Bad Days That Aren't Bad
A year ago, I had a really bad August. Just one of those months. Way overly busy, and anything and everything going wrong (well... not everything. The earthquake waited ‘til September). It ranged from little things like food exploding in the microwave, to real nuisances like bike maintenance issues, to proper Bad like a colleague whose dad had a heart-attack and so had to go home for a while, leaving me with her classes. I’m not going to say I was miserable, because I’ve been miserable and I know how that feels. But I was unhappy. The little things were a big deal, the big things were overwhelming, and the things that I should have been enjoying were not making me happy.
Last Wednesday was the annual Cantamath competition - the local maths meet. It was one of about 8 out-of-the-ordinary commitments that managed to land in that week, including parent/teacher meetings, extra school meetings, and extra dance and choir practices - busy, busy week. And it was a wacky, messed up day. I got to work and tuned into the internet to discover that there’d been an earthquake in Virginia that had rocked DC where my sister lives. She hadn’t checked in. And then later that afternoon 2 of the kids on the year 10 team (there’s only 4 in a team, so that’d be half of them) told me they didn’t want to compete afterall, leaving the last two very disappointed, after months of practicing. And on the way home from work I caught a piece of glass in my back tire 5km from home.
But - what I remembered about the day later was the joy of finally hearing from Chelly at lunch time, perfectly fine and a generally a bit confused about our concern. I remembered how cool it was that the remaining team members managed to find two friends who were willing to jump in at the last minute, including a girl from another school (shhh - we’re not supposed to mention that) who had desperately wanted to compete but hadn’t been able to because her school wasn’t entering a team. I have very fond memories of basking in the sun in a park on Miln Rd, waiting for my flatmate who drove my car out to pick up me and my bike. And - when I finally got home that evening a package had shown up for me from my best friend containing, among other things, a fabulous bicycle-motif-ed shirt. It was, in memory, a great day.
Last August’s mess of bad luck finally broke over the course of a particularly amazing Blues dance workshop. It finally hit me that the problem wasn’t actually all the bits and pieces going wrong - it was that I wasn’t looking after myself properly. I wasn’t taking quiet time out for me and my soul, I wasn’t making sure I got to see friends, I hadn’t been hugged in months. This August, I’ve got all that under control - and it’s amazing what a difference it makes.
Last Wednesday was the annual Cantamath competition - the local maths meet. It was one of about 8 out-of-the-ordinary commitments that managed to land in that week, including parent/teacher meetings, extra school meetings, and extra dance and choir practices - busy, busy week. And it was a wacky, messed up day. I got to work and tuned into the internet to discover that there’d been an earthquake in Virginia that had rocked DC where my sister lives. She hadn’t checked in. And then later that afternoon 2 of the kids on the year 10 team (there’s only 4 in a team, so that’d be half of them) told me they didn’t want to compete afterall, leaving the last two very disappointed, after months of practicing. And on the way home from work I caught a piece of glass in my back tire 5km from home.
But - what I remembered about the day later was the joy of finally hearing from Chelly at lunch time, perfectly fine and a generally a bit confused about our concern. I remembered how cool it was that the remaining team members managed to find two friends who were willing to jump in at the last minute, including a girl from another school (shhh - we’re not supposed to mention that) who had desperately wanted to compete but hadn’t been able to because her school wasn’t entering a team. I have very fond memories of basking in the sun in a park on Miln Rd, waiting for my flatmate who drove my car out to pick up me and my bike. And - when I finally got home that evening a package had shown up for me from my best friend containing, among other things, a fabulous bicycle-motif-ed shirt. It was, in memory, a great day.
Last August’s mess of bad luck finally broke over the course of a particularly amazing Blues dance workshop. It finally hit me that the problem wasn’t actually all the bits and pieces going wrong - it was that I wasn’t looking after myself properly. I wasn’t taking quiet time out for me and my soul, I wasn’t making sure I got to see friends, I hadn’t been hugged in months. This August, I’ve got all that under control - and it’s amazing what a difference it makes.