“It’s raining. Better go 40 mph.”
—everyone on I‑5 earlier
This is the time of year when we should all be sleeping in late and quitting work early and going to bed early and saving our resources.
Our money, our time, our energy, our effort.
Eating comforting food and being warm and comfortable and having what I call “quiet time.”
Sometimes when it gets late and Aaron wants to stay up, I tell him I’m going upstairs because not only am I getting tired but I also need to have “quiet time.”
No noise, low lights, my entire body relaxing in bed, maybe I dink around on my phone reading about some random bird on Wikipedia.
It took him a while to understand that it wasn’t about him. I just needed that. He loves being near me so now if I go upstairs and he still wants to play his Steam Deck, he uses his headphones. 🩵
We all need quiet time and this awful society we’ve crafted doesn’t allow for it.
We have two insane holidays barely a month apart during the darkest time of year.
Instead of celebrating the solstice and all of the things it symbolizes we are pressured into spending money we don’t have on crap nobody needs out of a sense of obligation to ghosts of the past.
“Tradition” can be lovely but it can also be toxic as hell.
And it’s not even just this awful, stupid American form of celebrating this holiday. It’s also a puritanical attitude toward work for the sake of furthering late stage capitalism.
Push your body and your heart and mind to the extreme limit so someone else can buy an extra yacht or luxury car or another house on a vineyard.
Push, even though it’s time to rest and recharge and nature is trying to tell us that.
We don’t listen.
Everyone was sad when COVID forced us to stay home and forgo the usual (although many people did anyway and we paid the price). It’s funny, now people are complaining again about all the things they have to do.
We have a really unhealthy relationship with obligation and guilt. We look back on tumultuous events with rose colored glasses and keep putting ourselves through the grinder with little to show for it other than debt, depression, exhaustion, and resentment.
I try to find things I can like about this time of year. For me it’s a survival instinct. It’s what I’ve always done my entire life whenever I’m in a situation that surrounds me, I can’t escape from, and I can’t really change on a macro level.
As I get older I’ve gotten better about setting and reinforcing boundaries and saying no. Some people don’t like it but I don’t give a fuck, they can pound sand.
The darkest day of the year is tomorrow, and I have no plans that day.
Thankfully I also don’t have to work, because it’s Saturday. I’m going to embrace it. The darkness isn’t always a bad thing. Sometimes it’s trying to remind us to slow down and rest. After that, things will gradually get lighter again.
At least literally if not figuratively.
—emily duchaine
Flommist Emily Duchaine lives in the Pacific Northwest. She likes to drink mead, learn about sharks, and listen to the Talking Heads. She pretends to be a professional businesswoman most days. Copyright © 2024 Emily Duchaine.
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