Tiny rebellions will see us through this pandemic

For my daughter’s fifth birthday, I allowed her to get her ears pierced. I allowed us both to get our ears pierced. While I already had two holes in each ear from negotiations with my own mom years earlier, I had been staring at Instagram ads of diamond paper clips crawling up 20 year olds’ ears for the better part of a year. So fresh. The piercing nurse was already coming to our yard, and the price was the same for one hole or two, so the economic choice was a third hole in one ear and a helix piercing in the other. So fresh.

Truth be told, I wanted that little “edge” from a cartilage piercing my whole adult life. They are very prone to infection, though, and as a neurotic lawyer, I tend to spiral into irrational concern about risks like these.

But at that point, we had been home for nine months. Nine months of protecting two young children, maintaining my career, procuring raw chicken, wiping down wipes. We were on a family cruise ship, where I was the director responsible for the food, entertainment, physical fitness. Minor pit stops at masked ports of call – a drive-by birthday party or Target pick-up – all led back to the same day, weekend or weekday, the only difference being how many meetings to squeeze in.

And at some point during this painful year, when the survivalist adrenaline wore off, I began to think differently.

The risk of an infected ear seemed so trivial. Life is just too short.

I started to notice my other tiny rebellions. Drinking better wine. Pushing harder on my runs. Buying that dress, which is less than appropriate for a thirty-something working professional but makes me smile. I kid, but it feels like I am building myself up for a mid-life crisis when my world returns to normal. And I’m not the only one.

Many of us are fantasizing of our own post-COVID renaissance. The longer we are strained to our limits, the more outrageous our wild rhetoric becomes. While I won’t break the sanctity of the mom text chains too much, the things we will do “when this is over” know no boundaries: Babysitters five nights a week! I will leave these kids in the school parking lot and hope for the best! Theme nights! Blonder hair! Bottle service at TAO (Do people still go there?)! We transport ourselves into an episode of Summer House, as if the last time we stayed in a beach rental wasn’t a bad bachelorette party where we just wished it was over.

And why shouldn’t we dream ourselves out of this reality? Putting aside how much I love my daughters and hated my commute, this has been a hellscape. I am living like Natasha Lyonne in Russian Doll, each identical day a new reminder of why women, and particularly working mothers, feel positioned to fail at something.

Amidst the tasks required to keep our cruise ships afloat – which were many even before the pandemic – we have lost the few things we convinced ourselves were keeping us sane. A long trip to Trader Joe’s here, a hot shower there, a few extra minutes of chatter outside school. To be clear, these are not acts of self-care; they never were. But losing them hit hard when I gave myself so little. Now, they’re certainly not the versions of self-care I want back.   

Life, however, is not a Bravo half-scripted series. A van will never sweep me and my friends away to a fully tended mansion for a week of turtle time with topless pirate men. Nor could I even handle that, if my few moments alone this year have proven anything. (I’ve cried every time.)

We deserve this moment of self-reckoning, but it doesn’t have to be grand to be great.

If we can gift ourselves a little more than what we had, these subtle wins will lead to longstanding, practical change. Small things (like an earring!), tokens of our appreciation to ourselves, have value. Our time and energy have value. Take the class. Have the drink. Buy the damn bag. Even if we just make a promise to walk away from one problem we would’ve fixed and reinvest into one more moment of joy. Our joy. Not the doings of our kids, our spouses, our careers, or any other obligation you have carried on your back before the pandemic – when it was expected of you – or during the pandemic – when it was required of you. We’ve always deserved that joy, but now, we should take it. We have to.

Otherwise, the years will just continue, and we’ll still be tending our wounds.

Consider Our Tiny Rebellions a moment for us.

I’ll share stories of subtle wins, both personal and collective, in these not-so-subtle times. And little things – a project, a meal, a look – that take my brain on vacation. When women win big, I’ll highlight them too, but we don’t all need to be superhuman to be better than before. In fact, sometimes, we are shitty, and being a little less shitty is a win in itself.

This space isn’t just for mothers, but many of you are. It isn’t just for women who work, but many of you are them, too. Some of us flowed into and out of our roles with such fluidity this past year that there’s no point in labeling it. We are women doing it all, because that’s what we do.

By the way, my helix piercing did get infected, three times. It turns out, masks are a bit irritating to the ear. The other hole got infected, too, when I ignored it while tending to the helix. Go figure.

I’ve been asked whether it was worth it, and the answer becomes clearer with each cotton swab: hell yes, it was.  

So what do you say, let’s try this each week? Subscribe today, and tell your friends, too.

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The little things

The Only Peony.

Last May, our once supple peony plant did not bloom. I know nothing about gardening and just kind of assumed they’d show up for summer like the community pool does in May. Admittedly, I took them for granted, and faced with our ongoing quarantine and a season without them, I was rather sad.

And then, one.

One peony. As if to say, “Hey, everything sucks, but I’m trying out here.” Aren’t we all.

So I cut her, and I enjoyed her, and now you can, too.