Day to Day During CoVid Times

The 1993 movie, “Groundhog Day,” has been looping endlessly through my mind.

Actor Bill Murray, who plays the hot-shot TV weatherman Phil Connors, is in Puxatawney, Pennsylvania, reporting on what he thinks of as small-town foolishness over its most famous resident, a groundhog named Phil. Connors has been assigned to cover the festivities and see if Phil casts a shadow as the sun rises on Feb. 2, signaling to Americans everywhere whether they’re in for a long winter.

Stuck in Puxatawney because of an overnight snowstorm, Connors finds himself trapped in a time loop in which he awakes each morning to re-live the tedious and mind-numbing experiences of the previous day, over and over again.

Since Pennsylvania Governor Tom Wolf issued a stay-at-home order in mid-March, I felt trapped in a similar loop, where every day plays out the same way: I wake up, eat breakfast, clean my house more than ever before, walk, eat again, read, binge-watch Grey’s Anatomy on Netflix, and go to bed. When I wake up the next morning, I do it all over again.

I initially adjusted well to the abrupt change in my routine—I have no young ones underfoot and don’t work full time. With stocked pantry shelves and a deep freezer full of food, I was even grateful to isolate myself from a virus that’s wreaking havoc on our economy and, especially, the lives of so many people.

When the Stay At Home was extended another month, my mood shifted lower, exacerbated by too much news coverage of the global crisis. I wasn’t actually depressed, but restless and anxious about what lie ahead.

After years of living with the challenges brought about by my husband’s mental health problems, I’m attuned to changes in my own mood and what I need to do when I’m down. This time, though, I couldn’t wile away a few hours perusing the clearance racks at TJ Maxx, returning home uplifted by a great bargain. Or escape to a movie with my husband, who, because of the virus, isn’t working anymore.

With no outside-the-home options to alleviate my low spirits, I knew—as Connors had to learn—that I had to re-think how I wanted to experience the days ahead.

In the movie, the repeating Groundhog Day festivities initially drive Connors to distraction and sarcasm, then meanness, despair, and an attempt to end his life.  Eventually he recognizes his dilemma as a chance for growth, where he learns to appreciate the hoopla surrounding what he once thought of as a meaningless tradition. During one time loop—which turns out to be his last—he enthusiastically reports on the small-town’s festivities, even participating in an ice-sculpting contest and a charity bachelor auction. Accepting the experience, instead of fighting it, allows Connors to escape the time loop, and, as happens in movies, land a date with the woman he loves.  

For me, I’m trying to accept this time for what it is—and not just waiting for my life to resume being what it was. I’m trying to think of this month as one on a continuum of the many months that make up my life and appreciate it for what it is. That means paying attention to whatever I am doing.

Some people call this mindfulness; I also think of it as being grateful for what I have.

This was published as a Guest Column in the Butler Eagle on April 9.