Little Missed Wisdoms
The Week in Selfies: 9/21/20 - 9/27/20
I am full of tricks.
I am continuing on with the subscription donation project. The organization for September (which is almost over!!!!!) is Las Fotos Project. (Thank you, Monet, for the suggestion.)
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My family has a very simple recipe for a spaghetti sauce. It’s likely a recipe that came out of the 50’s with the enormous popularity of canned foods. Or possibly the Great Depression because it’s simple and only uses a few ingredients: canned tomato soup, canned tomato sauce, tomato juice, ground beef, onion, garlic, chili powder, and cinnamon. Boom. You’ve got yourself a more delicious spaghetti sauce than it has any right to be.
Because it is so simple and freezable, it has been in my meal repertoire for a while now. And when I first started making it, I thought I knew everything there was to know about it. Except…I couldn’t get the sauce to stop sputtering everywhere, covering my kitchen in a not so thin layer of deep red goo. I mentioned this to my Mom one day.
“Oh yeah. You’re supposed to put a lid on it.”
***
Any time I vaguely injure myself, I talk to my Dad. Usually there is a picture involved, like the time I scraped up my hand falling in front of my building on some ice. I was worried it was infected. My Dad, obviously, took a look at the picture and texted back immediately:
“Go to the doctor, Sam.”
Now, this isn’t so much a missed wisdom as an often ignored one. There have been times when I have gone directly to the doctor where the experience is less than stellar. (Most times.) Like when I slipped on the marble stairs at Columbia in my first few weeks of being there. But that doctor felt he better scold me about my shoe choice and being on my phone before helping me with my quickly swelling ankle. The doctor is never my favorite place to be. But the answer is always
“Go to the doctor, Sam.”
***
New Girl is on a constantly rotating roster of comfort shows. Sometimes I put it on without realizing that I made that choice. I’m a Nick Miller, obviously, so it shouldn’t be surprising that I missed this at first:
Why did I sleep on pajama sets for so long? (GET IT?)
***
My sleeping skills are marginal at best. Although, they are much better than they were even three years ago so that is some sort of progress. I keep thinking back to being in college or in my 20s and how much I put my body through in order to fulfill all my commitments, to stay busy, to avoid dealing with other things, to not miss a single moment I thought I should be awake for. Younger Samantha did so much on so little. She is TIRED. (I’m still tired all the time, as most of us are, but for entirely different reasons.) Look, she did what she had to do and I’m proud of her. Today, I would absolutely yell in her face:
***
CW: mental health
Once you’ve been doing it for a while, it’s easy to keep putting your mind and body through hell. It’s a deep, dark, lonely thing to be doing but it’s also comfortable in a lot of ways. You’ve been here. You know your neighbors. You know what time all the tv shows come on. Who wants cocktails??
Then, one day, I realized that personal hell wasn’t doing for me what I thought it was doing. I couldn’t tell you when it happened, but within the last few years, I figured out that I deserve more respect than that.
There are a lot of things I can’t control. My mental health is a big part of that. But it has lately been my mission to learn and use tools when I can and try to show myself a certain level of respect. To be careful of how I talk about and to my body and my mind, to take the morality out of food, to pick up and put down half-hobbies with abandon, to watch my comfort shows for the millionth time, to set boundaries, to figure out what I want. Ignoring my own needs and trying to be open and available for everyone all the time meant that I was not actually open or available for anyone, including myself.
This approach doesn’t work every day, it can change minute-by-minute. And you definitely can’t control other people so they might not approach you in the same way. But understanding that is also part of it. Yet, no matter where I am mentally or physically, if I can find my way back to this question, I know how to begin again:
Does this (whatever it is) show me the level of respect I deserve from myself?
Monday, September 21, 2020
Hello? Can I help you?
Tuesday, September 22, 2020
I…I work out.
Wednesday, September 23, 2020
Serious face McGee..McCooper?
Thursday, September 24, 2020
I…what?
Friday, September 25, 2020
Virtual theatre means I got to watch a talented friend being funny right on my TV.
Saturday, September 26, 2020
I’m still cleaning spaghetti sauce off my walls.
Sunday, September 27, 2020
The best hair day.
This week, paying subscribers joined me in remembering the time I showed my bra to all of Pine Street in Seattle. If that sounds intriguing to you, consider becoming a paid subscriber.