The older I get, the more I feel the need to romanticize my life.
In the wake of a pandemic that shattered my worldview, threatened my safety, and forever altered society, I realized one thing: I well and truly did not — could not — give a fuck anymore.
Protect your energy
After witnessing how it could be easily snatched away, I became fiercely protective of my time and energy. The pandemic changed how I viewed success. Deep in my heart, I realized that having one entity control my limited time on God's green earth was wrong. I learned that there were other ways to exist apart from the 9-5.
I did not want to clock in or out of work anymore. I did not want anybody to "approve" my free time. I did not want to spend my life in vignettes of 2-week vacations and the rest of it in front of Zoom meetings that didn't seem to end. I didn't want to climb the corporate ladder — because there was no fucking ladder at all.
This was my life. And at last, I'm going to spend it how I like, how I want.
A month after getting COVID, I quit my job and dove into freelancing. I wish I'd done it sooner.
A hair story
After my whole family got COVID in the summer of 2021, the first thing I did after our 2-week isolation was book an appointment at the salon. In stories, a haircut is a visual representation of drastic change for a character. As a drama queen, I felt that it was the appropriate way to signal my new lease on life.
At that point, I'd never really gone to a proper salon, which made the experience even more special. I dropped a cool 5 grand for a haircut and a summer balayage — and it was the best 5 grand I'd ever spent.
The lesson here is this: YOLO. Look pretty whilst you exist atop a giant rock spinning in the ether.
My favorite days
On my best days, I spend only a couple of hours at work. I hardly go to meetings anymore. I spend my mornings early and slowly — journaling, exercising, and taking a walk before my husband wakes up. I find time to cook. I paint and find my way back to art. Maybe my parents come over with my sisters and nephew and we all have dinner after a swim at the condo pool. Maybe I spend it alone, greeting the neighborhood dogs on my way to buy a little drinky drink from the cafe on the corner.
And I tell myself I will never, ever take this privilege for granted.
My life had so far been an exercise in frugality and self-control. If delayed gratification was an Olympic sport, I'd be Simone Biles. But where's the fun in delayed gratification when you're dead tomorrow? The pandemic hasn't transformed me into a full-blown hedonist as yet, but I've been giving myself the grace and space to enjoy life. To do things for the heck of it. To take risks just to see where it will take me.
I try new things.
I buy new clothes.
I go on self-dates.
We buy hotel dinners instead of packing hotdogs, hard-boiled eggs, and noodles into our overnight bags. Small things, but I say yes to all of them all the same.
Just a girlie romanticizing
Look, I know how this sounds. But I'm just a girlie romanticising her life.
An existential crisis is par for the course in these unprecedented times. We survived a pandemic, a category 5 typhoon, the loss of friends and old lives.
I'm glad that I came out of it a bit better. A bit more anxious, sure. Slightly agnostic? Probably.
But better.
I have a new appreciation for everyday life and the absurd circumstances that have led us here, now, in this wrinkle in time. I like that it forced me to take control of my life — to view it outside the context of work and obligation and purpose.
Just a girlie made of recycled stardust and borrowed energy, romanticizing her time on God's green earth.
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