The Comeback Tour: Featuring Driving, Shopping, and Independence

It’s been a long time coming. Back in December, I was lying in a hospital bed dramatically staring at the ceiling like I was in the season finale of a medical drama, wondering if “normal life” would ever make a comeback tour.

Turns out, “normal” to me equals routine. Not the glamorous kind—no one’s handing out awards for “Most Consistent Grocery Shopper”—but the kind where I can go, do, and see whatever I want without coordinating a small village to make it happen. Independence, baby. And friends… I think my train is finally pulling into the station. It’s not exactly high-speed rail, more like a scenic route with frequent stops, but I’m arriving.

It all began with a wildly thrilling adventure: a short grocery trip last weekend. Yes, grocery shopping is now an event. Wound care cleared me to drive (cue angelic choir), but I still had to wear “the boot” while walking—fashion-forward, really. So, I bravely set out to Town & Country for produce like a woman reclaiming her destiny… one vegetable at a time.

Let me just say: ordering produce through Amazon Fresh? A betrayal. A scam. A personal attack. Nothing compares to choosing your own fruits and veggies like the picky, slightly judgmental human I am. And don’t even get me started on deli ham. I hadn’t had it in forever because I only accept the good stuff—freshly sliced, not that pre-packaged nonsense. So yes, I reunited with my beloved ham. It was emotional. I may have shed a tear.

I left early to avoid traffic, because nothing says “healing journey” like minimizing lane-change anxiety. Driving came back quickly (muscle memory is a real one), but there was a moment where I was like, “Wait… do I still know how to merge without panic?” Spoiler: I do.

I even found a decent parking spot, which honestly felt like the Universe saying, “Alright, you’ve suffered enough. Here’s a small win.”

I did my own shopping. By myself. It was glorious. Like a one-woman parade of independence… just slower and with a slight limp.

I still ordered some bulky stuff from Amazon Fresh because I’m not trying to win a hero award here. It kept the trip shorter and my foot happier. Balance, people.

Then this week? Oh, I leveled up.

I went to my QFC. Planned meals. Made a list. Got there early like the organized, responsible adult I occasionally pretend to be. And the best part? “My” cashier was there, recognized me, and noticed I’d been gone for months. I’m not saying I almost cried in the checkout line… but I’m also not not saying that.

It felt like home.

Now, I know this might all sound ridiculous to some people. “Wow, you went grocery shopping, congratulations.” But listen—when your independence gets yanked away unexpectedly, it’s the small, everyday things that you miss the most. Those little routines? They’re not little. They’re you. They’re your comfort zone, your identity, your “everything is fine” signal to your brain.

It’s like putting on your favorite winter jacket and wrapping your hands around a mug of hot chocolate. Cozy. Familiar. Slightly dramatic, but in a good way.

Other signs I’m clawing my way back to “normal”:

1. I grilled last night for the first time since early September. Yes, I wielded tongs again. Power move.
2. I now drive to get coffee—and I found a new favorite, which I will absolutely go out of my way for because priorities.
3. Picked up my own prescription like a fully functioning adult.
4. Drove myself to a doctor’s appointment (who even am I??)
5. Went to dinner club—Sherrie still drove, because let’s not get reckless

Here’s the deal. We all have these little things we do to stay sane, to feel like ourselves. Take those away, and suddenly you’re like, “Who even am I without my routines?” It chips away at you. Your independence, your dignity—it starts to feel like it’s slipping through your fingers.

And yeah, your brain can get a little dramatic about it. Depression tries to show up like an uninvited guest, whispering nonsense. But then there’s that other voice—the slightly annoyed, very practical one—that goes:

“Okay, listen up, dummy. This is temporary. Get it together.”

Or, as the classy wall plaque says: Pull up your big girl panties and deal with it.

So here I am. Getting my life back. Keeping the promises I made to the Universe (who, let’s be honest, has a very sarcastic sense of humor). Asking it to maybe go a little easy on me… because clearly I learn lessons at the speed of dial-up internet.

But hey—

I’m back, baby.