Bad Into Better

Rethinking and seeing the positive

Photo by Shuken Nakamura on Unsplash

I locked myself out of the house on Monday. Tuesday night, I’d left the garage door open all night after forgetting to take the garbage out—a wide-open invitation to be robbed. On Wednesday, while shopping at Ulta, I witnessed a smash-and-grab robbery. As if that weren’t enough, the week dragged on with the fallout from the election results. Mud was still being slung in every direction, and every article on Substack and Medium seemed like recycled opinions or fresh jabs at the 76 million people who voted for Trump.

On top of it all, I couldn’t shake the sting of losing a subscriber—one who was a paying subscriber and a friend. They canceled without offering an explanation, except to say they’d only discuss it over the phone, and I wasn’t about to make that call. What stung most was the friend part.

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Carl, my husband, is a long-haul truck driver and often spends long stretches of time on the road. That leaves a lot of silence and plenty of room for self-reflection—sometimes too much, especially when things go sideways.

Before marrying Carl four years ago and relocating to the sticks, I spent much of my life on my own. I learned to navigate life solo, relying on myself to figure things out. I lived in large cities and places where help or assistance was always within arm's reach, whether it was a neighbor, a friend, or a professional service.

Out here, it’s different. When challenges arise, I’ve learned to fall back on that old self-reliance, blending it with the comfort of knowing that, even when Carl is miles away, I’m still capable, resourceful, and unafraid to tackle what life throws my way, well, sort of.

By the end of the week, I was questioning everything: my memory, my sanity, and whether aging was quietly stealing my mind. Writer’s block cast its long, dark shadow over me, stifling every creative impulse.

What happens when I have nothing to say?

I’ll tell you what happens, I start second-guessing myself

I stay inside my own head for far too long. I binge silly rom-coms or breeze through light, easy reads. I wander aimlessly through stores or ride my bike back and forth on the same stretch of road, hoping to shake something loose. And worst of all, I doom-scroll social media. Not excessively, but enough to crowd my brain with useless information and create sensory overload that only deepens the creative fog.

I think of the brain as a small, organized attic that we furnish with the knowledge and experiences we choose. A wise person selects carefully, placing only what is truly valuable and purposeful inside. A fool, on the other hand, fills it with random clutter—every bit of information they stumble upon—until the attic is overcrowded. The useful knowledge gets buried or tangled with the rest, making it hard to retrieve when needed. It’s a mistake to believe the attic can endlessly expand. At some point, every new piece of information pushes something else out. Letting useless facts crowd out the meaningful ones is a recipe for confusion, not clarity.—paraphrased from a paragraph in Sherlock Holme’s 'A Study in Scarlet’ by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Shutting down my mind for a do-over

Thursday, I woke up late after a restless night of binging Netflix. (By the way, if you’re looking for a short, mindless series to binge, Nobody Wants This, starring Kristen Bell and Adam Brody, will easily fill an evening. It’s about an agnostic sex podcaster and a (newly) single rabbi who fall in love.)

When I don’t get enough sleep, the following day is pretty much a write-off. I’ve developed the perfect recipe for dealing with it—and it’s happening more frequently as I age. I got up, took a cold shower, rode the stationary bike, and started the laundry. Then I cleared the clutter, vacuumed, scrubbed the bathrooms, dusted the baseboards, tackled the remaining dishes, and straightened out the garage.

Next, I pulled out a box of old photos and began sorting through them, discarding the ones that brought back bad memories, featured people I didn’t recognize, or were duplicates.

The morning disappeared, and before I knew it, it was early afternoon. I laid down in the dark and put on a 30-minute meditation from Spotify—no commercials, thankfully. Staying still was a challenge. Meditation is nearly impossible for me, but when fatigue takes over, it’s easier to focus on my breath and try to think of nothing.

Part of not getting enough sleep activates my hangry hormones—the kind that make you want to eat the paint off the walls. My solution: an energy shake mixed with orange juice. It doesn’t completely stave off the hunger, but it fills me with nutrients and minerals. I follow that with three eggs (only one yolk) and a two-ounce chunk of cheese—the protein helps fill me up.

Then it’s out for a long hike, hopefully catching a bit of sunshine, and soaking in the woods for some forest bathing.

The recipe to the reset is avoiding mindless, useless information, getting light exercise to move things around a bit, and focusing on nutrition. I still manage to get things done, and there’s a certain satisfaction in tackling bathrooms and baseboards—chores I’d otherwise avoid when I’m fully in my game.

I looked back on the week and decided to give myself a break.

Seeing the positive

When I locked the keys out of our home, Carl was 1,900 miles away. I had two choices: call a locksmith, pay $200, and wait three hours for a house call, or borrow a 12-foot ladder and monkey-climb over the deck railing to get in through the sliding glass door I’d left open. I chose the latter—and it worked.

I’m still strong enough to lift my own body weight and unafraid to climb heights. That’s a win.

I didn’t get robbed or attacked Tuesday night. The neighborhood was quiet, no intruders lurking about. I even got up early enough Wednesday morning to get the garbage out in time.

My mind is still sharp enough to catch small things before they become problems, even without reminders.

Witnessing the smash-and-grab robbery made me angry. My friend Bob called the District Attorney two days later to get an update on the crime. There wasn’t a police report filed, so the thieves walked away scot-free.

The DA explained that petty crimes like this are rarely reported or investigated due to a lack of resources. Meanwhile, those two bad actors got away with (large) bags full of expensive cosmetics, while I still had to pay $70 for my own small purchases. But here’s the thing—I didn’t need to steal for a thrill or because I couldn’t afford something.

I was able to pay for what I needed and wanted, and that matters to me.

As for the wailing and whining about Trump, it shall pass eventually—at least, I hope so.

Finally, after reflecting on it all, I know I need to stop worrying about what’s out of my control. There are 8.2 billion people in the world; losing a subscriber/friend without knowing why isn’t the end of my big, beautiful world. It’s just a reminder that not everything is meant to stay—and that leaves room for new opportunities and connections to come my way.