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Lisa Lawmaster Hess
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Over the past few years, I've become a big fan of Ruth Bader Ginsburg. My enthusiasm for the tiny, feisty Supreme Court Justice began in an unusual way; I found a sidebar about her in the textbook required for the general psychology class I was teaching. I did some more reading so I could use her story as a jumping off point for a discussion on ageism, and the more I read, the more interested I became.
And so, as the mother of a daughter, it's not at all surprising that I was interested in reading her advice on
how to raise a trailblazing daughter.
I think I have one of those at my house. And I know she could do a lot worse than
the Notorious RBG as a role model.
How will you raise your trailblazer?
I overhear a lot of things at Starbucks. I don't try to eavesdrop, but when I'm sitting and writing, random -- and not-so-random -- snippets of conversation filter in, distracting me from the task at hand and, instead, pulling me into someone else's life.
And sometimes I hear things I shouldn't.
Today, for example, a case manager -- a behavioral specialist, most likely -- is having a meeting with a mother and son about his behavior plan at the table adjacent to mine. After nearly three decades as a school counselor, I'm a bit uncomfortable with access to this information, but everyone at the next table seems totally unperturbed. If I were the parent or the child, I'd insist that this be taken elsewhere. If I were the professional, I can't believe I wouldn't see this as a breach of confidentiality.
But, this post isn't about what I should or shouldn't be hearing. It's about what I miss, and what I don't.
Next month marks five years since I crafted the letter of resignation that took me from employed as a school counselor to retired from public education. I made a lot of friends over the years -- colleagues, parents and students alike. I love staying connected to these folks, whether it's via a coffee date at Starbucks, other intentional social opportunities or a chance encounter (often at Starbucks). And, although I keep in touch with many of these folks via social media, I miss the day-to-day, face-to-face connections that were an integral part of the job.
But there are a lot of things I don't miss. I don't miss behavior plans and faculty meetings and paperwork. I don't miss driving from building to building, lugging a crate in the rain or waiting to see if we'd be released as the snow fell outside.
I don't miss emergency drills. Or assemblies. Or in-service days.
I don't miss teaching, either, but that's because I've found a new way to fill that void. Teaching young adults is quite different from teaching elementary school students, but once I found a way to channel my inner elementary school counselor into my dealings with my college students, I began to feel at home in my new endeavor.
It's been four and a half years since the retirement that didn't take. I'm teaching more, and counseling less. Writing more and parenting less. Finding the core of who I am and acting on my goals and passions in a way I never expected in the middle of my life (God willing), and finding that new horizons are everywhere, if I just open my eyes and remember to look up.
And when I hear conversations like the one at the next table, I'm grateful that there are some things I won't ever have to do again.
Happy day after Christmas! For my friends celebrating Hanukkah, the holiday continues, but at my house, the festivities have wound down, and striking a balance among after Christmas shopping, relaxation and the list of "on vacation" projects has begun. At church, Christmas continues into January, which is reason enough (some might say a good excuse) for me to keep the house decked out in its finery. At home, best part of the holiday celebration continues as the much-hyped lead-in to a holiday with longer checklists than any other has given way to a long-awaited break between semesters. My husband is on vacation. My daughter is home. This is perhaps the most wonderful time of the year that Johnny Mathis sings about.
It's a rare holiday that proceeds as expected, and ours was no exception. Still, sometimes the things you didn't plan are the best part. Here are a few of the highlights.
Best Christmas advice: (and I wish I could remember the source!): Make sure you have two pairs of scissors and two rolls of tape when wrapping presents.
Best Christmas attitude: A little bit at at time. Early in December, I resolved to try to
make just a little progress each day -- and be satisfied with that. While there were definitely moments when I thought perhaps it was not as smart an idea as I'd initially hoped, in the end, it worked well. A few more things were downsized, a few left undone, still more done later than anticipated, but all in all, this was the calmest Christmas I've had in a long time.
Best Christmas present: the presence of a family member diagnosed with cancer last summer, and her stated desire to keep fighting.
Best discovery: there really is an age where it no longer matters what's under the Christmas tree with your name on it.
Best lemonade from lemons: impromptu time spent with my sister and her family when both of our travel plans changed at the last minute.
