… And physician heal thyself, and follow your own best advice, etcetera, and so on. Wish I had; I usually do.
Today again, I divert myself from the column planned. It was light; it was right for this time of year when political passion is forgone. Yet, I must segue, because I went right down the rabbit hole, losing my own cool.
First, the disclaimer: Accumulated stress and sleep deprivation doesn’t help anyone do the right thing just because they know, without any doubt, that it is, indeed, the right thing to do. Second, but also important, even they who honor the advice they give can forget to remember it in a crisis. I’m not being flippant. I’m just trying to prepare myself for the upcoming admission: I didn’t follow my own rules.
Last week, when I wasn’t under-slept and over-stressed, we chatted about keeping our cool during the holidays. Sadly, cumulative setbacks resulted in me losing my cool, and that’s tough to admit. Without trying to justify the unjustifiable mini-meltdown, I must set the story up.
It was a dark and stormy night … no, really, it was. It was frigidly cold, windy, and I, like so many others, was trying to complete my perfectly timed shopping for Christmas dinner. Of course, everything that can be purchased in advance should be, and meat orders must be made in advance. Then, meat and seafood must be picked up last minute – shellfish only lasts so long out of water.
Now comes something past the iceberg: the influence of opportunistic, hardcore profit on holiday grocery shopping. Many of us, if not most, understand the stress of this holiday. If we didn’t get its ubiquity before the song, “The Twelve Pains of Christmas,” a parody of the “Twelve Days of Christmas,” we surely did after. Still, the ubiquitous, unavoidable pain not mentioned in the song is one we mention at Chatterbox a lot: it’s “corporate.”
Halfway through my grocery shopping, I was completely frazzled. The shelves have been near Covid-empty for months, and I met several people who were complaining about that, as well as the price hikes. Many items’ prices have doubled (yes, doubled) in the last four to six months; some items have tripled. It’s not only breath taking, it’s heart-stopping. At the top, the price of a specific meat we have only at Christmas had tripled, and I’m too old to promise my firstborn. How much more money can flow to the top before there isn’t any left to flow anywhere else? I fear for those with fewer resources than average; I fear the return of the great depression. I left the store angry and with a list mostly unfulfilled.
In the freezing night, by the time I went approximately 100 feet from the store to my car, I thought about the homeless on such a night. My hands were in literal pain from the cold, and my face and head were frozen. The next day, still having to complete my responsibilities, I found some resource at a second store, far away and more reasonable, where my older daughter had also found our meat – at one-third the price. Seriously.
Christmas Eve went well but, Christmas Day got sketchy. My beloved family chatted and shared antipasto in the dining room, unaware – hopefully – that my younger daughter was pouring cooling words on me in the kitchen. Not heeding my own advice, I had mild, but repeated meltdowns from the stress dumped on my long-anticipated, family holiday by influential strangers. Sure, the day was wonderful anyway, just because my family is wonderful.
Also, holidays always get a bit unwieldy when there are sleepover guests, time absorbing distractions, huge dinners for Christmas Eve as well as Christmas day, and holiday bookkeeping and gift wrapping to be accomplished before dawn. I love Christmas, but I’m not 30 anymore.
Mostly, I hadn’t followed my own best advice. I hadn’t adhered to my reliable timeline and flow charts, and I neglected my dinner timetable while we opened presents (we’ve talked about all these tips before). So, having abandoned most of my time-proven techniques, I should have expected an epic fail. I had, inadvertently, tested my own theory. The theory is good; its abandonment proved that.
It won’t happen again. I will follow my own advice.
Happy New Year, everyone.
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