Nah, just kidding.
You'll notice, though, that the blog has undergone some changes in the last couple of weeks - a cleaner look (which will continue evolving) and today, a new name. Yes, the name is partly a nod to my formative years moping in my room and listening to The Cure. And -- to my slight embarrassment -- to Tesla. Remember Tesla? Raise your hand if you're singing "Love is all around you..." right now. You know you are.
You can read a bit more about the name change here, but it comes down to having a shorter title that encompasses more of what I actually do with this blog. I appreciate those of you who've commented how much you like "Doll Hair Doesn't Grow Back" but it is a bit cumbersome. Especially when you're trying to tell people about the blog at a party and they leave halfway through the name to refresh their drinks!
In addition to simplifying this blog, I'm also acknowledging that I have been serving a couple of different audiences here: fans and friends who are interested in my personal reflections on life, love and everything else; and those who are interested in my journey as a self-pubbed author (largely because they might like to begin or continue that journey themselves). So I'm spinning off a writer's blog here: http://mjpullen.wordpress.com. It's called Front Matter and if you're a writer or entrepreneur, or just interested in my take on the whole publishing process, I invite you to follow it. And, of course, share. :)
Meanwhile, hang here for more lessons learned, reflections on current events, funny kid stories and general navel-gazing. I'll post book information in both places for now. And I promise to keep it interesting or fall on my face trying!
As always, this lovesong is for you...
Showing posts with label change. Show all posts
Showing posts with label change. Show all posts
Monday, September 10, 2012
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
I'm Like Edward Scissorhands... If He'd Worked at Supercuts
Today I got to do something I haven't done in about seven years: I took a brand new set of hedge clippers and started the long process of trying to reclaim our overgrown jungle of a yard. Our new house has a pretty extensively landscaped yard in front and back. It was definitely one of the selling points of the house; and it's also a big project waiting to be tackled, since the house was vacant -- and the yard untamed -- for two years before we moved in. (Incidentally this is also the reason for the rodent infestation I mentioned a few blogs ago, still making itself a nuisance today).
Today's goal was not so much to bring order to the entire jungle, but just to blaze a trail from the lower driveway where we park our cars up the hill to the front door. Well, blazing a trail or cutting a swath of destruction, depending on your perspective. I pretty much have a black thumb, so I'm sure someone with actual plant knowledge would've cringed watching me attack everything in my way.
Despite being horticulturally-impaired, it really felt good to get back out there with the clippers and do some work. Even a half hour of bending, snipping and pulling left me a little bit sweaty and a lot refreshed. It's nice to do work where you can see the results immediately -- a luxury I don't have in my profession.
Some clients make rapid progress (or none at all) and then disappear suddenly, while others come and stay for a long time without seeming to move at all. Some I'm surprised to see go, and others I have to gently, carefully push out of the nest into the world. Either way, I don't usually get to know what happens next in their lives....
Did that couple who fought all the time in my office stay together or break up? Did the person who overcame her phobia continue facing her fears? Did the shy guy ever get the courage to ask for that promotion? Do they end up happy? Are they better for the experience of coming to sit with me for an hour a week for a while? Or do they look back and wish they'd put that money towards PlayStation instead?
I don't get to know. And that's okay, because our time together isn't about me. That time is all about the person sitting across from me -- what's going on in her world, what he wants to achieve. I am just a facilitator of growth, and sometimes a guide. And while I may walk alongside someone on that journey for a short period of time, it's absolutely critical that I don't confuse their journey with my own. When it goes well, or doesn't, when our paths merge, or suddenly part.... I don't get to take credit or blame; and I don't always get to know the outcome.
What I do have to do is stay mindful of my own journey, and take responsibility for my own feelings, my own decisions. That means taking care of myself, and allowing time and space to drift self-indulgently into my own thoughts when I am not sitting across from a client (or tending to a 15-month old). For, say, half an hour with the hedge clippers in the front yard.
So, maybe I pulled up some stuff that isn't weeds and left some things that are. And maybe the average adult would've done a far neater, more methodical job than I clearing away brush from the little stone path. But it was really nice to get out there in the yard and to know that it's mine (okay, ours) to tend. Plus, a little time with busy hands and a free mind is definitely a good thing.
Today's goal was not so much to bring order to the entire jungle, but just to blaze a trail from the lower driveway where we park our cars up the hill to the front door. Well, blazing a trail or cutting a swath of destruction, depending on your perspective. I pretty much have a black thumb, so I'm sure someone with actual plant knowledge would've cringed watching me attack everything in my way.
Despite being horticulturally-impaired, it really felt good to get back out there with the clippers and do some work. Even a half hour of bending, snipping and pulling left me a little bit sweaty and a lot refreshed. It's nice to do work where you can see the results immediately -- a luxury I don't have in my profession.
Some clients make rapid progress (or none at all) and then disappear suddenly, while others come and stay for a long time without seeming to move at all. Some I'm surprised to see go, and others I have to gently, carefully push out of the nest into the world. Either way, I don't usually get to know what happens next in their lives....
Did that couple who fought all the time in my office stay together or break up? Did the person who overcame her phobia continue facing her fears? Did the shy guy ever get the courage to ask for that promotion? Do they end up happy? Are they better for the experience of coming to sit with me for an hour a week for a while? Or do they look back and wish they'd put that money towards PlayStation instead?
I don't get to know. And that's okay, because our time together isn't about me. That time is all about the person sitting across from me -- what's going on in her world, what he wants to achieve. I am just a facilitator of growth, and sometimes a guide. And while I may walk alongside someone on that journey for a short period of time, it's absolutely critical that I don't confuse their journey with my own. When it goes well, or doesn't, when our paths merge, or suddenly part.... I don't get to take credit or blame; and I don't always get to know the outcome.
What I do have to do is stay mindful of my own journey, and take responsibility for my own feelings, my own decisions. That means taking care of myself, and allowing time and space to drift self-indulgently into my own thoughts when I am not sitting across from a client (or tending to a 15-month old). For, say, half an hour with the hedge clippers in the front yard.
So, maybe I pulled up some stuff that isn't weeds and left some things that are. And maybe the average adult would've done a far neater, more methodical job than I clearing away brush from the little stone path. But it was really nice to get out there in the yard and to know that it's mine (okay, ours) to tend. Plus, a little time with busy hands and a free mind is definitely a good thing.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
And then she crawled out from under a half-unpacked box...
Whew! Sunday morning and I am enjoying my first pot of coffee brewed in the new house, while my boys are both napping upstairs. If you've been paying attention, you may have noticed that I dropped the ball a bit on my 30 consecutive days of blogging. (If you've been paying attention that closely, I have to wonder if you might have some time on your hands...)
