Indefatigable Is a Goal in a Overly Exhausted World
Then there’s that guy at work who is relentlessly upbeat. He dances in the aisles to the soundtrack of the place as it is comprised of the hits of the 80’s and 90’s. He finds a joke in most interactions. He has a ‘glass half full’ perspective even in the most dire circumstances. He has what seems to be endless energy. You want to kill him or embrace him in equal measure.
I’m that guy.
Despite being him most of the time, I’m getting tired. Sure, I’m half a century old and the natural decay of the body requires more naps but the tired I’m feeling is that of existential fatigue. A weariness of the soul. The pause Sisyphus takes in between pushing the huge boulder up the hill as it rolls back down again and he breathes in a ragged breath, lets out a shoulder shaking sigh and trods back down the hill.
I don’t feel this way often as I am that guy. I am feeling it more often lately.
“Oh. You folks are still doing the mask thing?”
“Yup. Nevada still requires them. Probably a good thing.”
“Most states are tired of it. Most people are tired of it.”
“Numbers don’t lie. Nevada numbers are lower than the current spikes in the Midwest.”
“Of course, numbers lie. The infection rates are all fake. You see, the insurance companies pay out more if the cause of death is COVID so htydchhv jhgkiy llufdsdg j jhhv kukjbkmjh...”
I struggle to find the humor in the moment. My heart gets heavy. Frustration. The fucking boulder rolls down the hill and I wonder if I have the grit to go down and roll it up the hill again.
I read about pandemic fatigue. As if a virus gives a good goddamned how weary we are of it. As if nature gives two shits about our state of mind.
I understand pandemic fatigue.
I also understand
Social Media fatigue
Donald Trump fatigue
Election fatigue
Climate Change fatigue
Extreme Left fatigue
Extreme Right fatigue
Advertising fatigue
I see it in the eyes of people everywhere. In their behavior.
Amy, the registered nurse with anxiety issues before all this, betting recklessly at the Sportsbook and asking anyone who will listen if they think she should go buy CBD to help. Wayne, a tourist van driver who hasn’t seen a paycheck since March, sitting with his wife playing Keno, each button push a joyless effort. Jackson, my boss, losing his train of thought three times in a twenty minute meeting.
Conspiracy theories are on a full-tilt rise these days. People share them without thought because, while almost droolingly stupid, they explain this. This unexplainable state we’re in is suddenly revealed through some guy on the internet detailing how Canada will lock down a third time and force through universal income and imprison dissenters.
To be truly indefatigable one needs to see beyond the eye’s gaze. To envision a next Thursday when things are no longer assaulting your sense of place, your sense of security, your sense of reality. To resist fatigue, one needs to focus on simple things and create space. To fight it off, the reservoirs of compassion need to be uncorked.
How? I think about this a lot. How to strap on that armor to prevent the decaying planet, the childish society, and the ever-present threat of everything from climate disaster to a possible second Trump term from overwhelming each waking moment with dread?
Stop doomscrolling.
The news is supposed to be news not a parade of despair designed to scare the fuck out of you. Check in with yourself. How do you feel before you open that NYT app or Apple News and start the march of horrors? How do you feel after? You want to be ‘in the know’ but for fuck’s sake, do it less.
Focus on simple accomplishments.
Back in the day I lost eighty pounds and for the past fourteen years I’ve kept it off. 185 is my go to weight but I shot up to 208 in the past year. I’m now working on paring it down and each day I lose another half pound it feels like I have a modicum of control. Working out has the same effect.
My mom gardens. A friend makes YouTube sketch videos. My wife goes out and finds free stuff in alleys and behind stores. Someone knits. Others write their version of the Great American Novel.
Do a few things daily that give you a sense of control of something because everything else out there is well beyond it.
Stop wallowing.
A lovely friend back in Chicago touts the phrase “It’s OK to Not Be OK” and he’s correct. That said, it’s not OK to be not OK and bathe in this fact. Not being OK, recognizing it, avoiding guilt over it, and allowing it to define your every waking moment are not the same. You feel anxious? OK. Do things that relax you but don’t put on a t-shirt and carry a placard that declares how anxious you are. Bragging about how fucked up you feel is a narcissistic wormhole of which there is no escape.
Fucking breathe.
You’re on edge. You feel out of control. Maybe you’re a little desperate. Being a raging asshole is not going to help in any way. Playing up your grievances for the crowd won’t make you feel better.
That barista is a going through the same thing. Fucking breathe and be cool. That woman at Walgreens is living the same COVID nightmare as you. Fucking breathe and be a better person for a moment. That guy who signaled wrong and cut you off is just as uncertain of our political future as you. Fucking breathe and calm the fuck down.
Indefatigable is a state of mind. It is “I’m exhausted but I have just a bit more gas in the tank so why not?”
So. Why not?