Christmas songs I'll miss: "Feliz Navidad" (Jose Feliciano) and "Santa Claus is Comin' to Town," (Bruce Springsteen), neither of which I heard often enough, despite the all-Christmas-all-the-time radio stations.
Christmas song I'd heard more than enough of by December 15: "Christmas Canon" (Trans-Siberian Orchestra). By Christmas week, this song had become the proverbial fingernails on the chalkboard.
Christmas songs I managed to escape this year: "Christmas Shoes" (sends me screaming from the room) and "Dominic the Donkey," which is actually okay the first or second time around.
Worst thing for a writer to do on Christmas night: Watch made-for-television Christmas movies. Most were exactly what I expected, but one (which shall remain nameless) was so bad...so incredibly bad....Had it been the first in our movie marathon, I'd have gotten up and done something else, but it was saved by a couple of good actors (one a child, of course) and the fact that I was already very comfortable under my blanket on the recliner. Let's just say I know why I don't write in the romance genre -- and my admiration for those who write it well was magnified tenfold.
Best gift of the season: Time.
How about you? What are the highlights of your season?
Holidays are fun, but they can also be stressful. Lots to do, lots of people to see, and often not enough time to do everything, especially up to the level we might want to. If we want to enjoy the holidays -- and stay healthy in the process -- it's important to find
ways to manage stress.If you're one of those fabulous planners who's feeling all excitement and no stress this holiday season, congratulations! You can tuck this
infographic away for future reference. Just in case.
Meanwhile, enjoy the holiday season -- the ups, the downs, the lights, the decorations, the food and the celebrations.
Stress free.
I am writing, but I shouldn't be.
Now, that's a switch, isn't it?
After months of struggling to find writing time, I'm thrilled with
my new accountability plan that offers me both social time and writing time. It never fails to leave me feeling energized, and, in addition, these writing sessions make sure I get something on the page at least once in a week.
But this week is the week leading up to Christmas. End-of-semester grades are due tomorrow. Everywhere I look, lists loom.
Last night, I was reading student responses to the co-curricular activities they attended as part of my class (first year seminar). Several of my freshmen mentioned going to events when they thought they didn't have time to go, when they were stressed out from work and due dates and it seemed only logical that they stay home and
get things done. But, they went because they had to, and, when they went to things that were fun (petting dogs, stand-up comics, cultural events), the relaxation that ensued from the change in routine was actually beneficial. As I wrote back to them, I reminded them -- and myself -- that relaxation is an investment, not a luxury.
I'm not sure I'd call my writing time relaxation, but it definitely recharges me and, in that respect, it's definitely an investment. Because I enjoy it, it feels like a luxury, but it's really not. It's a part of who I am and a part of what I do. I wouldn't forgo a shower because "life's too busy," and, as silly as it sounds to non-writers, writing is just as important.
So, off I go. To write. To recharge. To accomplish.
The list can wait until this afternoon.
My daughter is home.
Well, sort of.
She's currently residing at her family home in Pennsylvania, as opposed to her dorm in Connecticut. While here, she's occasionally home, and, while home, she occasionally interacts with us. The rest of the time, she's out and about with high school friends, video chatting with her college housemates, or in her room reading a book that's not a school requirement.
Pretty much as I expected.
The early riser tendencies that marked the first several years of her life are long gone (unless you count early afternoon as "early"), and her desire to be in bed before me (
the resident night owl) are a thing of the past.
Still, it's nice having her here, and not just because she baked cookies, cleaned her room and weeded out decades-old treasures from the playroom/man cave/family room to make room for her dad's
new desk.It's just nice having her around. And, it's even nicer to have a kid that I can say that about.
At Thanksgiving break, I'd just about gotten used to having her here when it was time for her to go back to school. This time, she's home for an entire month, which means I'll either go through withdrawal when she has to return to school, or I'll start counting down the days sometime in early January.
Somehow, I don't think it will be the latter.
My daughter is home. Let the Christmas season begin.
Are you missing someone this holiday season? While Christmas is a joyous time for many, it can also be a time of sadness for those who, for one reason or another, are not surrounded by loved ones, or are, perhaps, missing someone in particular.
If you or someone you love is missing the merry in Christmas,
this article won't fill the void, but it might offer an idea or two for taking the sting out of the season.
If your bah humbug spirit has more to do with too many Christmas stations, too few dollars to spend or an
unexpected unpleasantness, keep in mind that in most cases, these things will pass.