I honestly thought about blogging a couple of times in the past four days, but up until yesterday it was pretty much physically impossible. Between getting out of the old place, into the new place, and getting the condo cleaned and ready for renters; not to mention work for both of us, we have been going nonstop this week.
There have been lots of moments of joy in the last few days... Looking out the window into our amazing new backyard my second morning in the house (because the first morning I was out the door by 6:15 before I could see the backyard). Having the company and support of my mother-in-law, dad and aunt on three separate days while we tried to get everything accomplished. Collapsing on the couch together Thursday night with a bottle of wine when we were too tired to move anymore. Watching MLM go excitedly up and down the new half-flight of stairs over and over. And over. And over....
And of course there have been some challenges, too. Finding some new and interesting plumbing leaks; and realizing that it's going to take a while to replace the vacant-house smell with something more comforting and familiar. Discovering last night that the clothes washer left by the previous owner -- the reason we left our washer and dryer behind for the tenant's use -- doesn't really work when there are actual clothes in it. It passed the home inspection because the inspector, obviously, didn't actually wash anything. (Wherever she is, I'm sending the seller a big cosmic "thank-you" for that one.)
And in non-house news, there's been lots of teeth-gnashing as my beloved Alma Mater seems determined to have a losing football season this year; and the Atlanta Braves are taking the MLB wild-card race down to the final game this afternoon.
But the good news is that post-season baseball, and even a disappointing start to college football, mean fall is here nonetheless. I am so excited to have a yard to enjoy with my little guy as the beautiful, crisp fall days are upon us. It's going to be really fun exploring our new neighborhood and setting up our house as we look toward the cozy days of the end of the year.
We might be a little smelly snuggled up in our unwashed clothes, listening to the drip of the pipes in the basement; but we'll be in our home, together. And that's enough!
I honestly thought about blogging a couple of times in the past four days, but up until yesterday it was pretty much physically impossible. Between getting out of the old place, into the new place, and getting the condo cleaned and ready for renters; not to mention work for both of us, we have been going nonstop this week.
There have been lots of moments of joy in the last few days... Looking out the window into our amazing new backyard my second morning in the house (because the first morning I was out the door by 6:15 before I could see the backyard). Having the company and support of my mother-in-law, dad and aunt on three separate days while we tried to get everything accomplished. Collapsing on the couch together Thursday night with a bottle of wine when we were too tired to move anymore. Watching MLM go excitedly up and down the new half-flight of stairs over and over. And over. And over....
And of course there have been some challenges, too. Finding some new and interesting plumbing leaks; and realizing that it's going to take a while to replace the vacant-house smell with something more comforting and familiar. Discovering last night that the clothes washer left by the previous owner -- the reason we left our washer and dryer behind for the tenant's use -- doesn't really work when there are actual clothes in it. It passed the home inspection because the inspector, obviously, didn't actually wash anything. (Wherever she is, I'm sending the seller a big cosmic "thank-you" for that one.)
And in non-house news, there's been lots of teeth-gnashing as my beloved Alma Mater seems determined to have a losing football season this year; and the Atlanta Braves are taking the MLB wild-card race down to the final game this afternoon.
But the good news is that post-season baseball, and even a disappointing start to college football, mean fall is here nonetheless. I am so excited to have a yard to enjoy with my little guy as the beautiful, crisp fall days are upon us. It's going to be really fun exploring our new neighborhood and setting up our house as we look toward the cozy days of the end of the year.
We might be a little smelly snuggled up in our unwashed clothes, listening to the drip of the pipes in the basement; but we'll be in our home, together. And that's enough!
Sunday, September 26, 2010
A Little Too Much Getting it Right
I've blogged before about my (selective) perfectionism, and how it can sometimes hold me back from getting things done. Needing to get things juuuuust right can really be paralyzing sometimes, because all the work it takes to do something perfectly can seem really overwhelming at the beginning of the task. Please don't get the wrong idea about me, I'm not a neat-freak or anything -- heck no -- but there are certain things that I just can't seem to stop tinkering with until they're done in some sort of optimal way.
Writing is a great example. It's hard to start even something simple like this blog without feeling like I know where it's going, and that where it's going is going to be good. The problem with that mindset, of course, is that sometimes you have to get started before you know where something is going to go.
Moving seems to highlight this problem for me. The early stages of packing are pretty easy because I can sort of plan ahead and put things together in a way that makes sense. As I mentioned in a recent blog, I've moved about 16 times as an adult, so I've learned that packing semi-intelligently to start with makes things much easier on the unpacking side. But after a certain point, when the house is filling up with boxes, time and space are limited and it's no longer possible to match up everything by room, level of importance AND box size required.
At this particular point in the process, the smart thing to do is just to get things boxed and ready to go quickly, and maybe sacrifice the perfect system I started out using in favor of... well, getting it done. But it's hard to give up on your ideal way of doing things, even for practicality's sake. So I spend less time efficiently packing, and more time staring haplessly around the various rooms, trying to figure out how to combine one thing from each of seven rooms into a workable box that will even sort of make sense when I unpack it on the other end.
Technology isn't always helpful for this particular brand of perfectionism. E-mail gives me way too long to edit communications before sending them, which means something that might've been a 3-minute voice message, or even a 10-minute live conversation, can actually take half an hour or far longer to write, read, edit, re-read, etc.
And lately some voicemail services actually create the same dynamic, offering a really short amount of time to leave a message, but with the option to "erase and re-record," if you are not satisfied with the message you submit. This is a killer for me, both because I like to get things right and because I'm long-winded. Today I re-recorded a message for a potential contractor four times, just to get out all the information in a succinct enough way. Quick! Someone save me from myself!
On that note, before I spend too much time obsessively editing this blog long past my bedtime, I'm going to close out. We're totally psyched about closing on the house tomorrow. Send good vibes, my friends!
Writing is a great example. It's hard to start even something simple like this blog without feeling like I know where it's going, and that where it's going is going to be good. The problem with that mindset, of course, is that sometimes you have to get started before you know where something is going to go.
Moving seems to highlight this problem for me. The early stages of packing are pretty easy because I can sort of plan ahead and put things together in a way that makes sense. As I mentioned in a recent blog, I've moved about 16 times as an adult, so I've learned that packing semi-intelligently to start with makes things much easier on the unpacking side. But after a certain point, when the house is filling up with boxes, time and space are limited and it's no longer possible to match up everything by room, level of importance AND box size required.
At this particular point in the process, the smart thing to do is just to get things boxed and ready to go quickly, and maybe sacrifice the perfect system I started out using in favor of... well, getting it done. But it's hard to give up on your ideal way of doing things, even for practicality's sake. So I spend less time efficiently packing, and more time staring haplessly around the various rooms, trying to figure out how to combine one thing from each of seven rooms into a workable box that will even sort of make sense when I unpack it on the other end.
