Groundhog Day — one of my favorite movies. Who doesn’t adore Bill Murray and Andi McDowell’s tale of repeating the same day over and over?
Well, lately, I’ve been feeling like I am trapped in Groundhog Day. Waking up at the same time, crawling out of bed, taking a shower. Pulling on the same pair of sweat pants I wore yesterday, along with my faded T-shirt. Sitting at my desk in the loft and working on the same long-term projects for work. Projects that were on my “some day when I’m not busy” list.
I started this blog six years ago because I found life in a small town of the Colorado Rocky Mountains to be so quirky and interesting. I started writing small vignettes about things that touched my heart, or made me laugh.
At some point, I always thought I’d run out of material, but my pursuits of all things Colorado always brought some new perspective or creative thought. A ski day would make me think about the joy of skiing powder. A hike would lead to speculation about hiking Fourteeners and mountain weather. A drive to work would lead to musing about commuting when you live in the mountains. A concert at Red Rocks would lead to a story about outdoor amphitheaters. A road trip to Ouray examined scenic campgrounds in Colorado.
But all of those adventures have been silenced by the Coronavirus Pandemic. Life has become predictably the same, day in and day out. I have a hard time even remembering what day of the week it is anymore.
The big “adventure” for the day is walking the dogs around the block. To add a little more cardio into our daily walk, we have taken to walking up and down The Summer Road. Normally not something I would do because of the amount of cars going up it. But these days, there’s little to no traffic as most of my neighbors are hunkered down in their houses as well.
Excitement is spotting two moose galloping down the road towards us. And a road trip is driving to the B and F market to get groceries. It no longer seems weird that everyone is wearing a mask, or that plexiglass windows separate me from the cashier. As an extrovert, I used to willingly start up conversations with strangers at a moment’s notice. Now I veer away from other people, afraid to be in their draft of exahaling.
Even our dogs have picked up on something being different. Our dog, Logan, has lost some of his natural exuberance. He spends most of his time curled up in a ball underneath Bryon’s desk or curled up in a ball in his crate. He seems anxious and strangely weirded out by our being home with him 24/7. Where’s the joy in seeing your master, when they are here all the time?
Yesterday at least brought something different – 21 inches of snow fell, blanketing the trees with white fluffiness. The dogs reveled in the snow — leaping and bounding in their excitement. Even I felt better experiencing something different on our evening walk.
All of which is to say I’m struggling to come up with stories about “Life in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado.” Because of the sameness of each and every day, there is nothing new or unique to share.
I know this isn’t forever. It will pass. But right now, I’d kill for some adventure.