Meanwhile, if you have a little kindness to spare, someone else might need it more than you think.
Last night, I went to bed early. Drained by the end of the semester and its concomitant grading frenzy, I fell asleep on the sofa before 11, a good two hours before I usually wrap things up for the night. I briefly considered just staying where I was, cozy under my blanket, but decided to embrace the mature option and sleep in my own bed.
It was a choice that was both logical and futile. My body was grateful, but my mind was uncooperative, whirring endlessly as I tried to shut it down. On the plus side, I renamed characters and brainstormed blog options, but a lack of actual sleep topped the list of cons.
Certain that I'd slept more than I thought I had, I checked my omniscient FitBit this morning. Sure enough, my little sofa nap had been longer than I thought, but I didn't actually fall asleep in my own bed until I'd tossed and turned for over an hour, and then -- in the interest of full disclosure -- pulled out my iPad and played a few rounds of Words with Friends.
This morning, I started out just as groggy as usual. Though I'm grateful for the ideas that materialized while I was supposed to be sleeping, I feel betrayed by my body. I did what I was supposed to do, but rarely accomplish -- I turned in early -- and then my ungrateful body laughed at me. Loudly and incessantly.
I've decided to pull that know-it-all FitBit in on the plan. After tapping the sleep icon and doing a little investigating, I discovered that I could set sleep preferences, beginning with how much sleep I want to get each night and moving forward from there. It's simple math, coupled with little reminders (which I chose not to activate just yet), but I thought perhaps an external nudge would be a better choice than the mental groan I engage in each night when I realize how late it is and what time I need to set the alarm for.
I'm never going to be an
early bird, at least not without some serious retraining. And, since I'm not really interested in changing my sleep set points in an appreciable way, I need to do more than give lip service to the idea of accepting my night owl ways.
Because fighting nature is just exhausting.
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Maybe I need to put this guy to work.
Photo: Pixabay |
Are you feeling the Christmas spirit? I'm feeling some of it, but the rest is buried under piles of papers to be graded. As I write this, about ten hours later than usual, I'm taking a break from my grading so as not to leave a hole in my usual Monday blog spot.
Meanwhile, the tree is up, but the nativity set is in boxes in the living room. Shopping is well underway, but nothing is wrapped. Christmas songs are on the radio, but I'm missing choir tonight to power through the papers I want to return to tomorrow's class.
It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas...but it has a long way to go until it actually gets there.
Yesterday, my husband put together a table he ordered to use as a desk in our playroom/man cave/family room, adding the revamping of that room to the organizing and decorating list. I'm trying to convince myself that my "a little bit at a time" plan is a good one. I don't take much convincing, but then again, I don't yet have time for any other plan, so it's either a little bit, or none at all.
How are things shaping up at your house for the holidays? Are you all set (so I can live vicariously)? Or, are you, like me, a work in progress?
Hey, we still have 13 days until Christmas.
Feeling a little crazed? I am. The semester is drawing to a close and the Christmas season is revving up. There's much to do -- even more than usual.
Which makes it even more important to keep track of priorities.
In keeping with both the craziness of the season and the notion of keeping first things first, today's read is actually
a slide show of quotes about families. Some I scrolled right past, others made me stop and smile.
I hope you find at least one that inspires you.
Wednesday is my two-post day -- the day I post both here and at Organizing by STYLE. Technically, it's a three-post day, if you count my STYLE Savvy post at CatholicMom.com, but, since that post has an earlier deadline, I'm less likely to feel the posting crunch there.
Some Wednesdays, I get one--or both--posts done ahead of time. Through a wonderful confluence of time and creativity, I not only figure out what I want to write about before Wednesday rolls around, but I manage to write the post and set it to publish automatically.
Today is not one of those Wednesdays. Today, I'm writing both posts from scratch on Wednesday, grateful that I'm tackling them while it's still morning. And, as I was thinking through the possibilities, another sort of confluence occurred.
A theme.
So today, I thought it might be fun to try something. Although my post here and my post over at Organizing by STYLE have different content, they have the same title. I hope, if you have a minute, you'll take the time to read both of them.
Happy Wednesday!
Each semester, my schedule changes. Consequently, I struggle to determine where my writing fits in, and it often takes me the better part of a semester to do so. Semesters like this one, when I'm teaching three classes, it barely fits into the small snippets of time between planning, teaching and grading.
