Binderama60for60

Sure, I could imagine a scenario where I’m given one random day to relive over and over again until it makes me a better person. Like in the movie, I’d learn values and lessons about avarice and virtues, empathy, dereliction, redemption and respect. And in the end–of the movie anyway–after dozens or hundreds of iterations of a single day, Bill Murray’s character finally gets laid. So there’s your moral.

Earlier in the film, he laments: “I was in the Virgin Islands once. I met a girl. We ate lobster, drank piña coladas […] That was a pretty good day. Why couldn’t I get that day over and over and over?”

I hope we’ve all had one of those days.

I’ve had a few of those days.

Here we go again, mining the distant past for content. I guess I should be happy I can remember any of that, or at least my version of the memories of any of that.

They were all Saturdays, within about 10-12 years of each other. One was on a football weekend during my last semester of college, a date with a three-year crush who I’d finally met a few weeks earlier. Another involved a day-trip one Florida summer; it started with a friend’s morning wedding and ended with a lightning-strobed sunset over the Gulf of Mexico. One in New York, big on Central Park, Mickey Mantle’s and the NYT early edition. Yeah, those were some pretty good days, mostly excellent days from start to finish.

More recently, there have been a few days that might qualify, in a different, more mature way. A Saturday in Athens, Georgia with dear old friends was a good one; we stayed up late. If you were in Vegas for my birthday almost a year ago, you were part of a day I could put on a loop. Good people, good sights, good food, good times. Meaningful too. A day and a life to be grateful for.

This post has some flaws, beyond wallowing in the seven deadlies. I don’t think I would change much about any of the days I just cited, and I can’t imagine what lessons I might have learned on the day or in reliving it for 60 more.

I aced it the first time; no do-overs necessary. Maybe I’d order more dessert. Take a nap.

Let’s get serious.

To make this thing work, we need to start with a flawed character. Check. And then place that character into some challenging situations. I’ve got that too.

If I’m going to pick a day to revisit and dissect and relive in order to turn my life around, any day in the 7th grade would work. If you’ve followed much of this 60|60 series, you know that the 7th grade was my Chernobyl. A melt down that no one should ever revisit. We could take the day of the Sadie Hawkins dance in the gym, a heavily chronicled day in this project. Awkward, humiliating, sad, etc. If I wanted to go back and correct some behaviors, build confidence, navigate a confusing world, that would be the day.

I would have grown up to be a gazillionaire rock star quarterback CEO Hollywood kingpin. Nobel laureate peacemaker.

Hold up.

This example is too easy. Redundant with many other 60|60 posts. Petty. Obsessive. Unhealthy. Irrelevant. Whiny. And it was a long time ago. (But it’s totes on-brand.)

Plus, as I ruminate on those days now, I realize how much I learned from all the emotional scabs and scars that formed back then and since.

And if I did go back to relive Sadie Hawkins, it would still always end with me and Mom having hot-fudge sundaes at the Big Boy. She invited me, after all.

New direction.

I started this post last December. The concept of doing a post about Groundhog Day seemed solid. Lots of potential for reflection, self-deprecation, improvement. Blah. Blah. Some good blah.

But once I revisited those epic days at the top, I realized I have no hook. It becomes a diary, a travelogue. I don’t want to bore you with the all the steamy, salacious details. Even though a few of those days would make for some really, really good NSFW prose. I’ll 100% share them with you over many drinks.

Anyway, I panicked, scrambled.

In Groundhog Day spirit, I looked for ways to beef up this post, improving little by little, over and over, rethinking process and purpose, voice and tone, pretty much every day for weeks.

That’s how creativity works. And Groundhog Day. Along with OCD.

I pitched a few ideas to Mary. She wasn’t liking any of my variations. Her take on the overall concept of Groundhog Day was, “oh, like how we do the exact same thing every day?”

No! But she has a point.

Yeah, I’ve had some really good days in this life. Grateful for the memories and stories. Life today is a lot more tame and predictable. Safe. Comfortable. We have a routine. Mary and I have settled into each other and into ourselves. Every day. Almost every day.

We’ve been enjoying our (extended) gap year away from work. We got a dog, and he keeps us on a schedule with some pretty predictable times for walking, fetch and feeding. We’ll deviate from it occasionally, with a little warning, but it’s usually in order to visit a new restaurant or local happening. We also have some travel coming up. Not like back in the day, 250+ days on the road. These days, we travel sparingly and with purpose. We like it that way.

Thankfully, we don’t wake up every morning cowering in dread, like in the film (and sometimes back during my work-a-day years). Not going to say I don’t have a pang of waking anxiety every now and again or watch the bedside clock until it’s an appropriate time to get up. But it’s manageable and human.

Coffee, news, social, puzzles, feed the dog, walk the dog, then a long round of fetch with the dog, run some errands, write or do something creative, check in with friends and family, take care of some business, plan a righteous dinner and procure for it.

Before you conclude that we are too set in our ways, know this: Thursday is food court night. We get take-out from 2-4 of the fast-foodies inside the mall across the street. Sometimes sushi, sometimes cheesesteaks or Shake Shack, sometimes salad and pizza; who knows? Newsflash: last Thursday Mary did takeout from an Indian place up the road.

So yeah, we can be spontaneous; you really can’t pin us down. Don’t even try.

After dinner we walk the dog again, stream a few things. I usually fall asleep in my chair–but only for a bit–much to Mary’s chagrin. Note: Mary has known full-well for 25 years that I have been falling asleep in front of the TV since birth. I’ll try to work on that. Tomorrow.

If this post needs a flawed character, I’m still here. I’m grateful for those flaws and the lessons I learn from them every day. I still battle them, tame and enjoy them. I still explore, challenge, ignore, kvetch, create, sneer and savor. I have only so many days to live, so living it as I am right now is good with me. And I still hold grudges and plot revenge. Tomorrow.

Days are best-lived once. Plus, there’s really no choice. That’s just the way it works. We can’t go back.

But hear me out…

If we could go back, I’d take one of those days from near the top of this post–and I’d crush it all over again. And again.