Technology isn't always helpful for this particular brand of perfectionism. E-mail gives me way too long to edit communications before sending them, which means something that might've been a 3-minute voice message, or even a 10-minute live conversation, can actually take half an hour or far longer to write, read, edit, re-read, etc.
And lately some voicemail services actually create the same dynamic, offering a really short amount of time to leave a message, but with the option to "erase and re-record," if you are not satisfied with the message you submit. This is a killer for me, both because I like to get things right and because I'm long-winded. Today I re-recorded a message for a potential contractor four times, just to get out all the information in a succinct enough way. Quick! Someone save me from myself!
On that note, before I spend too much time obsessively editing this blog long past my bedtime, I'm going to close out. We're totally psyched about closing on the house tomorrow. Send good vibes, my friends!
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Looking for a New Familiar
Moving day is (hopefully) just a few days a way, and I am scuttling around like... like a scuttle-bug, trying to make all the various pieces of the process fit together: preparing for closing, repairs in both places, packing, etc. Some days are like putting together a jigsaw puzzle, and other days are like putting together a jigsaw puzzle blindfolded while swinging on a pendulum over a sea of molten lava.
In any case, it's all leaving very little time and room for processing the emotional aspects of leaving our home and moving to a new one. But after lots of running around for the new house the other day I was getting off the interstate near our condo and I realized how automatic and familiar that drive home has become. It occurred to me that this is the longest I've lived in the same place since I left home for college.
In fact, if you count two places where I lived for eight weeks each [Jesus College, Oxford; and San Francisco], this is my seventeenth move since age 17. That means I've moved an average of once a year during my adult life, and when you add in 6 months backpacking in Europe -- a time during which I 'moved' almost daily -- it seems that my life has been fairly nomadic overall.
But we've been here for five years. Five times the average. And even though the last two years have been full of wishing for more counter space, a yard and room for storage; now that we are actually packing up to leave, I realize how hard it's going to be to leave. I've spent most of my life feeling more comfortable moving than standing still, and yet this time around I'm nervous about the process of uprooting.
And, maybe the planting, too. Of course I'm so excited about the awesome house, and everything that comes with it -- it's something we have wanted for a long time. A couple of weeks ago a colleague of mine asked if this was our "forever house," and my first response was "yeah, it certainly could be." Because I really do love the house.
But maybe it's just the idea of being someplace forever..... for someone who's spent literally half her life looking around the next corner, scoping out new opportunities, spending weekends house-hunting from the curb.... well, a "forever house," is kind of an adjustment. I was driving around on my lunch break a few days later and passed a couple of houses for sale; instinctively, I slowed down and found myself thinking about property prices before I realized that I don't need to do that anymore. It's exciting, a bit unnerving, wonderful, and hard all at once.
The whole experience is a good reminder for me that even positive changes are challenging and scary sometimes. I think it's helpful if I keep that in mind with my clients, my hubby and my friends. And of course, myself!
In any case, it's all leaving very little time and room for processing the emotional aspects of leaving our home and moving to a new one. But after lots of running around for the new house the other day I was getting off the interstate near our condo and I realized how automatic and familiar that drive home has become. It occurred to me that this is the longest I've lived in the same place since I left home for college.
In fact, if you count two places where I lived for eight weeks each [Jesus College, Oxford; and San Francisco], this is my seventeenth move since age 17. That means I've moved an average of once a year during my adult life, and when you add in 6 months backpacking in Europe -- a time during which I 'moved' almost daily -- it seems that my life has been fairly nomadic overall.
But we've been here for five years. Five times the average. And even though the last two years have been full of wishing for more counter space, a yard and room for storage; now that we are actually packing up to leave, I realize how hard it's going to be to leave. I've spent most of my life feeling more comfortable moving than standing still, and yet this time around I'm nervous about the process of uprooting.
And, maybe the planting, too. Of course I'm so excited about the awesome house, and everything that comes with it -- it's something we have wanted for a long time. A couple of weeks ago a colleague of mine asked if this was our "forever house," and my first response was "yeah, it certainly could be." Because I really do love the house.
But maybe it's just the idea of being someplace forever..... for someone who's spent literally half her life looking around the next corner, scoping out new opportunities, spending weekends house-hunting from the curb.... well, a "forever house," is kind of an adjustment. I was driving around on my lunch break a few days later and passed a couple of houses for sale; instinctively, I slowed down and found myself thinking about property prices before I realized that I don't need to do that anymore. It's exciting, a bit unnerving, wonderful, and hard all at once.
The whole experience is a good reminder for me that even positive changes are challenging and scary sometimes. I think it's helpful if I keep that in mind with my clients, my hubby and my friends. And of course, myself!
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Sunday Night's Alright for Writin'
Well, it's been a busy and exhausting but fulfilling weekend. I really enjoyed Yom Kippur services this year, not to mention our family's now-traditional Italian feast before the fast began with Kol Nidre Friday night. And sometime before the headache kicked in, I did notice (with surprise that shouldn't be surprising, because it's what I always seem to feel), that I really did feel spiritually cleansed and refreshed on the Day of Atonement.
So that means today is the first day of working really hard not to make the same mistakes over again. Guess it's time for new mistakes!
We had a busy day today and spent some quality time this evening with my Dad - celebrating his birthday (he's 62 today if anyone who knows him wants to wish him a happy happy). It's so fun to watch My Little Man interact with his grandfather... I get to see a different side of both of them.
When the cake was eaten and Dad went on his way, we spent a couple of hours packing boxes. T-minus 10 days until we move, and I find myself in total disbelief about how much stuff we have accumulated here in five years. My spirit may be cleansed, but my house has a long way to go!
But for now, I am escaping the dust and winding down, with a cat happily curled up next to me. She'd be hurt if she knew this, but after weeks of planning this move, it only just occurred to me today that we also have to coordinate moving her, too. I had pictured her enjoying the new house, rolling around on the back patio, and I'd given some thought to the location of the litterbox, but.... I hadn't thought about the actual move. We don't even have a cat carrier (I threw her old one out shortly after we moved here).
Ah, well, one more thing for the list; and I know it will all fall into place, cat and all. And let's just keep the fact that she temporarily slipped my mind between us, shall we?
So that means today is the first day of working really hard not to make the same mistakes over again. Guess it's time for new mistakes!
We had a busy day today and spent some quality time this evening with my Dad - celebrating his birthday (he's 62 today if anyone who knows him wants to wish him a happy happy). It's so fun to watch My Little Man interact with his grandfather... I get to see a different side of both of them.