I've long been part of a critique group, and that's a motivating factor, but late last month, I upped the accountability ante. A fellow writer and I are meeting once a week to just sit and write. We meet at my home away from home (Starbucks), snag a table, chat and work for at least an hour.
Last night, as I looked over my end-of-semester to-do list, I started to get anxious about taking an hour out of the day to write. In just a couple of weeks, the semester will be over and I'll have much more time at my disposal.
But, because I'd made a commitment, I added it to today's to-do list. And today, as soon as I sat down at Starbucks, I felt the stress melt away as I prepared to finish blog posts and
chat with my characters.
We all need a nudge sometimes, even when we need to do something we like to do -- perhaps even especially then. It's easy to get sucked into the daily to-do lists and successfully push one set of tasks aside in order to accomplish another set that seems more important.
But, if I don't put my writing first, carving out a place for it in my schedule, how will it get done?
I'm still not writing as much as I'd like to, but thanks to my new accountability plan, my writing plan just got a little bit better.
Since I've started teaching First Year Seminar, I always have mixed feelings about the end of the semester. I'm looking forward to not feeling buried under a pile of things to grade, and to finding time to write on a regular basis, and maybe even some R&R&R (rest and relaxation and reading).
But I will miss my freshmen.
It's not that I don't have mixed feelings about setting my upperclassmen free -- I do. But there's something about teaching a seminar to a group of brand new first year students that's an experience all its own. This semester, the sophomore "fellow" who helped me out made things even more fun. She’s bubbly and lively and from the same town where I went to college; we hit it off immediately and, over the course of the semester, she became an integral part of the class.
In FYS, our designated content is life itself: happiness and success; perfectionism and procrastination; mindset and meaning. I am privileged to see and hear all the promise and passion these young people have to offer, and it makes me proud and optimistic. Kids who want to enter the medical field not to become rich, but to listen to kids, help underprivileged populations, join the Peace Corps. Kids who recognize that happiness doesn't arrive in the form of a paycheck and who understand that hard work is an integral part of success.
Last month, on the train home from New York, I sat across the aisle from a group of privileged, opinionated middle-aged women. After spending much of the ride talking about dining and drinking and shopping and other people (loudly enough for me to hear, despite the fact that I had earbuds in), they engaged in a conversation with a woman sitting across from me in which they lumped all young people into one category. One of the partiers concluded by proclaiming that "they (kids) all need a 'boot up their ass' and a minimum of two years in the military."
Less than five minutes later, one of her fellow girls' weekend compatriots bemoaned the fact that she had to work the next day.
The conversation infuriated me to the point that it made me sick to my stomach, and it has stuck with me for weeks. I had to wonder if these women knew any young adults, let alone young adults like the ones I see in my classes. Sure, my students (and my daughter) infuriate me sometimes when I see them doing less than they're capable of or on their phones during class or failing to comprehend the simplest of questions because they're just not listening.
But that's only part of the story.
These kids are giving. They're optimistic. They're smart. Many are shouldering much more responsibility than kids their age should be. They're figuring out who they are and what they stand for and what matters and what doesn't.
They're becoming contributing members of our society.
Some of them have experienced boot camp and military service. Others are the first in their families to attend college. Many play sports and work and are paying for some, if not all, of their education.
Are they perfect? No. Are there spoiled, self-centered kids among them? Yes. Am I privileged to be a part of these years of their lives?
I am.
As I sat and fumed on that train, unable to put together a coherent rebuttal, these kids marched through my mind. Kids who drive me crazy some days, but who, on many days, exhibit more maturity and a better work ethic than the women sitting across from me on the train, full grown adults who were willing to blithely lump all young adults together--as if they'd never experienced that stage of lives themselves, let alone spent the past weekend recreating it.
I'm still unable to articulate why that conversation elicited such a visceral response in me, but clearly, it did. And while I suspect that the tirade I kept to myself would have made little difference had I let loose, I hope that sharing my counterpoint might.
Do you know a young adult? If so, do yourself--and them--a favor. Ask them about their plans. Not what they want to be when they grow up, but what dreams they have. Not about salaries or majors or grades, but about how they see the world--and how they want to see it. Or change it. Tap into their enthusiasm, their optimism, their belief that all things are possible.
