I was a teen at some of my peers who life had just absolutely shat on, yet somehow they seemed to be some of the happiest, most fun-loving, caring, pleasant, and generally lovely people to be around. As a heart-on-my-sleeve kind of person, I hadn’t worked out yet that it was possible to feel something and not show it, but these amazing humans were the picture of lively, gregarious teens, with the odd quirky idiosyncrasy on the side.
Perhaps it is in going through such hard times that we realise the importance of choosing to be happy, of seeking humour and joy where we can find it. The difference between simply enduring hardship, white knuckling through, and actually overcoming it, finding a way, despite all the shit, to have a good time, to create an awesome life. I don’t think that level of resilience is appreciated enough, but I think there is an awful lot of it out there, from my anecdotal experience. It is beautiful to behold.
One striking example of this is a woman, let’s call her Leilani, who I encountered when I was ushering at the Michael Fowler Centre. Leilani was confined to a wheelchair, and also blind, but she was the happiest, smiliest, most grateful person I have ever met. She thanked me so profusely for just helping her to her seat, and keeping her company during the intermissions. She exuded joy from the very essence of her being. In exchange, I gave her a running commentary of what people were doing during the intermission and invented conversations of people around us, tried to make her laugh.
18 year old me was completely baffled. How could someone who had so many difficulties in life could be so happy? It didn’t at all add up with the traditional formula for happiness – be smart, get professional accolades, get rich, work hard, be surrounded by awesome friends and family, and many material possessions, then you will be happy. Perhaps that’s one path to happiness, but she had certainly found another. Just be. Just be happy.
I have been trying to emulate that ever since.
All of that is to say is sometimes being in MIQ can feel like it is this gargantuan pain in the ass, an interminable chore, but if you look, there will be a way to find joy and make it a memorable experience.