When the cake was eaten and Dad went on his way, we spent a couple of hours packing boxes. T-minus 10 days until we move, and I find myself in total disbelief about how much stuff we have accumulated here in five years. My spirit may be cleansed, but my house has a long way to go!
But for now, I am escaping the dust and winding down, with a cat happily curled up next to me. She'd be hurt if she knew this, but after weeks of planning this move, it only just occurred to me today that we also have to coordinate moving her, too. I had pictured her enjoying the new house, rolling around on the back patio, and I'd given some thought to the location of the litterbox, but.... I hadn't thought about the actual move. We don't even have a cat carrier (I threw her old one out shortly after we moved here).
Ah, well, one more thing for the list; and I know it will all fall into place, cat and all. And let's just keep the fact that she temporarily slipped my mind between us, shall we?
Sunday, September 12, 2010
One Sorry Blog
Rosh Hashanah has passed, Yom Kippur is on its way... It's time for the Apology Blog. I just read my blog from two years ago, and I could almost cut and paste, because I'm having many of the same feelings today. And I noticed that many of the wrongs to which I referred are pretty similar today, too -- so I guess some areas of my behaviors still need improvement. ;)
Gossip is still one of my major weaknesses. I think I've made improvements since 2008, but it's still one of those wrong things to do that just feels.... so right. In part, I come about this trait honestly. To this day I remember my mother quoting someone (Dolly Parton?), saying, "If you don't have anything nice to say, come sit by me." But it's also just because gossip is so delicious. It has lots of what those in the psychology world call "secondary reinforcers," which are side benefits that make habits hard to break.
Not only does the gossiper get to air his or her hurt/angry feelings, but most of us know that putting other people down often makes us feel a little better about ourselves (even for just a fleeting moment). Sometimes that little ego boost can be downright irresistible. And since gossip takes a minimum of two participants, it can also be a longed-for connection with other people. Who among us has not bonded with one person at the expense of someone else? It's selfish and wrong, but let's face it, it can be appealing -- especially when we're looking for common ground with a fellow purveyor of gossip. I think this is why gossip is such an easy sin to commit, and maybe why the Yom Kippur liturgy mentions it at least four times. [Insert sheepish grin here].
So, I'm sorry if I've gossiped about you (whether you knew it or not), and I'm sorry if I've enticed you into gossiping yourself by being a partner in crime.
And I'm sorry for all the times I've been late to meetings with you this year. I'm sorry for forgetting something important to you, for neglecting our relationship, and overlooking something about which you needed to talk.
I'm sorry for the times when you were talking, and instead of really listening, I was thinking about my own problems or planning what I was going to say in response.
I'm sorry I knowingly let your phone call go to voicemail because I thought I was too busy to talk, or too tired, or just caught up in my own little world. And I'm sorry for the exponentially greater number of times I missed your call because I'd turned my phone off and forgot to turn it back on or left it in another room, outside in the car, or under a pile of dirty laundry.
To the crazy lady who chewed me out at Costco a few weeks ago: I truthfully didn't intend to steal your parking place, but you're right -- I wasn't being polite and (when in doubt) I should have let you have the space. I could've apologized afterward, but your anger embarrassed me and I became defensive instead. I'm sorry.
To everyone I have hurt, intentionally or otherwise, and to everyone I have disappointed in so many ways this year, please know that my behaviors have not always been in line with my true feelings and accept my heartfelt apologies. I've said this before, but I mean it again, and I'm officially inviting anyone to whom I owe an apology or corrected behavior -- please let me know and let's talk about it.
This year, I also want to make amends to myself. To me: I'm sorry that I haven't let your dreams come to the forefront often enough. I'm sorry that I have let my worries about perfection and the expectations of others guide my actions rather than honoring you. Too often, I've given time to mindless TV, low-priority tasks and unimportant time-fillers. I've allowed my confidence to falter and measured myself against others, rather than nourishing my own dreams and giving them the time and energy they deserve. I owe you (me) more than that, and I'm sorry. I will try to make amends this year, by reminding myself more frequently and holding myself more accountable to... well, me.
I'm sure there are many more apologies to be made, to myself and to everyone else. But there's only so much one blog and one woman can do. And apologies are also about forgiveness -- forgiving those who have wronged me and forgiving myself for things I'm working on and things that are still outside my awareness. My flaws and limitations are all part of what makes me beautifully broken, a work in progress... human.
Gossip is still one of my major weaknesses. I think I've made improvements since 2008, but it's still one of those wrong things to do that just feels.... so right. In part, I come about this trait honestly. To this day I remember my mother quoting someone (Dolly Parton?), saying, "If you don't have anything nice to say, come sit by me." But it's also just because gossip is so delicious. It has lots of what those in the psychology world call "secondary reinforcers," which are side benefits that make habits hard to break.
Not only does the gossiper get to air his or her hurt/angry feelings, but most of us know that putting other people down often makes us feel a little better about ourselves (even for just a fleeting moment). Sometimes that little ego boost can be downright irresistible. And since gossip takes a minimum of two participants, it can also be a longed-for connection with other people. Who among us has not bonded with one person at the expense of someone else? It's selfish and wrong, but let's face it, it can be appealing -- especially when we're looking for common ground with a fellow purveyor of gossip. I think this is why gossip is such an easy sin to commit, and maybe why the Yom Kippur liturgy mentions it at least four times. [Insert sheepish grin here].
So, I'm sorry if I've gossiped about you (whether you knew it or not), and I'm sorry if I've enticed you into gossiping yourself by being a partner in crime.
And I'm sorry for all the times I've been late to meetings with you this year. I'm sorry for forgetting something important to you, for neglecting our relationship, and overlooking something about which you needed to talk.
I'm sorry for the times when you were talking, and instead of really listening, I was thinking about my own problems or planning what I was going to say in response.
I'm sorry I knowingly let your phone call go to voicemail because I thought I was too busy to talk, or too tired, or just caught up in my own little world. And I'm sorry for the exponentially greater number of times I missed your call because I'd turned my phone off and forgot to turn it back on or left it in another room, outside in the car, or under a pile of dirty laundry.
To the crazy lady who chewed me out at Costco a few weeks ago: I truthfully didn't intend to steal your parking place, but you're right -- I wasn't being polite and (when in doubt) I should have let you have the space. I could've apologized afterward, but your anger embarrassed me and I became defensive instead. I'm sorry.
To everyone I have hurt, intentionally or otherwise, and to everyone I have disappointed in so many ways this year, please know that my behaviors have not always been in line with my true feelings and accept my heartfelt apologies. I've said this before, but I mean it again, and I'm officially inviting anyone to whom I owe an apology or corrected behavior -- please let me know and let's talk about it.