And then encourage it. Encourage them to chase their dreams, change the world, and spread their joy and enthusiasm to a world that sorely needs it.
Help them prove those spoiled women wrong.
I suspect that you'll be glad you did.
If you read any of my blogs, you know that my daughter was home for a week for Thanksgiving break. It was great having her here again, and more awful sending her back to school than I'd expected it to be. I quickly found myself back in countdown mode as I'd been in August, only this time, the countdown would hit single digits much sooner.
The week before she came home,
my husband and I had a difference of opinion over her room. He wanted to prepare it for her -- clean it, mostly -- while I argued that it had been her job to clean her own room for years.
Still, on one point we agreed: neither one of us ever considered that bedroom anything but her room.
I do have to admit, though, that I'd considered doing exactly what
the dad in this piece did -- using her room as a workspace. I wouldn't move anything out of place -- I'd simply take my laptop upstairs and make myself comfortable at her now empty desk. I thought that might not only give me a change of scenery, but also make me feel closer to her.
In three months, I've sat at her desk exactly once -- and I lasted less than five minutes. It didn't make me sad or wistful or anything like that; it just wasn't quiet enough for me to work there.
I haven't ruled out the change of scenery idea, but on one point, I'm clear.
It's her room.
Over Thanksgiving break, I got to do some writing. I'm a writer, so that probably doesn't sound like a big deal, but the fact is, I've been struggling to find writing time. I even
publicly announced that I was going to jump (late) into NaNoWriMo, counting all of my words (including blogs) in an effort to at least give myself credit for writing
something.
As it turns out, having class-free days helps a lot -- no big surprise there -- freeing up time usually spent in preparation, grading and in the classroom. I got back to my stalled work-in-progress and something wonderful happened.
I got excited about it again.
The best characters are a lot like real-life people. When writers fail to spend sufficient time with them, the relationships become strained. Too many missed conversations lead to awkwardness between a writer and her characters, which, in turn, leads to a lot of time staring at a blank screen.
But, much like old friends, characters open up when a writer gives them her full attention. They speak and share their thoughts and opinions on everything from the situation in which they currently find themselves to their future hopes, dreams and fears.
Or maybe I just have bossy characters.
Carving out writing time over break re-opened old discussions, and, as it turns out, my characters had been harboring secrets, pondering decisions and making resolutions. Many of these were a surprise to me (one of the joys of being
a "pantser" rather than a "plotter") and now I can't wait to have these new events play out on the page.
It's the last day of November, and though I got nowhere near the 50,000 word NaNoWriMo goal, I still feel a sense of accomplishment. Who knew that getting unstuck was as simple as re-opening the discussion?
I'm juggling multiple projects, so I know my writing challenges will continue until at least the end of the semester. But, now that I know that I can pull up a chair and restart a conversation with my characters, I'm much less anxious about time away from them.
And if there's one thing I can count on
Marita and Bets for, it's a lively conversation.
When I was a little kid, I loved getting mail. Oh, who am I kidding? I was well into my adult years before the disappointment of bills overtook the joy of personal mail. More than two decades ago, when I first started writing articles on spec, I eagerly awaited the mail each day, hoping for an acceptance letter, a contributor copy or -- jackpot! -- a check.
I think my delight with deliveries is one of the reasons I love the Christmas season. Sure, a lot of people have switched over to e-cards -- and every year, I swear that next year, I'll join them -- but Christmas cards are not yet obsolete, and finding red and green and silver envelopes among the bills and junk mail is one of the highlights of December.
And you know what else December brings?
Packages!
I'm not a Black Friday shopper and, in addition, I am one of those people who thinks stores should be closed on Thanksgiving so people can be with their families. And yet, I had both hands into some serious online shopping before it hit me that even though I'm shopping from the comfort of my own home, someone else out there on the other end of my Internet connection must be working in order to make my at-home convenience possible.
Oops.
By that time, I'd racked up enough potential presents to make sure that my mail would yield a bounty of boxes for much of the month, assuring that my daily trip to the mailbox (or, in the case of UPS, my front porch) would be worth my while.
Some people outgrow Christmas. Most adults have long since stopped marveling over the mail. But these kinds of everyday pleasures still excite me. In January, the mail will return to its usual mix of bills and junk -- perhaps temporarily a tad heavier on the bills -- and so I plan to savor the deliveries of December, along with a few that I suspect will turn up before then.
