Shifting perspective and nurturing reality

This week's literary fortune comes from Patti Digh's Life is a Verb.

There are certain books that draw us in to an ongoing and interactive relationship. Books that we cannot let go and that we go back to time and again. For me, Patti Digh's Life is a Verb is one of those. It's a beautiful book. for one; but it's also a reminder for me, every summer, to be a participant in my life rather than a spectator, which can happen, especially when I become tired and grow discontented. When I look around at the messy yard that needs a fence and a good landscape artist which I can't afford, the floor that incessantly needs swept, the unmade beds, and the sink full of dishes, it's easy to dream of a different life.

For me, it's always good to take stock and find a more positive perspective. That messy yard is surrounded by towering cedars and smells of wind and earth. The floor that cries out to be vacuumed is covered in fur from pets that bring me joy, feet that belong to the people I love, and dirt from the path that leads into a home that contains laughter and happiness. The unmade beds are comfortable, inviting places where dreams are had and books are read. And the sink full of dishes exists because we are not hungry.

A good "perspective shifting" exercise is listing all the things that make us nuts, all the things we wish we could change, and then re-writing them as positives (as evidenced above). It's a powerful way to intentionally accept our lives as they are, in spite of (maybe even because of) the imperfections. This is something I call "nurturing reality". Often, we are told to nurture our dreams, but in doing so, we run the risk of being disappointed with what we already have. Nurturing reality is a way to take care of what already exists and embrace our dreams through that lens.

I think it's okay to be unsatisfied sometimes. It pushes us to improve. But it's always good to remember that we are what we are, we live where we live, and there is happiness to be cultivated there, no matter where "there" is. It's the old "bloom where you're planted" adage. Whether one believes in destiny or fate, or prescribes to the idea that we are the captains of our own ships, there is no denying that today has offered us a certain existence. We can choose to be disappointed with it or see it for what it is...a gift.

Yesterday, we went on a walk...the whole family. My son, who does not prescribe to the "walk forward with purpose and a destination in mind" way of life, lagged behind as usual, skipping and meandering at a snail's pace. At one point, I turned around to encourage him to catch up. He ran toward me, dragging the dirt-encrusted roots of a fistful of wild daisies. He handed them to me with a grin; he knows they are my favorite. So I carried them, dirt and all, back to the house, cut the ends, and stuck them in a jar. They are the perfect reminder that life, in all it simple imperfection, must be savored.

Sometimes we place too much importance on productivity

Okay, maybe I'm being dramatic. Being productive is a good thing, right? I mean, it's such a positive word. We like being called productive. We like feeling productive. And for fanatical planners like myself, we like dreaming about and pre-scheduling all the productiveness we can. 

I don't know about you, but I plan to the point of obsessiveness, and I become irrational about completing things and checking them off my list. My calendar and my "To Do" list often rule my life. And...I'm pretty damned productive...most of the time. Until I'm not. Until I've scheduled, planned, and "produced" myself right into a corner where I rock myself back and forth and mumble under my breath.

Some people are naturally high-strung or easily stressed out. I'm going to assume (maybe wrongly) that more women fall under this category than men, because many of us truly try to "do it all". I think that may be why I only feel "normal" during the summer, when I'm not "working" (I put that in quotes, because any stay-at-home mom knows their job is just as tough as going elsewhere to work). Suddenly, I'm not doing it all. I don't even have to try. I can have a clean house and still have time to write, or sit on the couch and read, or do something fun with my son. 

At 3:05 last Friday, my life changed. My students, bless them, boisterously ran out the door, yelling, chasing each other; some were hugging and crying (even though they will see each other in a few days or text each other ten minutes after they part), because, let's face it, middle school is the land of self-initiated drama. 

I'm still a lot like them. Maybe that's why I stay there. Because, even though they don't make a darn bit of sense to a lot of people, they do to me (most of the time). 

This isn't so helpful for the people around me who are not daily mired in the beautiful insanity of "tweendom". They don't get it. And I'm afraid, that means, sometimes they don't get me.

