Reply Hazy, Try Again Later
I hit a wall the other day.
A friend asked me a simple question: “Do you want to do X?” And my brain simply went, **R2D2 noises**. Loudly. Followed by a Wookiee serenade.
I told them, essentially, that my brain was overloaded and I couldn’t answer them. This has not really happened to me in a low-stress setting before, so I found it puzzling. My brain is currently a Magic 8 Ball: reply hazy, try again later.
There are a pile of decisions on my plate. And I have made none of them. They’re not life-altering. But they’re there, just hanging out on the outskirts of everything, unmade. I’m trying not to give myself a hard time about needing to pause a take a beat. But I am someone who muscles through and only ever really hits a wall with big decisions.
Except for now.
I woke up in the middle of the night with the thought: what if I’m doing everything wrong? This, obviously, is gremlin brain. But gremlin brain happens. It’s unproductive, anxious thoughts that often saunter in like a movie villain in the worst moments.
A friend is going through a hard time. Am I helping or not?
A family member is dealing with a thing. There’s a lot of fallout from that. Am I helping or not?
A friend needs an ear. Am I helping or not?
Am I there enough to be useful? Am I helping or not?
Am I doing too much? Too little? Am I helping or not?
Add to that, day job things and frustrations. Wondering if now is a good time to get a dog—is my heart is ready or not? Wondering if I can do more? Less? It’s all a swirl of mild chaos, but mild chaos is still, in fact, unpleasant. Part of who I am—the exact fiber of my being—is being there for people. Good times, bad times. You need me? Call me. Text me. Send a carrier pigeon.
There’s nothing that makes my heart go sideways faster than discovering someone needed me and didn’t reach out. So I try to pick up the slack there, just in case. I’m the person who checks in. I don’t keep score and I don’t keep track of who did what, as long as I feel appreciated. (If I don’t, nope.) If you are in my life, you’ll often hear me say I’m here if you need me.
I mean it. It’s not for show. It’s not for kicks. It’s not for anything, other than sincerity. I deeply value being let in and leaned on. I never show care idly. I don’t have the time or the patience for that. I’d rather spend my energy wisely. It’s finite, after all.
But I am also tired. Burnt out? Burned out? I don’t know the right word for it. I’m not at my best. (Note: I am okay. Just functioning at a less-high capacity.) I’m more easily irritated and frustrated. I’m certainly more emotional. My tolerance for nonsense is…somehow less than it usually is. I don’t have the same space for others that I normally do. And there’s really no good way to say any of this, without sounding dramatic. It’s just that I have my limits, like everyone else. And this is me recognizing that.
Yes, I am doing self-care. All the cliche things, like bubble baths and getting in easy workouts, remembering to do a food and a water. But all of that isn’t a recipe to make things better, not really. It’s maintenance. So, what makes things better? I don’t actually know yet.
And that is okay. The solution might be a weekend in the woods—maybe Rhinebeck?—and unplugging from communication. It might be journaling every day. It might be making an actual blanket fort and reading a book, like I used to do when I was a kid.
It could be anything really, and I don’t think I’ll know it until it manifests. In the meantime, maintenance. Sometimes, darlings, maintenance is enough. Doing what you can is enough. Replying to text messages slower, giving yourself permission to take a step back, finding joy whenever it may be. Because joy is good. Joy matters.
What brings you joy? And who brings you joy? Have you told them that, lately? Today, do that. As always, it’s the small gestures and kindnesses that get us through.