Happy Cyber Monday. May all your packages be perfect.
It's Small Business Saturday! Enter today to win one of the Thirty-One bags below (your choice) filled with something to read (copies of the 50 Over 50 anthology and Chasing a Second Chance), something to listen to (an audio book of Casting the First Stone, narrated by Beth McIntosh), something to wear (a pair of LuLaRoe leggings, courtesy of the inventory of Alicia Paige Boggs) and something chocolate, along with a few other little goodies I'll toss into the bag. |
Double Duty Caddy
in black chevron |
To enter, do one (or more) of the following:
1. Like this page.
2. Comment on the post on my author page about this contest.
3. Sign up for my author newsletter by sending me an email at [email protected]. Put "Small Business Saturday" in the subject line.
4. Comment on one of this blog post, or go over to Organizing by STYLE and leave me a comment there.
5. Follow this blog or Organizing by STYLE, and tell me you did so
.6. Write a review on Amazon, Barnes and Noble or Goodreads if you've already read one of the books.Is it okay to enter if you already have the books? Absolutely! Books make great Christmas gifts!
Contest runs from midnight tonight (NOW!) until midnight tomorrow night. Good luck!
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Around the Clock Thermal
in black playful parade. |
I love teaching my first year seminar. Not only do I enjoy my freshmen, but I find our subject matter uplifting. Not surprising, of course, since I chose the topics and proposed the course, but really, who could be unhappy teaching about happiness?
And, as it turns out, gratitude is a big part of happiness. Lots of research-based pieces have been written on the relationship between gratitude and happiness, but this weekend, I'm particularly partial to
this Thanksgiving-themed piece.
So, as you're polishing off those leftovers, why not take a few minutes to express some leftover gratitude, even if only to yourself?
I hear it's good for you.
I'm not a white coat syndrome kind of girl, but certain doctors' offices inspire anxiety in me nonetheless. Simply pulling into the parking lot at the ENT makes my stomach do flip flops. Flip flops are one of my favorite things, but not when they' re in my stomach.
I associate this office with only bad things. The polyp that I feared would mean I'd never sing again, or, worse yet, rob me of the ability to watch my daughter grow up. The unpleasant treatment for vertigo that helped tremendously, but took away my sense of control. The record high blood pressure taken in the hallway outside a treatment room by a nurse who didn't seem to care what the numbers said.
And so here I sit today, familiar symptoms having prompted a visit I didn't want to make. I try to both prepare for bad news and not borrow trouble. I'm here for information, I tell myself, and there's no sense thinking the worst when no evidence -- nothing quantifiable, anyway -- has presented itself.
Waiting and writing, I watch people come and go, gratitude rising. I'm able-bodied and middle-aged, not a small, scared child, or an older adult straining to hear whether or not the name the nurse just called was mine. I calculate the number of people in the waiting room divided by the number of doctors in the practice, trying to determine how long beyond my scheduled appointment I'll have to wait and whether or not a delay is a good thing. I ask God if another medical diagnosis is really what he has in mind for my family at this time, wanting desperately to believe that the answer to that question is no.
When it's my turn, I go in. The nurse asks me to step on the scale and I kick off my shoes, seeing the sign that requests patients not do so only after I've stepped on the scale. I apologize and she takes my blood pressure while I run the song I heard in the waiting room through my head, concentrating on anything but the computer-operated cuff that never seems to take a reading the first time. She sprays the numbing solution into my nostrils, and I feel a strange sense of relief, grateful for anything that will make this easier.
The doctor looks exactly as I remember him from our last encounter -- a post-surgical follow-up when he told me the polyp on my vocal cord was not cancer, but "just one of those things," and something he didn't expect would happen again. In my trepidation, I'd forgotten his kindness, his willingness to listen to everything I want to share, his reassuring manner. Uncomfortable procedures and callous staff members swept those good things away, and I'm happy to experience their return.
The procedure is less terrible than I remembered, and the news is good, the symptoms easily explained. No polyp, no cancer, no surgery. I need to cut back on chocolate and caffeine, but I get to keep my voice, my job, my hope for the future.
As I leave the office, a burden has risen from my shoulders. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and I have something to be thankful for -- a rather substantial something, as a matter of fact. This year has been difficult in many ways, but there are also many things to celebrate, not the least of which is that I don't have to return to this office again in the near future.
