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Broke Wife, Big City
When reality
bites, drink kombacha (mixed with vodka)
By Aprill Brandon
You know how when you have kids and you look down for just a second to
tie their shoe or pick up their Legos and the next thing you know it’s
five years later and everything is different and you have no idea what
is going on outside of your living room? Well, I just looked up and
somehow, between getting knocked up with my first child and celebrating
the second birthday of my youngest child, every single person I have
ever met has jumped, to varying degrees, on the personal improvement
bandwagon.
Everyone is on the path to wellness.
I mean, I scroll through Facebook and they’re signing up for 5k’s in
droves. They’re posting 6 a.m. gym selfies. It’s been four months
without a cigarette and two years without a drink and nearly half a
decade since that demon gluten has touched their lips. They’ve changed
their entire way of thinking about food and diet and sustainability and
are consuming whole foods they got at Whole Foods. They’re eating like
cavemen and dinosaurs and feeling amazing. AND they lost 17 pounds on
whatever a keto is.
The ones who used to complain about people complaining about them
smoking are now the ones complaining about the smoking. They’re
meditating and traveling and replenishing their souls. They’re
politically active and raising money for charity AND doing it all while
raising politically active, charity-minded families.
Because they have all turned into time management GODS. They work eight
hours, maybe ten, hell, sometimes twelve, and then go home and record a
podcast, or an album, or both, which they do while also sewing quilts,
which they sell on Etsy, which they in turn use that money to pay for
the food and medicine all the rescue dogs they are fostering need.
If it sounds like I’m making fun, I’m really not. I think this
collective transformation I’m witnessing whilst splayed out on my couch
is amazing and life-affirming and inspiring. I just felt a little out
of the loop because one, I was in survival mode with my small children
for so long that it’s hard to imagine everyone else doesn’t also buy
cookie dough and wine in bulk. And two, I’m old enough to remember what
counted as “wellness” before Goop and Instagram came along.
Sit down and let Auntie Aprill give you a brief “wellness” history
lesson, kids. See, when I was a kid in the 80’s, being healthy meant
eating giant tubs of pretzels and then burning those calories off by
half-assedly participating in one of the 78 VHS workout tapes you
owned. In the 90’s, no one even ate food. All our nutrients came from
Diet Coke and cigarettes and our only exercise was ripping very
elaborate holes in our jeans that we all claimed were from legit
wear-and-tear. And none of us could afford therapy so we just watched
“Reality Bites” over and over and over again.
In the early 2000’s, wellness consisted of wearing gaudy pink
tracksuits with “Juicy” written on the butt and taking over the
recommended dose of those diet pills Anna Nicole Smith was shilling. We
also cut down our indoor tanning time by, like, a fourth, because
cancer or whatever. By the time Obama was in office, we were mixing our
vodka and Red Bull with a dash of vitamin water like the responsible
adults we had become and, as long as we were doing less drugs than
Lindsay Lohan, we pretty much considered ourselves in good shape.
But now, well, now people are striving to get healthy in actually
healthy ways. Long term ways. Scientifically proven ways. In ways that
address their physical, mental and emotional needs.
It’s a potent idea. So potent, it’s even rubbed off on me. ME. The
person who used to consider binge-watching “My 600 Pound Life” as
exercise because, hey, I wasn’t ON the show or anything. But, now that
I have kids, I want to live forever. Even more importantly, while I am
living, I want to feel good and be present and be content. For them.
And my husband. And me. (WELLNESS!).
Which is why I signed up to run a half marathon this October. And it’s
why I drink more moderately now (although it’s a Boston moderate, which
is still enough alcohol to kill your average Californian). And it’s why
I cook most of our meals. From INGREDIENTS. And why I’m busy making
outlines for the books I want to write. And why this summer I didn’t
sign my children up for anything and we just explored and traveled at
our leisure. And why I’m saving up my money, not for things, but for
experiences. And I’m reaching out to my friends more because loneliness
is a silent killer. I’m even donating to the occasional goddamn
charity.
Twenty-two-year-old me would hate 37-year-old me.
But screw her. I feel better. I do. I ran almost seven miles yesterday
morning. And then went galavanting around the city with my family. And
then still had the energy to go out to a coffee shop and write for a
couple of hours before heading home to put the kids to bed. And then I
collapsed on the couch, exhausted. But a good exhausted. Life’s too
short for unhealthy coping mechanisms.
All in all, I’m quite proud of myself. Of all of us. We’ve come a long
way, baby.
This is also why I don’t feel guilty that, as soon as I post this, I’m
going to mix this can of Diet Coke with some whiskey and watch “Reality
Bites.”
Because wellness is also about balance.
Can’t get enough of Aprill? Can’t wait until next week?
Check out her website at http://aprillbrandon.com/
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