When I sit in front of my computer and take a look at my to-do- list, I feel overwhelmed. In addition to all the catch-up work I have listed, I have a plethora of other daily tasks to do.
My cleaning lady and I haven’t made connections for several weeks, so I look around and know that I’m going to have to drag out the vacuum, mop, and cleaning supplies. Since I’m going through another rough patch with my arthritis, I feel a little overwhelmed.
I haven’t had much time to watch TV lately, but when I watched the recorded evening news, I saw the horrible destruction from Hurricane Ian. From that perspective, my housework seemed like child’s play.
How we look at our adversities and how we face setbacks, determines our quality of life. Each of us has to face our own demons. Life can certainly send seemingly insurmountable challenges our way.
I recently saw a Facebook post that said instead of a to-do list, we need a not-to-do list. It makes me ponder what should be on that list. Maybe I need to “minimalist” my activities and figuratively lay them all on the floor and mentally pick them up one by one, and ask, “Does this activity bring me joy?”
That would probably stress me more than just doing what needs to be done. I’ve never been what I would consider a procrastinator, but I’m often guilty of juggling so many activities that I may have to let one task slide to focus on a more urgent one. I’m performing volunteer activity triage.
When I think about the younger me—the primary caregiver who held a full-time job, volunteered countless hours, and in the meantime earned a college degree—I don’t recognize that woman anymore. Before the pandemic slowed life to a crawl, my calendar was often triple-booked. Now, I feel exhausted if I look at my calendar and see two appointments in the same week, much less on the same day.
I have been chiding myself for getting behind in everything. I admitted to my friends at a dinner last week that I don’t have the energy or stamina that I had before the pandemic.
The activity that seems to bring me the most pleasure is playing my ukulele and singing. Whether I’m trying to learn a challenging new song or if I’m playing a simple three-chord country melody, it takes my mind off that dreaded to-do list.
I recently played my ukulele and sang for a group of residents at an assisted living facility in Sedalia. There was a snafu with the calendar, and they weren’t expecting me. After a phone call to the activity director, who said I was supposed to be there on the third Monday, the receptionist looked at the calendar and said, “This is the third Monday.”
“Show me where to set up, and I’ll get everything ready to go,” I said. After loading all my equipment in my car, I decided that if no one came, I’d spend an hour running through my program. The receptionist spread the word, and by the time I was ready to play, a nice sized crowd had assembled.
I couldn’t have asked for a better audience. My heart was filled with joy to see how much they appreciated my efforts. I neared the end of my program and had a little extra time so I told them I’d sing a song I wrote called “Jazzy Wheelchair.” We finished with “Old Country Church” as a sing-along. As I started packing up my things to go, no one seemed to want to leave. One woman asked if she could have a copy of the lyrics to “Jazzy Wheelchair” to share with a friend. A man named Mike offered to help me take my equipment to the car.
I was still smiling as I drove away. I called my mom and she wanted to know how it went, saying she knew I did a wonderful job.
“I’d say about 98%,” I told her. “I missed a few chords, my voice cracked a couple of times, and once my screen was covered with a message that I couldn’t connect to the internet. And of all things, I sang “Coal Miner’s Daughter” and forgot to sing the chorus after the first two verses. I knew I couldn’t go back to sing the chorus after the final verse.”
“You sure couldn’t,” Mom said. “But the verses tell the story, and you finished the story.”
The thing about singing is that most people don’t notice the minor mistakes. Singing lifted my spirits, and theirs. It’s all about perspective—end of story.
Donations to the 2022 Sedalia Walk accepted through December
Click www.alz.org/sedaliawalk search for Jim’s Team
Copyright © October 2022 by L.S. Fisher
http://earlyonset.blogspot.com
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