It's the things we take for granted that are most easily threatened. Tomorrow, those things will be
among the things that I'm happiest to celebrate.
Happy Thanksgiving.
A little more than a month ago,
"my" Starbucks moved into a new store. It's pretty and spacious and bright -- a standalone store, rather than one tucked into a strip mall. It has more seating, albeit in a different configuration, and a drive-thru.
But less parking.
Consequently, my home away from home has been a bit tougher to access. In addition, the novelty of the new store, not to mention a drive-thru, has increased traffic inside and outside of the store. I'm happy the store is doing well, but I'm feeling a little displaced.
So, when people ask me how I like the new store, I have to say that I don't know. I'd kind of figured out the rhythms of the old place -- when I could go in and find a table, grab a drink quickly or get serious work done. Now, so much has changed that I sometimes end up working at another store, or returning home.
First world problems, I know.
And I'm not complaining, really -- just...adjusting. I don't want to believe that I'm set in my ways, but I guess in some ways, I am. When I find a place (or thing) I like, a part of me wants to check it off my list. The right drink? Check. The right place to do work away from home? Check.
A bit of my perfectionism rearing its ugly head? Maybe. But I prefer to think of it as efficiency. The point of finding a solution that works is to avoid starting over every time you ask the same question or face the same problem. Predictability may be boring, but it keeps things low maintenance.
So I'll wait -- although patience isn't my strong suit -- and see how things play out. In time, the rhythm of the new store will reveal itself, or perhaps my rhythms will change. With only a few weeks left in the semester, I know my schedule will change, so perhaps that will do the trick.
Meanwhile, I'll grab a table when I can.
When I was in college, I had a Garfield poster that said, "I try to take one day at a time, but lately, several have attacked me at once."
Yeah. It's been that kind of week.
But yesterday, we colored in my first year seminar -- and I do mean
we. My students had that glazed, exhausted look, so in addition to the fact that the activity fit our discussion, it was a good day to take a break. For fifteen minutes, the room was almost completely silent, as we practiced just chilling out for a small slice of our day.
I highly recommend it. If, however, you need a good reason to just chill out, check out this
article from Success.
If you need me, I'll be over here with my crayons.
Today's blog is late because I was doing a presentation on work-life balance. Ironic, I know.
When you're retired, even if in name only, the work-life balance blurs. And when you're a writer, everything on both sides of the line runs together. Writing is only part of the deal. There's promoting and submitting and getting yourself out there on social media and in the real world, whether it's doing a book event or a presentation on work-life balance.
Sadly, I must confess that a week after
posting my NaNoWriMo intentions, no actual writing on my stalled project has occurred. The last two weeks have been more like work binge/play binge than work-life balance -- so much so that tonight, I'm actually missing my critique group's monthly meeting just to catch my breath.
I first started writing seriously twenty-three years ago and although I didn't realize it at the time, even then it wasn't all about the writing. I was writing articles rather than book-length fiction, so there were submissions to be made, tracked and followed up on and market research to be done. There were topics to be cultivated, drafts to be written and critique groups to attend. Writing books seemed out of reach to me, and that was even before I knew about marketing and speaking and long before social media.
Writing, like most other jobs, is a multi-faceted endeavor. To do it well, we need to immerse ourselves in the work, but to do it right, we must immerse ourselves in the culture. Striking a balance between our creative selves and our promotional personae is challenging enough; doing that on top of jobs and lives that are full before the writing starts can feel downright impossible.
And so another week of NaNoWriMo has slipped through my fingers -- or, more accurately, through the tiny cracks of the unassigned waking hours in my schedule. I can whine and moan and complain, but that's both fruitless and a waste of energy -- energy that I need for writing and promoting and juggling all the other aspects of the life that feed the craft.
And the writer.
Maybe next week will be better. Or maybe I'll get to December with an undone NaNoWriMo in my rear-view mirror. Either way, the new month will bring both new challenges and new opportunities, and I'll just need to keep my balance.
Or hang on for the ride.
My daughter turns nineteen today, and this will be the first time in her life we haven’t celebrated her birthday together. Yet another one of the milestones parenting a young adult brings.