This year, I also want to make amends to myself. To me: I'm sorry that I haven't let your dreams come to the forefront often enough. I'm sorry that I have let my worries about perfection and the expectations of others guide my actions rather than honoring you. Too often, I've given time to mindless TV, low-priority tasks and unimportant time-fillers. I've allowed my confidence to falter and measured myself against others, rather than nourishing my own dreams and giving them the time and energy they deserve. I owe you (me) more than that, and I'm sorry. I will try to make amends this year, by reminding myself more frequently and holding myself more accountable to... well, me.
I'm sure there are many more apologies to be made, to myself and to everyone else. But there's only so much one blog and one woman can do. And apologies are also about forgiveness -- forgiving those who have wronged me and forgiving myself for things I'm working on and things that are still outside my awareness. My flaws and limitations are all part of what makes me beautifully broken, a work in progress... human.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Blisters and the Battle Within
I'm nearly halfway through my training now, completing a 12-mile endurance walk this past Sunday. I'm learning a lot about myself through this process, including what my body is capable of enduring and how surprisingly quickly I can bounce back from what feels like overwhelming tiredness or soreness.
I have noticed that during each week's long walk, the distance that felt impossible the previous week seems way easier; and it's during the last two miles of any distance that my feet really hurt, my body aches, and I wonder how I'll make it to the finish line. And yet, the following week I'm able to cover that same distance, plus two more miles. The human body is a fascinating machine.
This post, however, is largely about what I'm learning about my brain. One of the reasons I undertook this quest -- other than the obvious ones about fighting breast cancer, and the fact that any excuse to spend time with my friend Dara is a good one -- was that I wanted to give myself the opportunity to add some self-discipline into my routine. Please don't misunderstand, my routine can be pretty grueling and intense on its own, so I am certainly not a lady of leisure to begin with.
That said, I've always felt that personal discipline was one of my weak points, whether it's sticking to a diet, keeping a clean house, or finishing a novel. I'm a high achiever when there are external forces tugging at me, like grad school course requirements, a friend showing up at my door at 5 a.m. with a yoga mat and a smile, or good old fear of public humiliation. It's when I have to tap into internal motivation that I seem to struggle. So part of me was hoping, as I stared down the barrel of Avon's prescribed training schedule, that this process could be a learning experience through which I acquire some personal willpower.
So, I'm following the schedule, more or less, with my primary commitment to myself that I will complete each week's long endurance walk on Sunday, and try to walk as much as I can for the rest of the week. The place where I walk is more or less a 3 mile loop, with some flexibility of distance depending on the route I take. I just repeat the loop however many times I need to complete my goal for the week.
The beginning and the end of each loop brings me close to my car, and therefore, temptation.
So this is where it gets interesting. Or boring, actually. For the first few weeks, I had the novelty of my task and all the initial excitement to keep me chugging along, despite the pain. There's also the fascinating vantage of watching the trail and its inhabitants evolve and change with each passing lap, which could be a blog all its own. This past week, however, the novelty and my interest in everything around me began to wear thin, and I'll admit that putting one foot in front of the other for 3.5 hours began losing its appeal.
Add to that some pretty vicious chaffing and painful blisters, and of course it crossed my mind -- as I rounded on 5.5 miles -- that the car was within easy reach, and I could be home and in a hot shower in a matter of 30 minutes. What's interesting to me is not that I had this moment of weakness (totally understandable, that); but how quickly my rationalizing mind swooped in to support the idea of giving up.
It just happened so fast. I thought, "wow, I don't want to be out here today," and in a matter of seconds, my head was filled with reasons it would be okay to quit. You're in pain, you should go take care of yourself. Who would you be hurting if you go home? No one would blame you. Most people wouldn't have walked 6 miles yet today, you're already ahead! You've done so much for this cause already, it's not the end of the world if you ditch one practice walk. And the eternal classic, the mantra of the procrastinator, there's always tomorrow.
Fortunately for me, I still had half a mile to talk myself out of quitting, and to re-invigorate my own resolve to plow ahead. Just to be sure I would hold true to my purpose, I even cut short a little bit of the loop to keep myself from going too near the parking lot. In the end, I decided to hold my Sunday walk sacred and renewed my commitment to stick with the plan (barring major injury, of course). I did manage to complete my 12 miles, or at least 11.6 or so. And, despite the fact that my blisters and chaffing are way more painful than if I'd stopped, the damage I avoided doing to my pride and sense of commitment far outweigh the temporary physical pain.
It does leave me thinking about that evil little rationalizing voice in my head. The one that can undermine my sense of purpose and allow me to talk myself out of something I've committed to. It's true that sometimes this voice helps me take care of myself when I've over-committed, and helps me sort out my own needs from the needs of others. But there are times when I've set a goal for a reason, for myself, and that cunning little voice talks me out of doing what is healthy or right anyway.
It's no small task, confronting your most automatic and familiar thought processes, and challenging yourself to think differently. I get the sense this is going to take some time.... I guess that's one more good reason to take those Sunday walks.
I have noticed that during each week's long walk, the distance that felt impossible the previous week seems way easier; and it's during the last two miles of any distance that my feet really hurt, my body aches, and I wonder how I'll make it to the finish line. And yet, the following week I'm able to cover that same distance, plus two more miles. The human body is a fascinating machine.
This post, however, is largely about what I'm learning about my brain. One of the reasons I undertook this quest -- other than the obvious ones about fighting breast cancer, and the fact that any excuse to spend time with my friend Dara is a good one -- was that I wanted to give myself the opportunity to add some self-discipline into my routine. Please don't misunderstand, my routine can be pretty grueling and intense on its own, so I am certainly not a lady of leisure to begin with.
That said, I've always felt that personal discipline was one of my weak points, whether it's sticking to a diet, keeping a clean house, or finishing a novel. I'm a high achiever when there are external forces tugging at me, like grad school course requirements, a friend showing up at my door at 5 a.m. with a yoga mat and a smile, or good old fear of public humiliation. It's when I have to tap into internal motivation that I seem to struggle. So part of me was hoping, as I stared down the barrel of Avon's prescribed training schedule, that this process could be a learning experience through which I acquire some personal willpower.
So, I'm following the schedule, more or less, with my primary commitment to myself that I will complete each week's long endurance walk on Sunday, and try to walk as much as I can for the rest of the week. The place where I walk is more or less a 3 mile loop, with some flexibility of distance depending on the route I take. I just repeat the loop however many times I need to complete my goal for the week.
The beginning and the end of each loop brings me close to my car, and therefore, temptation.