But, in the summer, when I'm away from it all, I change. I'm not driven by the needs of 90 young people. I only have one. I'm not planning, and copying, and meeting parents, and phone-calling, emailing, grading, counseling, poster-making, website-building, tidying, going to meetings and workshops, trying to fit in a work out, a dog walk, homework help, house-cleaning, raising a child, yard work, running errands, keeping a budget, and trying desperately to find some time just to sit and relax, without 42 things that need to be done running through my brain.

Summer is when I reclaim my balance and my mental health. And for better or worse, it's when I reclaim my place in my family. 

It's common that we dislike doing at home what we have already had to do all day. Housekeepers might have a messy house. Mechanics might drive a nearly broken down car. Landscapers may have an overgrown lawn. Me...I've been "needed" all day. I've answered questions and mentored and discussed and demonstrated from one end of the day to the next. By 5:00, I'm tapped out. 

The problem is...I don't have the luxury of tapping out...so, I keep going - somehow. And I make up for what I couldn't get done during the week on the weekend. It leads to nine and a half months of constantly feeling overworked and knowing I'll never get it all done. Not good for the psyche.

On Friday, I did something very unlike me. I walked out of my classroom and left several things "undone". Yes, I'm likely to pay for it when I return, but, it felt good just walking away. My "To Do" list isn't going anywhere. All the filing and tidying will still be there in August.

And my summer "To Do" list? Normally, by this time, it would already be a mile long. I'll admit...I have planned to get the house in order this first week, one room at a time, cleaning things out and taking several trips to Goodwill, cleaning carpets and dusting places that haven't seen a cleaning rag since last summer. And I have signed my son up for swimming lessons and several day camps (both for his benefit and my sanity). But, otherwise, I'm really just going to work on not caring that my yard isn't perfect and that the dishes aren't done. I'm going to focus on doing things I like to do. It already feels weird. And I'm not at all positive how successful my plans will be. Because, while I'm a pretty darn good planner, but I will admit that rarely does plan A work out. I'm more of a plan B or C or F sort of person. 

It works sort of like this:

Idea + Implementation = Success (this is the ultimate goal)

Idea + Attempted Implementation + Moving on to Idea 2.0 + (Blood + Sweat + Tears) + Attempted Implementation = Good Enough (though possibly quite far from what I had initially expected)

And this can be done quite quickly. In the classroom, I can go from Plan A to Plan F in the course of about 30 minutes, depending on how the planets are aligned, how many announcements come across the loudspeaker, who's broken up with whom, changes in the schedule, snow falling, power outages...you name it.  I've learned over the years how to "let go" of things. I make plans, sure...every teacher does. But I make them knowing full well they'll be changed by lunchtime. I do all my planning in pencil and have a collection of large erasers. I'm flexible, and I've learned to re-plan on a whim. At home, I'm more resistant to changing my plans, and I can doggedly hold on to them until I've nearly driven myself mad. Maybe it's a product of having to give up so much control at school. I'm sort of a control freak...and I've got to have at least one outlet for my neurosis. Or do I?

I'm working on learning to walk away from things when they don't work out the way I want them to. Take some time away. Re-evaluate. Come back later and try again...or not. I'm working on living at home the way I do at work. Plan in pencil and deal with it gracefully when those plans fall through, accept that several living things call this place home and it cannot look the way I expect it to, and embrace the fact that the mess means this house is well lived in and activity abounds. Their idea of clean is not the same as mine...but, it's good enough.

I've declared today "opposite day"!

"It's opposite day!" Or so my son informs me on occasion, when a response of mine doesn't meet his expectations. For example, "No, you may not watch cartoons right now." "Well, it's opposite day, mommy, so that means your telling me I can watch cartoons." Nice try, kiddo. Creative, and I admire your ingenuity but...no.

I'm stealing his idea, though.

Here's how it works. There's dust on just about every surface in my house. Clutter abounds (I think it's mating and multiplying as I type). There's dog slobber shining on my couch, and I'm watching my cat obsessively like her navel (do cats have navels? hmmmm....must look that up later...did I mention my adult ADD?).

