The other day, my friend and I had a 10-minute conversation about food. I mean we talked about our thoughts and feelings for hours and hours before, and the state of the world, or our experience orbiting around each other in close quarters like planetary moons for the past two weeks. We talked about life. Philosophy. And we are good at it. We are good at talking. Our conversation sparked after we came home with bags of grocery store products. Stupid quarantine.
When quarantine initially began, I sat on my kitchen floor for a little over a week, sad but surrounded by more nutrient-dense food options such as lentils, chickpea pasta, raw cashews, kale chips, and these canned Austrian beans: Käferbohnen. I prioritize consuming the latter while dutifully resembling something like a normal, healthy routine. These days, I spent hours plotting how to make everything look and feel the same and hours wondering why my anxiety seems to worsen some days and gets better on others with each measure of supposed self-care such as:
Wake up whenever I feel like it.
Get dressed in a presentable ensemble.
Make coffee for myself (I don’t eat breakfast) and breakfast for my son.
Write and read.
Exercise.
Take a shower.
Eat a well-rounded lunch with protein, vegetables, fats and carbohydrates.
Go outside with my son and play basketball. For hours. And hours.
Light dinner. Creamy Ginger Carrot Soup. Salad.
Read or/and watch something with my son.
More writing/reading/watching.
Sleep and repeat.
Then one evening, after a particular manic day of regimented activity, I was standing in front of my kitchen counter, contemplating the responsibilities of an impending mealtime. I attempted to hype myself up about the prospect of drizzling salmon with herbs and olive oil and baking it in the pan for 10 minutes while adding some fries for my son. Then sautéeing some fresh spinach in a skillet while heating up leftover rice in a pot….. when the box of my son’s chocolate cereal caught my eye. I took it down from the shelf, opened it up, and poured some into a bowl. I topped it to the brim with coconut milk (we don’t drink milk), carried it to the table, and we started eating. It tasted like 1994. It tasted like my mom put it in front of my siblings and I on a Sunday evening after taking a bath when we were kids. It tasted way better than salmon, spinach, and rice.
Of course, we were hungry again after (just carbs), so I fried two eggs sunny-side up and we ate it with avocado slices, and the sautéed spinach. After we ate we felt good. Fulfilled. Satisfied. I sat back in my chair at my desk after and taught about a quote I had once loved but had not thought about in years, from the first season of Modern Family, spoken with comedic seriousness by the uptight Uncle Mitchell: “I am loose. I am fun. Remember breakfast for dinner last week? My idea.”
I am a Certified (Holistic) Nutritionist Practitioner (CNP) and will be the first to admit that pouring chocolate cereal into a bowl instead of eating salmon with spinach hardly constitutes “living on the edge”, but the tiny thrill I go out of it was enough to make me pay attention. Over the next few days, it dawned on me that, despite all the advice I have heard about the importance of adhering to the habits that buffered my pre-quarantine life-a “normal” routine does not necessarily lend itself to a completely abnormal situation. In fact, for me at least, it was a bit like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole: frustrating at best, damaging at worst.
I still see the value in routine. Routine keeps me and my son sane. I am just open to rethinking what the concept of routine looks like right now. Maybe it looks like salmon, maybe it looks like cereal. Maybe it looks like watching Netflix at 11 am. Maybe it looks like trying to start the first chapter of a book I have always wanted to write at 12 pm. Maybe it looks like lying on the floor in my living room and closing my eyes for a few minutes after my daily online Yoga practice at 10 am. I am still figuring it out, holding gently to the things I thought I knew, understanding now that the answers were always meant to evolve. Also, quarantine makes me think and talk about a lot of things. Communicate with one another is key. Especially during those times. And to be honest, even if it is painful. The ego often has to be left behind in order to move on together.
Also, there will always be chocolate cereal in my cupboard.
