This weekend I watched Groundhog Day, which I've seen before a few times, but not in a while. It feels quite different during the pandemic. I suppose we haven't had nearly as many iterations of days at home as he had iterations of that one day, before he accepted and really made the best of it, and started learning piano and ice sculpting and how to love the situation he was in. Logically it was years and years of Groundhog Days. So maybe I shouldn't be thinking how much I suck compared to Bill Murray's jerk of a guy.
But then what lessons am I letting myself learn, vs. staying stuck in misery? This is an interesting thing to ask myself.
I miss human connection of the volitional and intimate sorts.
Like, a lot, sometimes.