So this is where it gets interesting. Or boring, actually. For the first few weeks, I had the novelty of my task and all the initial excitement to keep me chugging along, despite the pain. There's also the fascinating vantage of watching the trail and its inhabitants evolve and change with each passing lap, which could be a blog all its own. This past week, however, the novelty and my interest in everything around me began to wear thin, and I'll admit that putting one foot in front of the other for 3.5 hours began losing its appeal.
Add to that some pretty vicious chaffing and painful blisters, and of course it crossed my mind -- as I rounded on 5.5 miles -- that the car was within easy reach, and I could be home and in a hot shower in a matter of 30 minutes. What's interesting to me is not that I had this moment of weakness (totally understandable, that); but how quickly my rationalizing mind swooped in to support the idea of giving up.
It just happened so fast. I thought, "wow, I don't want to be out here today," and in a matter of seconds, my head was filled with reasons it would be okay to quit. You're in pain, you should go take care of yourself. Who would you be hurting if you go home? No one would blame you. Most people wouldn't have walked 6 miles yet today, you're already ahead! You've done so much for this cause already, it's not the end of the world if you ditch one practice walk. And the eternal classic, the mantra of the procrastinator, there's always tomorrow.
Fortunately for me, I still had half a mile to talk myself out of quitting, and to re-invigorate my own resolve to plow ahead. Just to be sure I would hold true to my purpose, I even cut short a little bit of the loop to keep myself from going too near the parking lot. In the end, I decided to hold my Sunday walk sacred and renewed my commitment to stick with the plan (barring major injury, of course). I did manage to complete my 12 miles, or at least 11.6 or so. And, despite the fact that my blisters and chaffing are way more painful than if I'd stopped, the damage I avoided doing to my pride and sense of commitment far outweigh the temporary physical pain.
It does leave me thinking about that evil little rationalizing voice in my head. The one that can undermine my sense of purpose and allow me to talk myself out of something I've committed to. It's true that sometimes this voice helps me take care of myself when I've over-committed, and helps me sort out my own needs from the needs of others. But there are times when I've set a goal for a reason, for myself, and that cunning little voice talks me out of doing what is healthy or right anyway.
It's no small task, confronting your most automatic and familiar thought processes, and challenging yourself to think differently. I get the sense this is going to take some time.... I guess that's one more good reason to take those Sunday walks.
Friday, January 8, 2010
A Decade in the Life: Part Two
Neither of us had so much as set foot in Austin before we pulled into town with a U-haul in mid-2000. We got a crappy apartment and I landed another temp job -- this time in the resource development department at the Red Cross, where I was pretty much guaranteed to perform better than the previous temp -- who had been mysteriously (and quite unexpectedly) taken out of the office by the SWAT team one afternoon. A few days with no sign of law enforcement, and I was hired. Thus began my career in fundraising.
For the next year or so, I learned the ropes in development – grant-writing, special events, schmoozing. Meanwhile, our close friendship (usually a good thing) and mutual stubbornness prevented MDexH and I from noticing the cracks in the foundation of our marriage. So we did what married people do – we bought a house, adopted two dogs, and added a kitten (who I found wounded and scared in the drive-thru of a Jack in the Box and brought home in a French-fry box). The music and culture in Austin was everything we’d heard it would be. Life chugged forward.
Until June of 2001, when a devastating event I’d been semi-anticipating most of my life came to fruition. I went home to Atlanta for a friend’s wedding; and made plans to see both my parents along with some of my lifelong friends at home. We’d arranged to pick up my mom – who’d had chronic physical and mental health issues nearly all my life – for lunch a couple days after the wedding.
As I called her to confirm in the days and hours before we were supposed to meet and continually got the machine, I began to have a sinking feeling that all was not right. We’d had a minor spat on the phone right after I arrived in town, and after years of struggling with her through mental illness and its accompanying behaviors, I was worried. When we arrived to pick her up and she didn’t answer the door, I finally called the police to help us get into her apartment and confirm what I’d feared: after years of suffering, the woman who created and nurtured my life and my brother’s had taken her own.
I won’t dwell on this part of my life for long – it could be a book unto itself, one that I’m not ready to write. But I will say that in the days and months following that horrible moment, I learned the depth and capacity of true friendship. Even though much of it is blurry at best, I remember distinctly that every time there was a decision to be made or pain to be faced, there was always the loving and helpful shoulder of a friend nearby to help hold me up.
There are particular friends and family who held my hand through the funeral arrangements, the funeral itself, and cleaning out Mom’s apartment – I haven’t forgotten how much that meant to me. And however strained our relationship might have been before or since, MDexH stood by me from the moment policemen opened the door with the news, and he quite literally kept me from hitting the floor. People sometimes ask how I manage to stay friends with an ex-husband, and I guess times like that are the answer.
A few months later, my personal grief was compounded by our national tragedy on September 11,2001. Again, I could write for hours about my own personal experience during that time. Instead, I’ll speed things up and just say that some typical career stressors at the Red Cross were compounded in the months that followed. So I left my job in 2002 and did another short stint as a freelancer before realizing that I still didn’t quite have the resources and discipline needed to make that career viable.
I ended up back into the world of development at a private Catholic high school. This put me on a new path in a number of ways: career-wise, I was catapulted into far more responsibility than I’d had in the past; socially, I found a group of colleagues who also became amazing friends; and spiritually, I got exposure to a religious culture with which I’d never been very familiar. Things were going swimmingly in my professional life. But by 2003, the strain in our marriage had become palpable, and was beginning to wear down MDexH and me both. Being really great friends was no longer cutting it for either of us, and we separated.
So in June 2003, I moved into my first apartment EVER that was just mine – no family, no roommates, just me. It was 480 square feet, just two rooms with a motel-style air conditioner cooling both, but it was my own little space and I treasured it. There was something amazing about being alone in an apartment, a thousand miles from my hometown, family and friends – it was a little scary and occasionally lonely, but I had an independence there that still makes me proud today.
I was lucky that summer (and beyond) to have the influence and support of many new close friends, in particular a good friend from the school where I worked. She was a wonderful, independent spirit herself and would’ve been an inspiration to me under any circumstances. As it was, she had learned just months after we met that she had a brain tumor, and was faced with invasive treatments as well as the possibility of her own mortality all at once. Never one to take anything lying down, she was determined to continue living life with gusto, and was constantly calling me to go out and explore new activities with her – from swing dancing to karaoke to late-night bowling.
If I’d had any inclination that I was going to sit home and mope about the divorce, she shattered it by saying “I have a brain tumor – what’s your excuse?” And so I went wherever she wanted me to go, made loads of new friends, and learned a lot about myself in the process.
