Lost and Found: A Saturday Saga of Self-Discovery

I shouldn’t be feeling this way. That was my first thought upon waking. It’s Saturday, which in itself should be enough. It’s a day off, a play day. Don’t we all just love Saturday? Lucy is at her dad’s this weekend—a parent’s weekend off—a few days to sleep in, watch adult shows, and make out. And yet, I feel a sadness where there was once freedom. I miss her. I’m sad she’s not here. I also have no idea what to do with myself. I feel sad, lost, uncertain, and itchy. Sometimes I’m so exhausted by myself.

I think I want a morning to relax. Can I make out with my wife? Go get donuts? Binge-watch The L Word? Why does none of this sound fun? I don’t want to meditate, read, or write—all of that is my job; it’s work, right? So, if I’m not going to indulge in food and TV, then what? I feel stuck between wanting to continue my clean-eating, meditating, writing streak, but I also want to relax. Where is the in-between? What does vegging out look like when you really want to love yourself? Hmmm. I just had a thought about vegging out—it comes from “veg out,” which is to basically sit on the couch and do nothing, like a couch potato. Why do we use a vegetable to describe this? Why is mental incapacity associated with a vegetable? Isn’t a vegetable what we are going for? Minimizing processed foods, sugar, and junky carbs? Why isn’t it called chipping out, or nacho time?

Maybe I do want to learn to veg out. I want to learn how to do the equivalent of binge-watching Netflix, eating pizza, chips, and candy in my PJs in a way that is supportive and honoring for my mind, body, and soul. What does that look like? How do I really love myself? I’m just now realizing how I love myself is changing.

I sit in bed and I’m restless. I don’t want to spend an hour scrolling on my phone. That doesn’t leave me feeling how I want to feel—alive, happy, content, inspired, generous, and peaceful. It usually leaves me feeling some version of not enough. I did all the Wordle games this morning, so I’m done with my phone. I don’t feel like getting up and hitting the meditation chair at 5:30 am on Saturday. That feels a bit aggressive for my vegging out Saturday. So, what do I do with myself? Argh! Why is just relaxing so challenging for me? What is wrong with me? I look over, and Kelly is delightfully enjoying her Saturday morning. She is sipping her green juice and peacefully enjoying social media. Both dogs are delighted to be snuggled in bed. Everyone seems content, except for me.

Kelly puts her phone down and looks over at me. “What’s wrong?” She knows me so well. “I feel lost… I don’t know… kind of uncertain,” I try to explain. “I want to relax, and I don’t know what to do,” I complained. “How about meditating?” She offers. I know she’s right. I know if I go in there and meditate for 10 minutes, I’ll feel differently, and yet, I can’t seem to make myself do it. I feel a bit stuck. “How about you go for a walk? Just you and Otis,” she offers. “Okay,” I surprise myself. Yes, I do want to go for a walk. This feels like a great compromise. I immediately get up and put on my running clothes. This feels like just the right amount of effort. I can enjoy seeing the sun come up, get some fresh air, and yet it doesn’t pull on the willpower the way that finding my way to the meditation room does.

So I do it. I head out into the early morning with Otis. I immediately feel myself return. The air is warm, about 60 degrees in December in Nashville. My mind drifts to how much I love it here in Tennessee. I walk along with Otis looking at the Christmas lights. I love this time of year. It’s like both of my favorite things combined into one—I get the fall leaves and just slightly cool air with Christmas. “I love living here,” I think. I start to feel myself internally rise. I’m coming back up from wherever I went.

It starts to lightly rain, reminding me of one of my greatest memories. Just after my first divorce, I packed the Subaru Crosstrek and headed to California. My plan was to spend a year on the road finding myself. I started by spectacularly losing myself in San Francisco. A friend from high school flew out and met me. We spent three or four days in complete debauchery—drinking all day, basking in the sun, and indulging in fried food and crab legs. Between the amount of alcohol consumed and the money I spent, I felt pretty low. And then, I went lower.

In a drunken haze, I called my coach, thinking a good heart-to-heart would be a great idea between bar stops in San Francisco. He picked up, and we started a great conversation. Yet, the alcohol was doing its thing, and before I knew it, I found myself in the familiar conversation about struggles and contemplating life. I vaguely remember confessing a lack of a will to live. He told me to call 911. I hung up the phone and went back into the bar. The details are hazy, but I think I just started drinking again. He called back, and I stepped back outside. I cried on the phone, and he showed up for me in a huge way. I think we talked for a long time, and he did his best to help me through the crisis.

I don’t remember how the evening ended, but I woke up feeling the worst. My stomach hurt in a way that didn’t make sense. It felt like the outside was burning, rather than something internal. I lifted my tshirt and my chest tightened and my stomach rolled. Oh my god. I had huge blisters full of fluid. My chest tightened with the realization. I did this. I sunburned myself so badly the day before. Why did I continue to treat myself so poorly? My mouth was dry, and then the memories of the night before flooded back in. I remembered the phone call. Shit. I put one of my dearest friends through a suicidal crisis with me for hours. I felt embarrassed and humiliated. I’d done this not because I was really in need but because I was drunk. This wasn’t fair, and I felt all of it. All the alcohol, rich food, money spent, and friendships tested rested heavily on me. This was not the way to find myself. I was about at the bottom.

I dropped my friend off at the airport and headed up north to Point Reyes National Seashore. I rented a small room in a bed and breakfast for a week. I desperately needed to regroup. I spent the week walking in the pouring rain, donning myself with my heavy rain gear left over from my college days on the coast of Maine and walking most of the day. I dried myself out in the rain. There were almost no people out on the trails due to the downpour, but the wildlife was out in force. I remember being struck by the sheer volume of animals I saw—owls, seals, birds, and so many others. It was close to the best week of my life. And I wouldn’t have done it without one of the worst weeks of my life.

There is some kind of magic in getting back up after a fall. I don’t love the low feelings, and there is a magical space in returning to self. If I didn’t feel so lost this morning, I wouldn’t have gone for a walk, which reminded me of the days in California and the joy of coming home. Maybe this is why we need to leave home sometimes—to truly discover what it is to be home.

This morning now seems like a special one. I realize that feeling low wasn’t getting off track. This wasn’t me failing at my new life. The low feelings this morning created the pain to motivate and inspire a new action. Rather than “loving myself” with TV and junk food, I loved myself with a walk with Otis. This feels more authentic and closer to what I need and deep down want. It took losing myself a bit this morning to know myself on a deeper level. The things that used to work (sugar, food, TV, Legos, and scrolling) aren’t doing it for me today. I dug a little deeper and took a fresh look at what I love to do and what truly brings me joy. It’s writing, walking, reading, journaling, and dare I say—meditating. This may change again tomorrow, but I’m honored to meet myself in this moment. And today, being good to myself on a Saturday morning looked a little different.

The nugget of all of this is the gift in getting lost. When we lose ourselves and are pulled into the world of distraction and those things that don’t serve us, it gives us the opportunity to reset. It is in the reset that we are able to recalibrate to a slightly higher vibration, thus bringing us closer home. I smile as I wrap up my morning writing on a Saturday—huge bonus—realizing that indeed the magic is in the mess, and knowing oneself is, sometimes, in getting lost.