Light Dawns on Marblehead

Some of us can't change lightbulbs on our own, and that's okay.

As a lifelong procrastinator, it's amazing what I can get used to just for the sake of putting off a task. And of course, the task is never as daunting as it feels, especially after months or even years of putting it off, but my anxiety (and possibly undiagnosed ADHD) works in such a way that the longer I put it off, the more the problem builds in my mind, and the less I feel able to do it.

Sometimes it's less about anxiety, and more about "I'll do it later" but one thing leads to another and later never comes, because the box I meant to break down or the book I mean to put away has become part of the scenery of my room and I simply don't notice it.

The tasks that are put off as a direct result of my anxiety always involve another person, because while I have some fun general anxieties, the bulk of it is of the social variety. For example, I put off going back to the eye doctor until I was down to my very last set of contacts, even though I knew my prescription needed to be updated. In my defense, this delay started as regular COVID anxiety; I didn't need the old man who tells me the same story about how his daughter who also went to NYU every single time I saw him breathing into my eyeballs during a global pandemic. And then by the time I was slightly more comfortable with that as a concept, I quit my full-time job and no longer had vision insurance, so the lingering COVID anxiety was joined by going-to-a-new-place anxiety and money anxiety. So I just kept putting it off and putting it off until it was absolutely necessary, and I went to get an eye exam and my new prescriptions at a Warby Parker for a very reasonable price, by a woman who was younger than me and did not ramble about her personal life while she was supposed to be examining me. Since I was already going to Manhattan for the day, I had decided to feed two birds with one scone and schedule an appointment to donate platelets, something I used to do every few months before the pandemic but had yet to go back to doing for similar COVID-anxiety reasons. I felt very accomplished that day.

So accomplished, in fact, that it set off a string of events where I accomplished other tasks I had been putting off for WAY too long. I went to the laundromat to do loads of laundry to start chipping away at the backlog (I have too many clothes, as it turns out, and my once-a-month chore of sending my laundry out wasn't making a dent in the pile in my closet, so I needed to take things into my own hands to get on top of it.) This is still a work in progress, but while I did those loads, I also reorganized my dressers.

This also triggered a full-apartment clean, which included breaking down and bringing out cardboard boxes that had been lingering for a while and throwing away the perishable remains of a Hello Fresh bag that had gone ignored in the fridge for a week. (I save the packaged items; a recipe sans cilantro or a tomato will do perfectly fine.) Once my apartment was finally clean, I emailed my building management about a few things that had piled up. Namely, telling them about the microwave that hasn't worked in almost three years (I did not tell them how long it has not worked) and the hallway and bedroom lights that have been out for months. (My ceilings are quite high and you need a real ladder to reach them, or someone who is taller than 5'4" on a good day on a step stool.)

And this is where I come back to: it's amazing what I can get used to when I'm putting off a task. I didn't have an overhead light in my bedroom for MONTHS. At first, I just dealt with the darkness. I don't spend much time in my room outside of changing and sleeping, and I just pulled my blackout curtains open for the first thing and closed for the second. But then I was having guests stay in my apartment, and they were going to stay in my room while I stayed on my futon in the study. (My bed is big enough for two people, my futon is not.) So in a panic, I bought endtable lamps. This lamp was very helpful, but it did not exactly fill the room with light. Which again, was mostly fine, except for when I needed to look for something specific in my room. Or, as was most recently the case, fold and put away laundry. I could get by, but I didn't have to be living that way. I didn't have to be opening the doors to the study and the bathroom and turning on THOSE lights to brighten the hallway when I would get food deliveries so the people at the door didn't think I lived in a cave. I didn’t HAVE to be scooping the insides of a microwave popcorn packet into a pot and popping it like I’m in the movie Scream. I didn't HAVE to use my phone flashlight to rifle through my drawer of black t-shirts to find the particular black t-shirt I was looking for. There was a simple solution: email building management. It's not even a phone call! And yet. Anxiety. This particular one was compounded by my anxiety about being a burden, my anxiety about strangers in my apartment who could potentially murder me and no one would find my body for weeks, AND my anxiety about having other people perceive my space that even at its cleanest, is not exactly a minimalist and tidy home. There will always be a pile of books on the endtable next to my couch, an open notebook strewn on a table, and a half-finished craft somewhere in the apartment.

Anyway, all this to say, my new microwave will be here in two weeks. (The man looked apologetic when he said it, and relieved when I genuinely responded that it was absolutely no problem. If only he knew.) I don't even know if I'll use it, but it will be nice to have the option. And today, they came to change the lights. It wasn’t a one-person job; the guy did all of the hard-to-reach stuff, but I dutifully cleaned the glass covers as he took them down and handed him the fresh lightbulbs when he was ready for them. It was a team effort. And when he was gone, I went into my bedroom and flipped the switch. I didn't even realize just how much I had adjusted to the darkness until I finally saw the light.

There's a metaphor here, in this story about being in the dark so long you don't even realize you're in the dark anymore because it's just your new normal. Until one day you finally muster up enough energy to ask for help even though you hate asking for help - oh how you hate asking for help - and someone comes and does something so simple, as simple as helping you change a light bulb, and suddenly you remember that actually it wasn't always so dark, that there used to be light, that there can be light again. It almost feels wrong at first, until you remember that no, this isn't new, this is familiar, this is...right. So for a while you'll be able to turn on the light again, until you can't, and the cycle continues. But hopefully you remember that there's always someone out there willing to help you change a lightbulb, if you just ask. Yeah, there's a metaphor in there.

They say media literacy is dead, but hopefully that one's not too far a leap.