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When is anyone supposed to do anything? Bathing, stretching and cooking: the relentless grind of self-care consumes 112 days of my life each year
It was the sixth time I’d washed my hands that day. My red, raw wrists stung as I toweled off, protesting the friction and New York’s bone-dry winter. Being a dog owner (twice-daily poop exposure) during peak respiratory illness season (strangers coughing on you) is no joke.
I thought about how life is a procession of vital, unskippable tasks: washing and eating and resting and pooping and exercising and brushing your teeth on a loop, forever.
Some version of this tedium thrums steadily for all of us. “A quiet monologue runs through my head at all times. It is this: dinner dinner dinner dinner,” wrote Rachel Sugar in the Atlantic
<p>I was agog. A simply ridiculous number! Equivalent to 2,705 hours a year, or 112 days. And it didn’t account for work or sleep, both of which I definitely need to do. I’m not a gym rat, or someone with a 12-step skincare routine. I don’t cook every day, play soccer or do pilates. I hadn’t included grocery shopping, laundry, cleaning, volunteering, watering my numerous “lifestyle brand Lululemon
<p>This left me with a dilemma. As a lifestyle editor, I encounter a lot of information about how to improve one’s wellbeing. I don’t have the constitution to be a fanatic, which is good because that’s the mindset that leads to