Amidst all of this, I have my feet up and I'm drinking a beer, watching my son and our pup run back and forth across the screen that is my living room window. I'm not moving. I'm pleasantly typing away, considering a scrapbook project, enjoying the silence...before the Pokemon cartoons begin and my husband gets home and the chores begin. Of course, I suppose I have an excuse. I ran (slowly but diligently) a half marathon yesterday. So, right now, I feel as if I wrestled an angry polar bear, and lost. I can hardly bend over, and getting up out of my chair is not really something I'm looking forward to.

So what does all this have to do with "opposite day"? Well, what I'm doing is completely against my nature. See, I'm like a rabid terrier when it comes to being productive. I walk through the front door after a long day at work, take one glance at the state of the house, and begin tidying, vacuuming, doing dishes, washing clothes. I basically ruin my own night before I even have a chance to salvage it.

Right now, it's taking every bit of my inner strength to stay seated, enjoy an adult beverage, and watch the young ones chase each other in the front yard. In fact, I think I might even be shaking a bit, trying to keep my brain on lovely, relaxing things that have nothing to do with that dirty word "chores".

So as of today, I am deeming Monday "opposite day". It's a day I'm not particularly fond of anyway, so it can use all the help it can get. A make-over like this might just be what it needs. From this day forward, when I walk through the front door on Monday, I'm going to do exactly the opposite of what I would normally do. I'm going to leave my work bag by the door, unpacked. I'm going to settle myself on the couch or in my craft room and do what I want. I'm going to resist the very real, and compulsive urge to clean or organize something. And I'm going to notice the world around me, and appreciate it.

Period.

Happy Monday, people.  And happy "opposite day"!

For good measure...it's also Monday "literary fortune" day (hey, they say it takes 2 weeks to create a habit, and since I'm only doing this on Monday...that means it's likely to take me 14 Mondays to get this down).

I did my usual...walked into the "library" (which is also our family office, my craft room, and the place where everyone in the family, including the pets, drops "everything"....so it's basically always a mess), grabbed the first book that approached my hand (I think they call to me, but it could just be the stress talking), and let the book fall open. Today it's Richard Jones' poem "Moving Day" from his collection The Blessing. It's one of my favorite collections...a "go to" for me. The poem was interesting, though...especially as a "fortune". I'd post the entire text of the poem, but as I don't want to violate copyright laws...I will simply share the end (guess you'll have to buy the book to get the full meal deal).

It's an interesting one to interpret. As I'm not moving anytime soon, I might see within these lines a bit of advice...to seize the space we have - the parts of it that matter, the people and the simple beauty - and avoid the "as it always could have been" that we only see in retrospect. 

Ahhh...the wisdom of poetry. Never ceases to amaze me. It fills in the spaces that normal conversation cannot. It is the pause in the music, the unexpected breeze on a hot day. It sustains our souls and lingers like a broken heart. 

And with that...I say good night. 

Literary Fortune #3: Writing changes everything

We all have our thing. That one thing that helps us just "let go". The thing that keeps us sane. Grounded. Real.

For you it might be gardening (if it is, I envy you). Or it might be painting, pottery, wood crafts, rebuilding old cars.

Whatever it is, it's the thing that brings you to an alternative place in your mind, shutting out everything that either doesn't matter or that makes you crazy. Maybe it's even a way to process those things, to make decisions, to provide space and time to think about life from outside of it, rather than swimming (or drowning) in the middle.

For me, it's writing.

I don't publish much. From time to time, I go through the requirements and jump through the hoops and find my words tantalizingly on the pages of a book that will find a home on someone else's shelf.  But, mostly, I write for myself. To process, to reflect, to work out problems and come to solutions.

When I don't write, I feel like I'm gagged and blindfolded, unable to engage with the world fully. I get cranky...even lazy.

That's not to say that taking a break from time to time isn't just as necessary. There are times when it is necessary to just take the world in. Put down the camera and live in the picture. Put down the pen and live the story. So that at a later time, there will be a moment to photograph...a story to tell.

I write for me. I write for my sanity. Which, means, ultimately, I write for everyone that I love.

This quote from Joyce Carol Oates points out the necessity of actions like writing. Whatever activity it is that brings you back to life, even when you feel sure you are at your end, you should do it. No matter what. Through the fatigue and the ennui.

This is what makes us human. The fact that we embrace art and creativity as medicine. It heals. It saves souls.

