I collapsed on the couch with a fever of 101, my Amazon Alexa perched on the end table beside me. Every case of the flu needs a theme song — something mellow, but not so draggy you sink into the cushions like quicksand. I chose “Take It Easy.”
This 1972 song by the Eagles stays comfortably midtempo, like a resting pulse. No screechy guitars. No shouting voices. The rhythm moves forward without hurrying you along. The harmonies sound like people singing together because they want to — not because they’re trying to prove anything. “Take It Easy” doesn’t try to pep you up or push you forward. It just let’s you lie there. Its wry, self-deprecating lyrics even made me smile.
Instead of bragging about conquests, the singer admits he’s striking out — in one case, relegated to the category of just a friend. When your head is pounding and your body is overheated, that mix of musical steadiness and modest humor helps you settle. “Take It Easy” was just what the doctor ordered.
Within an hour, I’d officially set up camp in an 8-by-4-by-4-foot space around my couch. My TV remote and box of tissues kept Alexa company on the end table. I expected my dogs to start barking at me for attention, but they surprised me. Even Bella, my 2-year-old Cavapoo — normally a wind-up toy wrapped in fluff — curled up by my legs and stayed put. Her mellow big brother pressed against my chest. I praised them both for being good couch dogs.
Early in this new, much smaller reality, we settled into our take-it-easy rhythm. Meals became variations on ramen noodles and tofu. Time stopped being measured in accomplishments and started being gauged in naps and TV episodes, punctuated by our theme song.
I binge-watched episode after episode; one series, “North of North,” carried me north to the Arctic, while another, “The White Lotus,” dropped me into the heat of Thailand. Meanwhile, the weather outside my window stayed classic New England winter: snow turning to wintry mix under a pale sky. Outside, it was bleak. Inside, the Eagles kept offering breezy wisdom from a much sunnier zip code.
My dogs stayed glued to me, radiating heat and showing surprising restraint. Bella, of all dogs, barely budged. Every so often, my phone lit up — my only real link to the outside world. Family checking in. Friends texting: Any better? or Still sick? A heart emoji was about my speed. That counted as socializing.
By day four, I made the mistake of expecting progress. I woke up thinking, surely today’s the day. Instead, the thermometer told a different story. Still feverish. Still not right. Not dramatically worse — just stubbornly unwell. That disappointment hit harder than I expected. I’d rested. I’d complied. I’d taken it easy. Surely, I’d earned my way back to normal life. Apparently, my body had other plans.
So back on the couch I went. The dogs resettled without complaint, Bella curling in like she’d been doing this her whole life. I praised them again for being good couch dog because, at that point, morale mattered. I played “Take It Easy” like a prescription. The dogs listened politely, absorbing California calm while sleet tapped at the windows.
“Don’t let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy,” the song advised.
I laughed because, yes, that’s exactly the danger. The impatience. After that, the days softened. I stopped arguing with reality. Friends continued to check in by text — the perfect level of intimacy for someone in pajamas at noon. Outside, winter kept doing its dreary thing. Inside, the dogs adjusted themselves like furry bookends. I stopped counting how long I’d been sick and started noticing small shifts instead: standing up without wobbling, a hint of appetite, the ability to watch an entire episode without drifting off.
What struck me was how different this rhythm felt. We’re trained to push through — to rally, optimize, bounce back fast. But illness refuses that logic. Like the song, recovering from the flu works best when you match its tempo. When I finally did feel ready to rejoin the world, it wasn’t dramatic. No triumphant comeback. Just a short walk. A simple meal. A day with less coughing.
So whenever you’re not up to snuff, take your cue from the Eagles. The goal isn’t to power through. It’s to find the rhythm that fits where you actually are. Taking it easy isn’t indulgence; it’s a skill. And if a California road-trip song — and a surprisingly chill Cavapoo — can help you relearn it during a New England winter, all the better.
Joan Axelrod-Contrada is a writer who lives in Florence with her two dogs. Sign up for her free newsletter — complete with links to bonus content such as music videos and fun facts — by emailing her at joanaxelrodcontrada@gmail.com.