The Unexpected Benefits of Giving Yourself Allowances by Rosemary Poppe (@RosemaryPoppe)

What have I learned from quarantine? One thing this experience has made me realize is, just how tired I was. I have always been someone who rises with the sun and packs as much into a day as is possible. However, with fewer constraints on my time, I am starting to understand why people sleep in. I never understood it before, but I get it now. Naps—I still don’t get those—but there’s time. 

I suffer from serious FOMO (fear of missing out)—and even on the days when I could’ve let an event go without being present—I succumb to an overwhelming sense of social responsibility. However, over these past few months, with few places to go and little to do, I have relished my time—enjoying the opportunity to breathe, slow down, and re-focus.

So here, I will focus on allowances. Allowing yourself some leeway. Allowing yourself to pursue the things you’ve otherwise not had time for, or have always told yourself that you haven’t really needed. For me, those allowances have been to let go of rigorous schedules and workout routines, and to invest in more of the things that make me happy. 

What I’ve really begun to notice—with so much time spent at home—is my urge to nest and really develop my living spaces—has bloomed. I also use allowances as a fiscal term, because while I’m saving money in some areas of my life (like going out to eat, drinking at bars, and paying for exercise memberships), I have invested in others. I have basically purchased every little piece of something or other, that I think will be the finishing touch to a certain space. A throw for the couch, a chair for that nook, new ties to pull back the curtains. Each little thing brings me joy. 

I have pulled apart closets, given away countless items, and reorganized shelves upon shelves. All of which makes me feel lighter and more comfortable in my home. What truly brings life into each of these spaces, however, are my plants. My darling plants have taken over the house, from window sills to end tables—there are so many plants—you will likely breathe a little easier. 

I have been ‘bringing the outdoors in’ for a few years now and my plants have taught me a lot about responsibility and patience—watering them is a simple form of meditative gratitude. With more precious time available, my love for plants has overflowed to the outdoors (only seems natural...right?), and I’ve allowed myself to invest time, money, and energy into developing three garden beds. 

The impact of gardening outdoors has been delightfully unexpected.

Clearing the beds and planting was hard, manual work—I was sore and covered in dirt—but talk about (nearly) instant gratification. I was able to be creative, work with my hands, and look back on a hard day’s work and say, ‘I did that’. What used to be home to some very large bushes is now covered in colorful flowers—from hibiscus to daylilies, to hydrangeas—and is populated by bustling bees and butterflies.  

Perhaps the least expected outcome, but an absolutely lovely one is connecting with neighbors who I had either never spoken to, or seen before. What I’ve learned is that they were also invested in my progress. My house sits on a busy corner, and there is a crosswalk by my front door that crosses to a walking path. The bushes that I mentioned earlier made standing at the crosswalk (and trusting that the cars could actually see you) a less than desirable experience. 

The three men of our three-unit house had begun painting the exterior of the house early on in quarantine, so neighbors and passers-by would often comment and take in the progress. The men later pulled out the bushes, and exclamations of approval and gratitude began to pour from folks. Once I began to work in the gardens, the same people would stop and appreciate the effort, the color, and the change. One neighbor, after one conversation with him, lent me a book on gardening—it was like I had been returned to the 1990s when kids played in the street and dogs roamed freely…Man, the 90s were awesome, but I digress.  

I have met more people after a few weeks of being outside digging in the dirt than I have in eight years of living on this busy corner. What I’ve found is that during a time when the idea of community seemed lost, I have begun to create one, or really, get to know the one that’s always been here. I am certain that this wouldn't have come to pass without being sent home to work, and restricted from doing the things that typically took up my time.  

I have slowed down—I have re-focused—and I have become more patient with myself and others. I spend more time enjoying the simpler things in life and making allowances for myself and the things that make me happy, and it has had many unexpected benefits. 

If you enjoyed this piece, please follow Rosemary Poppe on Twitter @RosemaryPoppe. 

Maintaining A Dark Garden by U.L. Harper (@ulharper)

My backyard doesn’t have lights, so I pace back and forth in near darkness. My vegetable garden is a shapely shadow pumping out the aroma of fresh cucumber and tomato. From the back door of my house and all the way across the yard to my garage, I trek to and fro. I ponder the sirens, and my neighbors fear of possible home invasions due to the ongoing socio-political uprisings that we’ve seen and can hear. All this happening during an ongoing pandemic.

In the shadow of my backyard, I simmer in a widely publicized and debated quarantine. In moments of stress, when my kid is finally asleep, and my wife rests beside her upstairs, I finally get a chance to focus on my own thoughts. Hence, I’m outside, quietly pacing around the yard.

My phone flashes. It’s another one of my white friends giving their Black friend a chance to speak. Also, I’m a pretty damned interesting guy, so they want to hear my opinion. 

I tell this particular friend, “Hey, man, are you healthy? How’s the family?”

I’ve been a writer for most of my life and I still don’t have the language to make this a meaningful conversation. I don’t have the language to center the both of us in this moment. There’s too much space between us. There’s too much of too much. I know, but they won’t agree, that our friendship started before we met. Their history and my history didn’t prevent us from flourishing next to one another. But in the future, their history and my history could destroy us, because although our communities merged or attempt to do so, once we recognize the two different communities the Venn diagram is partitioned, and then we’re at odds.

What I’m learning from being in quarantine, what I’m learning from having time to focus and debunk myself and those around me, is that the process of becoming a better society is not the solution. I’d argue it’s part of the problem. But only part of it.

I hang up the phone, press open my garage door and flick on the light. My garage is cobwebs with dead spiders. It’s dust adding a layer of neglect to what is stored in here because we care about it so much. The boxes underneath the long wooden table along the wall are proof of another lifetime’s baggage lingering. You can’t just get rid of the stuff. Where does it respectfully go? Who has time to deal with it the right way?

I punch the garage door opener on the wall. The mechanism that opens the door is metal on metal. Wheels and chains pull a heavy door up a track, to me, no less amazing than mysteries of the pyramids. I know nothing of some of the simplest things around me, but as I bring in my yard waste bin, I’m confident in one thing: I don’t want anything in my garden to die prematurely. I’m not choosing strawberries over leeks. I’m not choosing tomatoes over cucumber. Kale does not come before the squash. They do different things and you need to maintain them differently. I don’t need to make any of them as good or better than the other. It all just needs to grow. Making what is growing better doesn’t recognize its limits that make it exactly as it should be in its specific environment. That would be the point with all these different things wouldn’t it? Let them grow as they should, and they can still be maintained properly in the same soil. Feed them, water them, give them shelter and they will produce what they’re meant to produce. 

I learned and was affirmed of that in quarantine.

When my daughter starts her day, that’s when I start my day; therefore, right now it’s late. I twist the knob on the back door, push it open and tip toe inside. My back door leads into the kitchen. This must be what a burglar feels like. I’m going to rob the freezer of its ice cream.

Every night it gets late. It sounds so simple but it’s worth saying that every day comes to an end. When you wake up you must be ready to do the simplest of actions. For me, during quarantine, I need to be ready to receive people, even on the phone, for who they are. They can’t receive me unless I receive them. That’s respect. For me, in quarantine, I also need to be prepared to pace my yard and keep a steady mind on my family, no matter where they are. And, when it comes down to it, when it comes right down to it, I need to recognize and maintain my garden. I know. Not as easy as it sounds.

If you enjoyed this piece, please follow U.L. Harper on Twitter @ulharper.