Post pandemic (even though it's not over) ennui

Ennui is often thought of as boredom, but I define it more broadly. 

In some ways, I have been in a state of ennui my entire life---a listlessness brought on by near-constant existential crisis. Having children and being busy and medication have lessened it, but that feeling doesn't ever fully go away. 

For the past several weeks, that feeling has worsened, and I have been trying to figure out what is going on. 

It is pandemic-related and OCD-related, but the specifics are a bit fuzzy.

There are several subtypes of OCD, and there can definitely be overlap between them. For me, contamination OCD is primary (with forbidden thoughts/ruminations secondary). This means I was totally prepared to live through a pandemic and completely unprepared to re-acclimate myself to life post-vaccination. 

My sweet spot in life was wearing a mask, not socializing, keeping my distance, and having hand sanitizer EVERYWHERE. 

Now, as I write this, everyone is acting like the pandemic is over and done with, but I have my suspicions as to what will happen. There remain a whole lot of unknowns. What will the fall and winter look like, for example?

For me, the biggest is when my youngest child will be able to get his vaccine. While I trust the vaccine to work as well as the flu shots I take each fall (or better), I also recognize that no vaccine provides 100 percent coverage. And if one of us in our house gets sick, will M get a rougher case because he is, due to his age, unable to get a vaccine? 

That worries me (even though my rational brain can totally understand that the risk to M of being harmed in a car accident driving to the vaccine is higher than his risk of getting COVID and dying from it.)

But clearly, rational thought hasn't ever been my strong suit. The blog is mood-disordered mama; not totally rational mama who keeps her wits about her. 

Then there was the announcement by the school district that kids in schools will no longer have to wear masks which seems to me to violate the "unvaccinated people need to wear masks" policy, especially at the elementary level. I would be hesitant to immerse myself in a vat of liquified bacteria or virus without a wetsuit, and that image in my mind is what I picture walking into an elementary school will feel like in the fall. 

Of course, subbing in an elementary school has always been like immersing oneself in a vat of disease, mucus, and slobber.

And then there's the general people factor. 

I didn't love people before the pandemic, but being away from people has made me even less eager to be around them, especially in large numbers. 

I recently read a book that mentioned Dunbar's number, which I had never heard of. It is a theory that the most social relationships an individual can have with anything like stability, based on evolution and our tribal history, is around 150. Research seems to suggest it isn't completely accurate, and I would say that is true. 

My Dunbar's number is around 5; possibly 10 if I'm in the right mood. 

So I'm meh about people, and I'm meh about everything else. 

I'm not bored but I am completely unmotivated. 

There are things I think I'd like to do but I haven't the desire to do them.

My impression, which could be wrong, is that other people are boldly going back into "real life." And that may be ok for them as so many lamented the pause of pandemic year 2020. 

But I liked the pause for the most part. Not every second of it, of course. But on the whole, I liked the simplification of everything. 

I liked, for once, having an actual excuse (THERE IS A FUCKING PANDEMIC) for social activity besides "I don't want to" or "I don't like people" or "I don't have the mental energy to keep up with surface-level conversations."

The pandemic made it easy and acceptable for me to keep my distance...both physically and emotionally. The pause meant I didn't have to deal with involvement in school and planning with acquaintances and putting on the mask of caring about things I truly care nothing about (player packs, for example). 

I enjoyed the disengage. 

So now that things are ripping back into "normal," I'm forced to re-engage myself. And I'm having a hard time. 

A successful trip to the Gorge (unlike the one when I was a kid)

Lots of people have visited Red River Gorge (RRG). 

My parents attempted to take me, my brother, my cousin, my grandma, and my aunt many years ago when my brother and I were kids. 

We never made it.

Well, I guess technically we did make it because we drove around in the rain and fog on winding roads in the area that is called the Red River Gorge Geological Area.  

But we never saw an arch, a trail, a cave, a waterfall, or a big giant hole in the ground because my brother puked in the car (from said winding roads), and we all practically sat on my grandma's lap to avoid the puddle of stomach bile on the floor. 

That trip sucked, but boy-howdy was it memorable. 

When I started planning for a summer trip this year, I knew I didn't have the mental bandwidth to plan an out-of-state trip. Our governor has been very cautious about COVID, and some other governors acted like there hasn't been a pandemic going on for over a year, so I just didn't feel comfortable heading into some of the more bat-shit states. Plus, with my dad's health issues over the last 10 months, I didn't know what would be going on with him. I didn't want to be 10 hours away from home. 

Plus, we had a good time last year checking out several places in Kentucky that had been on my to-be-visited list: Cumberland Falls and Land Between the Lakes. 

I tend to not like to revisit the same places repeatedly, and RRG was someplace the kids had never been. I think maybe D and I had gone there while dating but that is seriously ancient history. And my childhood trip was a non-event. 

So we rented a house and took my parents, my MIL, my niece, and our crew and drove down. 

I think every family has a story or tradition of something they do or something one member does that everyone pokes fun of.

In my family of origin, it is my dad's notorious frugality. Now, I'm all about frugality, but I learned from my dad that paying for a halfway decent hotel or rental home is a very good idea. I'm not at all a big spender, but when you pay cheap, you often get cheap. 

In 1998, when D and I went to Las Vegas with my parents after we married, we stayed at what looked like a bordello. We could see the Bellagio, which was brand new, out our window. We looked longingly at the bells and whistles and newness of that hotel. 

In 1999, my brother, future SIL, our parents, and D and I went to Virginia Beach. My parents got the hotel. The pool didn't work at all and the hotel rooms smelled like someone sat in them each day smoking 3 packs of cigarettes. My parents STILL have not lived that hotel down. 

After that, my SIL and I have never allowed my parents to select the hotel or rental. 

In the family D and I have created, their story about us is that we pick the most remote, out of the way places to stay. Nearly every human who visits the Rocky Mountains stays in Estes Park. This was enough reason for me to rent a home clear on the other side of the Rockies. That side was just perfect for people like us who hate crowds and traffic. 

When we arrived at our RRG cabin, N (who drove with my MIL) commented on how we had to turn around 3 times because the roads didn't have roads signs so we weren't sure where we were going. She said, "This is so typical of them, picking the most isolated spot in the world." 

The weather was rainy quite a bit while we were there, but we still managed to find some dry(ish) times for quick hikes. Our hiking motto with G (who hates to hike) is also a perfect hiking motto when a 78-year-old who has had 4 surgeries in the last year is going too: easy and not long. 

I knew my dad was a tough old bird before this trip. He's had his colon removed, open-heart surgery, and the many surgeries with his cancer diagnosis from the last year. But I guess this RRG trip really brought it home to me when he hiked up the original Natural Bridge trail. It took him awhile and he had to stop to rest many times, but he made it up and back. He is not invincible, but he is the epitome of "As long as I can try, that's what I'm going to do." 

Four days away is about all we can handle with the kids being eager to return to our house and their friends and their devices. And truly, four days is all I can handle of coercing and listening them ask when they can return home. 

But those four days were pretty darn good.

Sky lift going up to Natural Bridge

Getting ready to walk through Fat Man's Misery. 

             

Angel Windows at RRG

Natural Bridge in background

Big honking native umbrella magnolias

The whole gang at Miguel's Pizza