One summer week she purchased from a garage sale the ugliest crocheted duck I’ve ever seen [I say that as though I’ve seen so many… and some of them tasteful!]. She stopped by my apartment while out for a bike ride, claiming she needed the restroom, and left the hideous little duck on my loofah sponge – quite a surprise for me the next morning. It became a game with a group of us: we would secretly try to pass the duck around from friend to friend by sneaking it into one another’s homes. Since then, I’ve learned that many families have a similar tradition with an old fruitcake or summer sausage. I prefer the duck!
For the next year and a half, I lived a life that was truly my own. I kept in touch with friends from Atlanta, of course, but I had the challenge and excitement of forming new friendships and relationships by myself. Since I had no family nearby, I was responsible for filling my own time, taking care of my own needs. It could be hard sometimes, but it was also thrilling to have so much freedom.
I experimented with online dating a little – actually just long enough that I can relate when people talk about the awkwardness of online dating. I developed a couple of relationships that never really had long-term potential, but I learned something valuable from each. One taught me that even an intelligent, strong, self-aware woman can end up in an unhealthy relationship with someone who is emotionally abusive; and the other helped me to see my own worth more clearly and expect the best from myself. Both prepared me in their own way for what was to come.
As 2004 drew to a close, I realized I was ready for another change. I loved my life in Austin in so many ways, but I began to feel rootless there, and missed my friends and family in Atlanta. When I went home to visit over the winter holidays, I realized it was time to find my way back. An old friend came to the rescue, and helped find me a job with his family’s business; while my best friend and her family opened their home to me (are you picking up on a theme yet?).
So in January 2005, I began taking my leave of the city I’d come to adore and the friends who had made it home for me. In that same month, the increasing hardship of the brain tumor’s effects and dwindling hope for recovery cost my dear friend her independence; and she decided to forgo further treatment and move in with her parents in another state. When I saw her that January, she was having trouble finding words, particularly to express her complex emotions. I knew, though, when she hugged me and handed me that horrible little crocheted duck, that she was saying goodbye. She died peacefully two months later surrounded by her family.
By mid-February, I was on my way to Atlanta: music blaring, hot tears rolling down my face, the crocheted duck in the center console, and Two the cat howling in the passenger seat for the entire 15-hour drive.
A Decade in the Life
In the last couple of weeks I've been seeing and hearing lots of retrospectives highlighting the key moments of the past decade -- from our fears about Y2K and September 11th, all the way to the economic collapse and 2008 election, and everything in between. It got me thinking about my own life over the last ten years and the amazing journey it's been. I decided to write my own little retrospective.
Normally I have a “slice of life” writing style; but a decade is more like a “whopping hunk” of life, and I’m a little nervous about putting it out there. It could either turn out to be enlightening and entertaining, or a lot like looking at someone else's vacation photos. Or colonoscopy video. So read at your own risk.
____________________________________
Part One: A Wild, Drizzly Start
When the clock struck midnight on December 31, 1999 and we all held our breath that the essential structure of our country would continue to function, I was living in Portland, Oregon in a 1920's quadruplex with my new husband. I had just turned 24, and we'd gotten married and moved cross-country four months earlier after a whirlwind Philadelphia-to-Atlanta romance. We had been friends for a while, but had never even lived in the same city before we got married. [If you're thinking that you can see from here what a huge mistake that was, you're not alone. But try telling that to me at 23. In fact, several people did try to tell me that, but sometimes we have to learn our own lessons firsthand.]
So by New Year's Eve we'd been living in Portland in theory for 4 months, but in reality we'd lived half that time in San Francisco because of MDexH's work; so basically I started the year 2000 as a person without a home. Despite being a recent MBA grad, I was also willfully unemployed thanks to another relationship that neither party was mature enough for - this time between me and a little start-up web design firm.
I'd been cashiering at Target to help make ends meet, which was painful to both the pocketbook and my pride. We'd been robbed during our absence in San Francisco, and though we had nothing of real value, the thief made off with some personal mementos of mine from college and my treasured 1996/1998 passport -- complete with border entry stamps from over 20 countries. So the decade was off to a less than auspicious start.
The social scene was challenging, too. Northwesterners, in my experience, are a kind, loving and generous folk; but compared to the bombastic Southern style to which I’m accustomed, they were pretty reserved. It was hard for an outsider with no connections to make friends in the drizzly Portland weather. Meanwhile my best friend in Atlanta had to call me up from three time zones away to tell me that her first daughter was born – a joyful moment laced with the tiny sadness of distance.
Still, I was in love with the Rose City -- the bike paths, the gardens, 6 miles of books at Powell's -- and optimistic for what was to come. I worked a few temp jobs, put up fliers as an ESL tutor. I took a creative writing class at the Portland State continuing ed annex, which turned into a small coffee-shop writers' group: lovingly but sardonically called, "Happy Animal Stories." When I branched out and took an acting class, I made even more friends and finally started to feel like I knew enough people to throw a respectable dinner party. I even landed a couple of freelance writing jobs.
I was finally settling into my new life in Portland. Cue the Internet bubble. MDexH's company (one of those crazy bad examples from that era -- the ones with kegs of beer in the breakroom and incomprehensible titles for all its executives) went bankrupt and our 1.25-income household was suddenly about to be broke. Given that Portland had the nation's highest unemployment at the time -- nothing compared to today, btw -- we packed our bags and a cat named "Two" who'd come from the mean streets of North Portland, and headed for the bright lights of Austin, Texas.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Resolution Road
2010 is just one day away, and it's time to take stock and resolve to make changes in our lives for the coming year. Even though we all know, deep down, that New Year's Resolutions rarely work, somehow the blank slate of a whole new year is irresistible. It's like a fresh, white canvas crying out for paint. So some years I resolve to exercise more, eat less, eliminate fast food from my diet, etc. Other years I resolve to stop talking on my cell phone while driving (or at least stop simultaneously flipping off other drivers while talking), stick to a budget, or to get up early every morning to write that novel that's been brewing in my mind for the last 15 years.... I could go on and on.
In any case, it seldom works out for very long. I think it might because our New Year's Resolutions often lack the authenticity it takes to make real changes in our lives. I know from my professional life that human beings making fundamental changes is a slippery, inconsistent process at best -- and that's when you are really ready to change. Ready to change like, deep down in those dark caverns of your soul ready; and motivated, too.
So often what we call "motivation to change" is really just a repackaged self-loathing that happens to be targeted at a tangible goal. I can't believe I gained 15 pounds this year, and just look at all I ate over the holidays. No wonder my jeans don't fit. I hate myself this way, I have to do something! I'm going to resolve to stick to a diet, go to the gym four times a week, etc.
Sound familiar? I can tell you it took me about 10 seconds to write that because it's so familiar to me. And sometimes, this tactic works... At least for a while. Shame can be a powerful short-term motivator. But without something deeper to buttress it, shame ceases to be effective after a while -- just like that horrible gym teacher we all had a one time or another who thought humiliation was the best way to motivate kids in unflattering gym shorts.