Marriage - is it more about being in love or creating a dynamic team?

It's not really a question I would have asked myself...or anyone else for that matter. But, a nearby local radio station DID ask it this morning and drew quite an interesting response from listeners.

Apparently, one of the D.J.s read a story on People Magazine's website about why Diane Keaton never got married.

It's a pretty lame article, really. But, I guess the concept behind it...and behind the radio station's question appealed to me, because it gets at how we define human relationships - which are always evolving and impossible to pin down.

Like all human connections, marriage is different for every couple. It serves particular objectives and fulfills various needs. And it's pretty much impossible to explain in any other terms than "an agreement between two people to be united." Some people do it because they plan to have children. Some people find comfort, guidance, and expectation in the tradition. Others believe in marriage as a religious union. And still others look forward to the financial and social benefits provided by a documented partnership.

For most of us "married folk" in the U.S., it's a choice, though in some cases it may be required or expected by our families and religions if we plan to live together, be sexually involved, and have children. For me, it wasn't...but it did afford me a measure of comfort and expectation. For one, it's a lot harder to just "walk away" in times of disagreement or discomfort if there is a legal connection. That can provide some time to take the whole situation into account before prematurely severing ties. Secondly, it affords us certain social and monetary benefits (taxes, wills, property, parenting, medical agreements).

Notice, nowhere in all of this have I mentioned love. Or passion. Or romance.

It doesn't mean it can't or shouldn't be a part of marriage...but, in my opinion, and apparently a whole lot of other people's, it isn't the central facet. It appears that, according to research, compatibility, mutual respect, division of labor, and emotional support beat out love and passion over the long haul.

Love changes. Passion waxes and wanes. Sexual desire comes and goes. But, companionship and teamwork remain hallmarks of a successful marriage.

To me, love and passion are illusive. Neither need marriage to exist. But marriage can be made better and stronger by both, even if the passion is transient.

That being said - of course I love my husband. But is our relationship centered on hot, wild sex? Well, it used to be...before we were married...maybe even in the very beginning of our wedded bliss. But, then we became tired parents. And we slipped into a comfortable routine.  And we got to know a lot about each other - all the little idiosyncrasies and habits and annoying tidbits.

If this graphic is to be believed, those of us who commit have to do just that to reap the rewards of our commitment. The stress of raising children successfully, competing in the the workplace, planning financially, owning a home, and getting our kids off to college or career are hard work. Maybe that's why, when those things have been accomplished, married couples who have weathered the storms have a great sense of accomplishment. They can sit back, look at what they've done together and celebrate all of the ups and downs that got them there. That satisfaction may even be what causes the upswing and the eventual "second honeymoon". And the benefit is that, at the top of the hill, we have someone to share the celebratory champagne with. Maybe that's the greatest reward.

That might sound depressing. Maybe enough to make those who aren't married rethink the whole prospect. But, ultimately, it was and is a choice for us. Sure we're tired. We work hard at our jobs and at raising a happy, secure, independent child. We have pets, a house, a yard, and other outside responsibilities to ourselves and others. And we struggle to keep our "love life" from sinking underneath the weight of it all. Finding mystery and newness in the person you have been sleeping next to for years can be hard.

I wouldn't trade it though. And that seems to be the overarching consensus among married folk. But then...those are people who got married and stayed married. Ask divorced and widowed individuals, and you might get a very different picture of just how happy marriage does or does not make a person. And since most studies on marital happiness only deal with people who are currently married, they make for pretty skewed results.

I don't think marriage leads to happiness or well-being. Maybe security and comfort. But, it can cause stress just as much as it alleviates it. I also don't believe that parenthood makes us happier. Almost all evidence points in the opposite direction. So why bother?  Well, over time, it seems that marriage and parenthood can lead to a greater sense of accomplishment and life concept. I guess that means that, as we age, having raised a family with a willing and helpful partner gives us comfort and satisfaction.

And maybe that's why the People article on Diane Keaton resonated with the radio station D.J.s and so many of their listeners. There seems to be a resounding fear of growing old alone. It isn't so much that we are all pining for wedding bells and diamond rings.  It seems more likely that we are all just normal social beings seeking to find lasting companionship.

