Groundhog Days Got You Down?

You know Phil, right? He’s that internationally famous groundhog millions of us pin our hopes on for a forecast of an early spring. Come February 2nd each year, Phil is coaxed out of his cozy hideout in Punxsutawney, PA. (Real place.) Doesn’t see his shadow? Announces spring’s coming early! Sees his shadow? He retreats into his hole, believing spring’s at least another six weeks out. No other rodent has the power to plunge residents of four-season countries into such deep despair.

Hey, legends mesmerize us. And stories we tell ourselves over and over again — stories that emerge from those dark, hidden places in our shadows we’re unconscious to — can screw up more than just a groundhog’s life.

Which got me thinking.

Maybe I am like Punxsutawney Phil: I love hibernating more than thriving.

I’ve been hiding out a lot lately. Grammarly lets me know it. I’ve plummeted from receiving lofty subject lines about my writing such as, “You’ve achieved grammar greatness!” and “You sure have a way with words!” to “Looks like you didn’t have any writing activity last week,” and “We miss you. Make sure you’re logged in.”

But I’m not. Like Punxsutawney Phil, I’ve been holed up in my burrow, a make-believe world of holiday silliness, work busyness, and cry-babyish excuses about needing a break from writing.

What’s lurking in my shadow I’m so afraid of?

I didn’t like the question. (Damn you, Phil!) How many hellish Groundhog Days am I living? Could they be the cause of my writing droughts?

I came up with a long list. I only dare to share these.

Reading painful Penzu zingers.

Penzu is a writing app I use on my phone — mainly to take real-time notes about how I’m feeling, what I’m seeing, what I’m doing in the moment. It’s awesome. Until you start getting their random notifications titled, “This is what you wrote 1 month ago,” or “This is what you wrote 6 years ago,” each linking to posts I’ve taken no action on. One just popped into my mailbox now. “Pause, pivot, and proceed,” I wrote based on advice from The Miracle Morning book I was reading. Hah. Like I’ve owned that. See what I mean? I know they’re supposed to be motivating writing prompts, but I hate them.

Sure, I can kill the notifications. But there’s a part of me that prefers to wallow in them. I have a lot of content in Penzu. I hope that someday — shit, there it is, that deadly “someday” curse— I hope to tidy up, publish, and share those stories. But like Punxsutawney Phil on February 2nd, I choose to yawn, fill my belly with vittles, then slink back into the comfort of doing nothing. This time, let’s say for six days, at least.

Starting 3-month health kicks that leave me fat & lazy by December.

Bring on the new year! I kill it with exercise, healthy food, and no booze in January, February, and March. I’ve followed that routine for decades, vowing to keep the momentum going the next nine months of the year. Where’s that got me? My impressive three-month results and positive intentions fade by June; I free-fall through November, I see pics of my chunky cheeks and triple chin posted throughout December.

“Three healthy months are good,” I tell myself each year. But doctors disagree. They say this kind of roller-coaster lifestyle is the most harmful to our bodies. So why do I keep doing it? Phil? Anyone? I need help here.

Ordering psychobabble soup du jour.

Sometimes I fool myself (or parts in my shadow do) that constantly working on my personal development will improve my writing and productivity. It’s the self-defeating thoughts and barriers I don’t know exist that get in my way, right? Could be. But a new book I’m reading, No Bad Parts by Dr. Richard Schwartz (don’t judge me!), reminds me there are parts in us that “turn us into seekers who move from one meditation or spiritual leader to another, looking for one that can permanently make [other parts] feel better.”

It’s true. The more time I spend “working on myself,” the less time my ass is riveted to a knotty, coffee-shop wood bench pounding out the words. Maybe both are pathways to self-enlightenment and having fun writing about shit in your shadow you’re not afraid of anymore.

This one’s tricky. Need to think about it for a while. Six weeks maybe.

Ignoring that if it’s not one sling, it’s another.

Wait. Isn’t recovering from an injury a legit excuse to lay low and heal? Yes, but what if bodily traumas are thrust on us as lessons, as metaphors, as smacks upside the head about things we need to learn but keep ignoring? You know, staying unconscious to stuff in our shadows that control us without us realizing it.

It can happen. There are a lot of theories about this. Consensus is that the universe will keep upping the ante on ways to get us to pay attention.

Last December, I got a hip infection that stopped me from going on a Mexico vacation we booked in June. Boo-hoo, I know. But in the last six-ish years, I’ve also had two bicep-tendon surgeries, one rotator cuff repair, two hips replaced, and a busted foot bone. I published my first and only kids’ graphic novel with my right arm in a sling. But that’s it.

Ouch. Not sure I like these recurring injuries. But with every visit to the doc and meeting some new specialist, I sense the universe is still trying to tell me something. What is it? I don’t see it. Make it clear. But please don’t make it hurt again.

Accepting they’re different Zoom faces with the same Zoom problems.

Think Punxsutawney Phil gets bored with his job? I mean the same time, the same place every year facing the prospect of being scared to death by his own shadow over and over again. What kind of life is that? Seems like an anxiety-riddled existence anyone would want to change up. Maybe with a new job.

I’ve job-hopped and morphed my career many times over the decades. I’m thinking about doing it again. Aren’t you? Job market’s hot. Time to jump ship and work on new shit with cool new people. “It’s just the break I need,” I tell myself. It’ll amp my energy during the day and reignite my creative writing juices at night.

Then I talked to my daughter. She coached me, “Sure, you’ll see different faces in the Zoom boxes, but they’ll all be dealing with the same office politics, project dysfunction, and personal issues you’re running from.”

Guess I can hang onto my current gig for another six years.

My Groundhog Days are becoming my Groundhog Life.

OK, we’re kidding about all this. The legend of Punxsutawney Phil is just a story. Nothing to take too seriously. Nothing to spend too much time breaking down. Nothing to act on here. I’m just grateful Phil’s relationship with his shadow inspired me to reflect on my Groundhog Days.

Maybe that’s Phil’s greatest gift?

We can safely watch him struggle with his shadow, which might trigger self-awareness to wriggle out of our sucky Groundhog Days. Or like Phil, I suppose we can choose to shut down for another six weeks, six months, six years, or until we decide to emerge from our own miserable Groundhog days to step into a fresh, sunny spring of our making.

Don’t like ads? Become a supporter and enjoy The Good Men Project ad free

Thoughts? I’d ask Phil, but as usual — records from 1886 show he’s seen his shadow 106 times and hasn’t seen it 20 times — he’s sleeping again.

—

This post was previously published on medium.com.

***