With the old gym teacher or a drill sergeant or boss, we don't have a choice about motivation (not completely, anyway) -- compliance is to some extent mandatory. But with ourselves, when it comes to resisting the french fries, dragging ourselves to the gym, or putting 10% in a savings account... well, it's really just down to how much we like and respect the person giving the orders. And that would be...... me.
So, that's why the negative messages only get us so far. I can tell myself all day long how fat or lazy or broke I am; but at the end of the day, who wants to listen to someone who is constantly telling them they're fat, lazy and broke? Even if it is myself, I'm going to do my best to get out of that relationship -- in this case by rebelling. So I end up ordering the extra-large french fries or charging up the credit card just to prove to myself who's boss. I'll show me!
Not only is this self-destructive, it's totally confusing. I'd rather just team up with myself instead -- it's more effective, and it saves time by cutting out all the arguments [not to mention the me-to-me cell phone minutes]. My theory is that the best way to get on my own side is the same way I would try to get someone else on my side... to be more positive and encouraging instead of browbeating and shaming.
I believe that when we come from a perspective of self-care, our goals are more authentic and useful than when we are working to meet the expectations of other people, or even society at large. So in 2010, I am going to try to care for myself better in lots of different ways.
Instead of resolving to lose the 15 pounds of baby weight I just can't seem to shake, or to get into my old jeans, I'm just going to try to focus on enjoying being healthy. There are so many happy reasons to make healthier choices: because I enjoy being active, because I feel better when I'm healthy, because my son needs a positive role model... And none of those need to involve counting calories or monitoring the scale.
This year, I am going to be more focused on the little details of life, not just because I'm annoyed that I bounced a couple of checks this year, paid some late fees on bills, and just got a ticket for an expired tag (although I am annoyed about that!). But I'm realizing that by focusing more on the details, which is -- obviously -- not my strong suit, I'll be helping myself to be a more well-rounded person and freeing up energy and money for other things.
I'm also resolving to make the most of my relationships this year - by investing time and energy where I've been negligent, and by creating better boundaries with people who don't always give me back as much as I put in. I want to try to continue what I started last year by saying "no" when I'm over-committed and by not filling in every single white space on the calendar. This is the year to accept me for who I am and where I am, and not to judge myself by others' standards (or what I think others' standards might be!)
As I write this, I'm realizing that my goals for 2010 have a couple of themes: calm and focused. And that's exactly what my life has been missing! How much easier it will be to remind myself in late January and February to "create calm" and "stay focused;" instead of checking my progress on the scale or the bank account.
I'd love to know what other people are planning for 2010... How will you take care of yourself this year??
[Facebook friends, if you feel comfortable, I'd love for you to also copy your comments to the original post at http://dollhairdoesntgrowback.blogspot.com].
Happy New Year, Everyone!!
In any case, it seldom works out for very long. I think it might because our New Year's Resolutions often lack the authenticity it takes to make real changes in our lives. I know from my professional life that human beings making fundamental changes is a slippery, inconsistent process at best -- and that's when you are really ready to change. Ready to change like, deep down in those dark caverns of your soul ready; and motivated, too.
So often what we call "motivation to change" is really just a repackaged self-loathing that happens to be targeted at a tangible goal. I can't believe I gained 15 pounds this year, and just look at all I ate over the holidays. No wonder my jeans don't fit. I hate myself this way, I have to do something! I'm going to resolve to stick to a diet, go to the gym four times a week, etc.
Sound familiar? I can tell you it took me about 10 seconds to write that because it's so familiar to me. And sometimes, this tactic works... At least for a while. Shame can be a powerful short-term motivator. But without something deeper to buttress it, shame ceases to be effective after a while -- just like that horrible gym teacher we all had a one time or another who thought humiliation was the best way to motivate kids in unflattering gym shorts.
With the old gym teacher or a drill sergeant or boss, we don't have a choice about motivation (not completely, anyway) -- compliance is to some extent mandatory. But with ourselves, when it comes to resisting the french fries, dragging ourselves to the gym, or putting 10% in a savings account... well, it's really just down to how much we like and respect the person giving the orders. And that would be...... me.
So, that's why the negative messages only get us so far. I can tell myself all day long how fat or lazy or broke I am; but at the end of the day, who wants to listen to someone who is constantly telling them they're fat, lazy and broke? Even if it is myself, I'm going to do my best to get out of that relationship -- in this case by rebelling. So I end up ordering the extra-large french fries or charging up the credit card just to prove to myself who's boss. I'll show me!
Not only is this self-destructive, it's totally confusing. I'd rather just team up with myself instead -- it's more effective, and it saves time by cutting out all the arguments [not to mention the me-to-me cell phone minutes]. My theory is that the best way to get on my own side is the same way I would try to get someone else on my side... to be more positive and encouraging instead of browbeating and shaming.
I believe that when we come from a perspective of self-care, our goals are more authentic and useful than when we are working to meet the expectations of other people, or even society at large. So in 2010, I am going to try to care for myself better in lots of different ways.
Instead of resolving to lose the 15 pounds of baby weight I just can't seem to shake, or to get into my old jeans, I'm just going to try to focus on enjoying being healthy. There are so many happy reasons to make healthier choices: because I enjoy being active, because I feel better when I'm healthy, because my son needs a positive role model... And none of those need to involve counting calories or monitoring the scale.
This year, I am going to be more focused on the little details of life, not just because I'm annoyed that I bounced a couple of checks this year, paid some late fees on bills, and just got a ticket for an expired tag (although I am annoyed about that!). But I'm realizing that by focusing more on the details, which is -- obviously -- not my strong suit, I'll be helping myself to be a more well-rounded person and freeing up energy and money for other things.
I'm also resolving to make the most of my relationships this year - by investing time and energy where I've been negligent, and by creating better boundaries with people who don't always give me back as much as I put in. I want to try to continue what I started last year by saying "no" when I'm over-committed and by not filling in every single white space on the calendar. This is the year to accept me for who I am and where I am, and not to judge myself by others' standards (or what I think others' standards might be!)
As I write this, I'm realizing that my goals for 2010 have a couple of themes: calm and focused. And that's exactly what my life has been missing! How much easier it will be to remind myself in late January and February to "create calm" and "stay focused;" instead of checking my progress on the scale or the bank account.
I'd love to know what other people are planning for 2010... How will you take care of yourself this year??
[Facebook friends, if you feel comfortable, I'd love for you to also copy your comments to the original post at http://dollhairdoesntgrowback.blogspot.com].
Happy New Year, Everyone!!
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