Deflating and inflating
A list of things that help me continue to feed my happiness bar, while suffocating with my 9-5
I carefully open the door to my car as I wiggle my way into the narrow space between my car and my coworkers. I am tense as I slide my new work bag onto the passenger seat, because my car is covered in six months’ worth of filth due to my pure laziness of not taking it to the car wash. I grip the edge of my skirt and lift as I push myself up onto the seat, then proceed to slam the door shut. I sit in my hot air balloon of a car that’s been sitting in this garage for about nine hours. Immediately comes a big old sigh. Sigh? More like a welp.
[Another day survived. And now comes the same drive home. I wonder how long it’s going to be today. Twenty-three minutes? God damnit — An extra five minutes of my precious time wasted due to stupid drivers. What am I even going to listen to right now? The same playlist? Another podcast? No, I should listen to an audiobook. Damn, I have yet to find a new one to buy. But I need to get out of work. I guess I’ll shuffle the same playlist for the 100th time. Again.]
This is what goes through my head five days out of the week when I finish work. The same thoughts, the same welp, the same cold yet hot feeling in my muscles and bones that begin to deflate after a long day spent in a place I should* practically call home. As each sigh is released, the more I melt into my seat during the heated drive home. When I catch myself on the verge of road rage, I let out another sigh. Then perhaps a scream (!). Then back to welp. When I finally make it home, I sit in my car for a few minutes. I need a moment to inflate myself. I roll my shoulders back, straighten my posture, and respond to texts I have been ignoring for the entirety of my shift. I have seen the text — just haven’t found the capacity to continue a conversation. I use this moment of peace in my car to be a normal person (in my friends and family’s eyes) and find the courage to respond. After that’s done, I dome my head by hitting the Juul about five times in a row (I made a rule not to hit it while driving), and chug my Owala with any remaining water that’s left. Ah. Inflating complete. I am now ready to bask in the safe space I call home.
This mindset of work “being a waste of time” has always lingered around like a fly entrapped in a closed space, buzzing in my ear every ten minutes while finding its way to escape. Of course, I am grateful to have a well-paying job at the age of twenty-seven. But am I happy? Perhaps not. But is anyone truly satisfied with their nine-to-five job? I assume it’s rare. So I’m learning. I’m learning how to stop seeking joy from my job, which I must keep to pay the bills. I am learning day by day how to feed my creativity and happiness when I am clocked out. Because if I don’t, I will lose all power I have left to continue inflating myself as time goes on. I’ll melt through the car and become one with the hot air itself. That’s something I want to avoid at all costs. I want to continue having the will to continue this cycle, because this is the reality for millions of twenty, thirty, and forty-somethings. It is what it is. So if I find fulfillment in life itself, maybe I’ll be able to accept that.
I made a list of things (in no particular order) that have been helping me feed my mental health to keep moving forward. The little things are so important, and I am truly discovering healing powers from these tasks/things.
Digital journaling - reflecting on the week, months, days. Adding cute stickers and writing out tasks already completed.
Checking off to-do-lists.
Exercising - even if it’s twenty-minute workouts, and only on my days off.
Reading in bed with my night light on.
Using my Ocha Books bookmark.
Making coffee in the morning.
Refilling my ice cube tray.
Seeing all the Smurfs movie promotion billboards all across LA. (I am obsessed with Smurfs, confidently.)
Meditation.
Eating fruit (Pineapples and cantaloupe, to be specific)
Skin-contact wine.
Kissing my dog right in-between his eyes.
A beer (or two) after work.
Drinking barely tea (and making it.)
Eating seafood.
Cooking anchovy pasta at home.
Writing lyrics.
Packing my lunch in a bento box.
Seeing my tan lines after coming home from the beach.
Putting on a bra.
Cheese and crackers.
Everything showers.
Layering two of my Diptyque perfumes.
Staycations in California.
How my living room looks during sunset.
Putting on my watch and jewelry before I leave the house.
Picking out an outfit and pairing shoes + a bag.
Listening to my boyfriend passionately describe the art of music.
Listening to the 1975, Oasis, and Dream, ivory; of course.
Watching a fourteen-minute YouTube video on my iPad while eating my lunch at work. (Continued below).
Sitting down to read, right within the pocket of the sun that reflects onto the staircase outside.
Knowing I am breathing.
Knowing I am hydrating.
Knowing I am calm.
Wearing my hair down.
Saying thank you.
Saying “I love you”.
Being told “I love you
