When the winter wearies have set in, I try to do at least one hard thing a day. That way, I can feel a sense of accomplishment, even if the rest of the day is lost to mindless scrolling or napping with the cat.
iMy idea of hard things is not the same as other people’s. Yesterday, for instance: Walking a mile and a half to Center City yesterday to do my grocery shopping, and bringing everything home on the city bus, in the middle of an absolute snow disaster that is still hanging on? That wasn’t hard. Talking to a friend who was so anxious about politics that she was having chest pain, and helping her think through the situation? Not hard. Wrestling a piece of furniture out of the basement by myself and putting it in front of my house with a “free” sign? Piece of cake, even though I’m 74. That kind of thing doesn’t count as difficult. I do such things on impulse, without a second thought.
Hard things are dealing with taxes, planning vacations, packing for trips, or going to the first class of a course. And phone calls to strangers. I hate phone calls to people I don’t know. I will put those off forever.
I sometimes used to get my husband to make that kind of call, because he gloried in being not just difficult to strangers, but horrible. I could hear him absolutely hissing with fury from two floors away, and I would flinch while he did it, and then the appliance company would be offering us a replacement, or the utility would give us all our money back.
He’s not here to take the hit for me any more, so yesterday, I gathered up my strength and called my city’s newspaper to cancel my digital subscription.
When I dialed, I got a perfectly pleasant young man reading from a polite script in which he reassured me that the newspaper valued my account, and repeatedly offering me lower and lower rates. I finally gave in when he got to less than half of my existing rate. So, yes, I am still subscribing to my city’s newspaper, even though I can read it with my library card for free.
At least I could knock something off my list of hard things I didn’t want to do.
Today’s hard thing is getting my monthly massage. I have been going to this guy for months, but I will never feel at ease taking my clothes off and letting some disheveled introvert beat me up for a tiresome sum of money. I know I will feel better afterwards. I will feel taller. My hip won’t hurt. I will saunter, lightheaded, into the cold, and sleep well at night. But I absolutely dread the moment, half way through, when he lifts the light blanket slightly up to make it easier for me to turn over, and I have to shift my body slowly and awkwardly from lying on my back to lying on my front, trying not to swear and groan.
Oh, yeah, and I have the first French class of the semester today, but that isn’t hard because I took the same class last term. I just have to remember to sit farther back in the classroom so the instructor doesn’t yell at me again when I distract him. I found out the other day when I attended a Zoom session for prospective instructors that you don’t get paid for teaching these classes, you just get a free membership for the term, so I will be kind to the poor man. He’s a terrible teacher, but I love the people class.
One hard thing a day. I can do it.