If you know me in the flesh-and-blood world, you have probably heard me say more than once that I need a cabana boy. I say that somewhat embarrassingly often. I say it when I’m feeling overwhelmed with all the things I need to carry or all the things I need to keep track of, or all the things that need doing around my house. I say it when I wish I could just sit down — or, preferably, recline — and wave dismissively at some ready, willing, and able soul. To just say, “Handle it, handle it!” in the fashion of Mayor Burnside from Robert Guillaume’s Benson. (And I specifically wish for this assistance in the form of a cabana boy because … why not? Why shouldn’t my “handle it” guy be an attractively-muscled, scantily-clad young man? Seriously.)
Today I sat down to my microwave-reheated lunch, took a taste, and sighed. On Sunday I made a big pot of pumpkin, sweet potato, peanut soup. And last night I made some whole wheat biscuits. And today I put some sour cream in my heated soup and that took the soup from “okay” to “perfect”! It’s not super cold today, but the warmth and crushed-red-pepper-supplied heat of the soup felt like wrapping up in a fuzzy blanket on a cushy couch.
And I thought about what I’m calling out for when I say I want a cabana boy. I want someone to take care of me, want someone to step in and make sure that I’m going to be comfortable and well-fed and that details like bill-paying and tax-filing will just happen off-stage where I don’t have to worry about them. I want to be taken care of.
And of course, what is true is that I have to be my own cabana boy. No one is going to step in and hangle any of the myriad things that need handling.
And that’s exhausting — yes, this is kind of a companion piece to my “wine + popcorn = dinner” post from a few nights ago. It is exhausting. And I get it wrong a lot of the time. Really wrong. I don’t cook, I don’t get enough sleep, I don’t keep up with my chores at home … I don’t and don’t and don’t.
And I feel the difference. In my level of exhaustion, in my disappointment with one more lunch from the Japanese bakery, one more slice of pizza with watery sauce, one more over-priced salad. I feel the difference in how cranky I get.
But today I tasted that first spoonful of soup, and I was hit by the realization that this has to be a big part of what self care means for me. Yes, I need sleep, and I need time with my family and friends and time to write and quiet time at home … but I also need this back-to-basics kind of care taking. Feeding myself is such an obvious thing … but it’s also easy to push aside when I don’t have a lot of time. So lately I’ve been making time. Making time to cook for myself, being sure to bring healthy snacks with me to work, always having fruit in the house … That, as much as I might be grateful to have someone step in and handle things, I don’t need a cabana boy. I already am my own damn cabana boy. I know what I need, and lately I’ve been doing a pretty good job of making sure I get it. It’s still a lot of work — I’m nothing if not high maintenance — but I’m worth it.
It’s the 10th annual Slice of Life Story Challenge!
Head over to Two Writing Teachers to see all of today’s slices!