Making myself (being a working mom who works out)

Quite honestly, I hate exercise. I can admit I like the after effect some days, but often, when I work out at the end of the day, it just makes me feel more exhausted, rather than energized and ready to face the rest of my evening.

But...

That's it, really...there's always a lingering, finger-wagging "But". The alpha conjunction, ever vigilant of the possibilities and ever-ready to point out the other side of the argument.

I'm painfully aware that as I age, it's becoming harder and harder to stay in shape. It's so easy to say I have housework or errands, or papers to grade. The excuses are plentiful. And even when I do all the things I must to motivate myself (pay for a membership to guilt myself, financially, into working out so I'm not wasting my investment...sign myself up for marathons...schedule out my weekly workout in my planner...) I still talk myself out of it.

For now, it's really a day-by-day thing. A daily goal to do "something"...anything really. Walk the dog, run, walk, go to the gym and do weights, yoga...whatever.

And I know I'm not the only one. This whole, working full-time, being a mom, being a wife, and trying to have all my sh** together everyday seriously makes a girl feel inadequate on the best of days. I can usually do ONE thing well in a day. My house can be spotless, but I'm still in my pajamas and my son's played video games all day. I've spent time with my kid, but the house is a mess and there's a giant stack of essays that didn't get graded. My husband is happily satisfied (more on that later in another post, promise), but the kiddo had to go to grandma's and the laundry is piled ceiling-high. I've just run 3 miles and have worked up an admirable sweat and an adrenaline-caused glow, but I'll be going to bed at 8:00 leaving all the housework for another day.

So, yes, I know I'm in good company. In fact, I don't even have it as hard as some moms (especially single, working moms or moms of multiples). And I can admit, that during the summer, when it's just me and the boy, and I have no work-related constraints, I find it just as difficult to motivate myself to work out.

I have this good friend from junior high who's running the Boston Marathon today. I'll be tracking her progress via text today (using a really cool "follow your favorite athlete" app). It's ladies like her that make me feel hard-pressed to complain. She's a teacher, too...so she works really hard, multi-tasking like a fiend all day and fulfilling the demands and needs of hundreds of people (mostly young and rather attention-greedy). She teaches athletic classes after work. She has two kids. She runs at 4 in the morning to fit it in. She goes to church. She doesn't drink. And though I've never been there, I suspect she has a nearly immaculate house.

She's my hero and my nemesis all in one.  And what it comes down to is...every woman has her hurdles to jump, her mountains to climb, her obstacles to overcome. Mine is often self-motivation. I stress easily, criticize myself on a whim, and then find myself tired and irritable, cleaning the house and telling everyone around me to "wait"...including myself.

Life is short. And it's easily to lose one's priorities amidst the ocean of readily available obligations. Some of us have better compasses. Others of us, just have to fight through it on a daily basis, reminding ourselves to be kind to ourselves and just keep going.

So, today (don't know about tomorrow - I'm not setting myself up for failure on this), I'm going to focus on what matters. My family, my friends, my animals, my students, and myself. The living things that care if I forget them, not the inanimate objects and responsibilities that only have a demanding voice because I let them.

P.M. update...

So, I did NOT workout. I came sooooo close, but I caved to my husband's bad mood (I'm terribly easily drawn off course in that way), and instead found myself tidying up the house, nursing a child with a headache, making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for dinner, and drinking a beer while taking care of the bills (which are almost late). 

And even though I could really get down on myself, I'm trying hard to be forgiving and less critical of everyone, including myself. I got a lot done today...I graded a whole set of 90 papers in between classes and after school, I cleaned off my desk at school, I took care of about 20 student needs (I won't go into specifics), I ran an errand (yes, a WHOLE errand), and picked up my son from after school club. I did a dozen house chores, and now here I am, actually writing.

So I wouldn't call today a total failure. Just not a monumental success.

There's always tomorrow. 

Okay, actually there's no promise of that...today is all that matters and all that I am sure to have. So, if there IS a tomorrow, I'll try again. If not, today could have been worse. So, I guess I'm okay with that. We have our health, we have each other, and that's enough.