Operation Reinvention

Heading into 2020 I came across a carved wood-block sign on a bookcase in a Costa Rican hotel that implored its visitors to ‘Reinvent Your Routine.’ Given that the average New Year’s Resolution lasts until January 14, I had been patient with enacting this imperative lest it be misinterpreted as a short-term reactionary adjustment versus my intended long-term Operation Reinvention. Who would have predicted that this message would have been so dramatically enacted in the age of COVID?

I’ve been contemplating three main components of the Operation Reinvention: 1. a physical metamorphosis; 2. an adjustment to the time; and 3. an emotional balancing.

Alas, amid my planning phase for my physical metamorphosis, I’ve been met with the stark reality that my body is aging more quickly than I care to admit and that my physical routine is being mandatorily reinvented simply to avoid a total breakdown. By way of example, recently I irritated my elbow tendinitis while practicing “the wave” designed to embarrass my 11-year old daughter at a previously planned Father/Daughter dance.

Adding insult to injury I’ve been feeling significant eye strain while intently studying game film of my son’s 4th grade basketball team on my iPhone. (Side note: that example also amplifies how much I miss sports.) All of this as I work through painful sciatica caused by extra stretching. Not a marathon, mixed martial arts or the CrossFit Games. No. I injured myself while stretching.

I would be more disheartened by this pitiful physical turn of events were it not for the stark new era in which we find ourselves. In the old way of living, I would tap my pockets when leaving the house to ensure that I had my keys, phone and wallet. Now, on the rare occasion that I leave my home, I have to take extra care to make sure I have my hand-sanitizer and surgical mask as well. Sadly, the mask barely covers my beard which has grown into a Hagrid-like snarl.

On the positive side, I now proudly wear my “I Hate People” t-shirt, which is suddenly very much in vogue. And my productivity is through the roof as I’ve attacked a whole slew of deferred maintenance projects with vigor. The garage and garden have never looked better. It’s a Spring Cleaning on steroids. Assemble and raise the Purple Martin house that has collected dust for 12 years. Install a ping pong table. Hang a lawn tools organizer. Clean and fix all of the kayaks, bikes, fishing equipment and the boat. Who would have predicted how much time is saved by not talking to people?

Upon reflection, I’ve also been able to find an emotional balance with Operation Reinvention. On a recent drive (remember driving?), rounding the bend on Interstate 26 from downtown Charleston onto the Arthur Ravenel Bridge, I was struck by the development adjacent to the road. Of course, marveling at the pace of development is an area-wide phenomenon. We’ve all turned a corner in an area that we haven’t been in several years to realize that it is totally renovated and full of new buildings. But the striking part of the development adjacent to 26 and the Ravenel was not the fact that it is filled with a slew of buildings that didn’t exist just months ago. Rather the striking part is the stark dichotomy between the “types” of buildings that are sitting literally back-to-back.

One new building is an air-conditioned self-storage facility. These facilities are popping up everywhere as baby boomers downsize and the younger generations move out of home and into apartments. For about $200 per month, millions of Americans are storing their extra stuff in a well-appointed air-conditioned space.

Here’s the kicker. Right next door there’s another new building. It’s Charleston’s One80 Place, once referred to as the homeless shelter. This building temporarily houses people who literally don’t have a place to live. At all. No place to lay their head at the end of the day let alone have a place to lay their hat. And extremely far from storing their extra stuff in an air-conditioned unit. Imagine your stay-at-home experience through the lens of having no home. Through this vivid real-world realization, I’ve been able to advance Operation Reinvention’s emotional balancing with waves of gratitude and appreciation.

Who would have predicted that my 40-some-year-old self would be a one-armed, limping, surgical-mask wearing, scruffy-looking Nerf herder in a world of social distancing? Operation Reinvention is underway, and it underscores a philosophy that has long guided me - Life is Not a Dress Rehearsal. Soak it in when you can.