Not one to sit on the sidelines, especially when there's celebrating involved, I convinced my husband to take her up on her suggestion of meeting in New York last weekend. We spent two days together as a family, celebrating her birthday by seeing a show and seeing the sites, continuing the New York City birthday tradition begun when she turned sixteen and our trip included additional teenagers who kept things both lively and fun.
If I thought that birthdays would get cheaper and easier once she passed the age where we invited the whole daycare class to her celebrations, I (and my checkbook) could be sorely disappointed (and depleted). Instead, I've discovered that having a young adult who still wants to celebrate her birthday with her parents is a gift in and of itself, one that makes the dollars and cents aspects of the celebration less relevant than I expected. Sure, she got a weekend in New York out of the deal, but we got one too, along with the opportunity to get another snapshot of her at this new stage of life.
At nineteen, she's poised and growing in confidence, excited about taking the train from Connecticut while we took one from Pennsylvania and met at Penn Station in New York. Her personal sense of fashion is burgeoning, and she worries less about other people's opinion than her own comfort and style. Excited to see the stage version of her favorite Disney movie (Aladdin), she's also mature enough to engage in intelligent conversation about world events and to worry about her dad, who spent Saturday night in the hotel room with a stomach bug. And modest enough to be annoyed that I wrote all this, should she happen to stumble across this blog.
Yesterday, as I watched her navigate Grand Central Station, check on her train and head to the right spot to catch it, I didn't feel the urge to cry or run after her, let alone hold her hand or second guess her. As she headed for her destination, I watched for a moment until her striped bag was out of sight, savoring the victory of having raised a child who could do those things with confidence. Pride shoved sadness out of the way, tilting goodbye more toward the sweet than the bitter than I thought possible.
It helps, of course, that I'll be seeing her again in five days, and that she's looking forward to coming home. I know her excited anticipation has as much to do with seeing her friends here and driving her car as it does with seeing us (okay, probably even more those things), but isn't that how it's supposed to be?
And at the end of the day, I get to find her sleeping in her own bed, the same sweet, slumbering face I saw yesterday morning in the hotel room brightening our house for almost a week. And, in her waking hours, making noise, dirtying dishes, catching up on laundry and making plans that don't include us.
But I'm okay with all of that. In fact, those things are a big part of what I'll be giving thanks for.
And last weekend was just a teaser.
On the way home from work yesterday, I heard a story on NPR about the meeting between President Obama and President-Elect Trump. Each had good things to say about the other -- Trump even called Obama "a very good man," and the meeting went better -- and lasted longer -- than either party expected. The lack of vitriol left me feeling optimistic, and my initial intention was to post the
New York Times' accounting of the story here as today's feature.
But....
I suspect many of you are tired of reading about politics. So today, I'm offering a double feature. The
New York Times story is clickable above. But, if you're tired of reading about politics, or you want to know how other people's stress (yes, that includes social media-inspired stress) impacts you (and what you can do about it), click
here for a fun and upbeat article from
Greatist.com.
An upbeat article about stress? Yep.
Now what made me think we'd need that?
Happy Friday.
Last evening, I stepped into a voting booth and cast my ballot for Hillary Clinton. The emotions that rose up as I voted for someone of my own gender caught me by surprise. Flawed, passionate, gutsy, composed, experienced, she was not my "lesser of two evils" vote. She was the choice I wanted to make, and not because she was a woman -- although clearly that was a factor -- but because I thought she was the right person for the job.
Last night I stayed up much too late, watching election results and talking with my daughter, who had voted in her first presidential election, via absentee ballot. We hung up and I gave up and went to bed some time around 2, unable to watch as my state failed to support my candidate and put the other guy within three electoral votes of winning the election.
This morning, I awoke to gray skies and rain, feeling sad, but wondering if maybe, just maybe something had happened between 2 AM and the time my alarm went off.
Nope.
I dressed in black (my prerogative, for any of you who might be rolling your eyes) and went to campus to teach my 9:00 class, a mix of students between the ages of 18 and 21. Hillary supporters, Trump supporters and, unless I miss my guess, a few Bernie supporters and independents as well. My students, studying to be nurses and psychologists and law enforcement officers, and a few who haven't yet decided what the future holds.
We have that in common.
I felt better after I taught my class. Caught up in the subject matter and the potential in the room, I forgot about politics for an hour and just focused on giving them information they could use not just for my class, but to better understand themselves and other humans.
It was a first step.
And so today, despite my personal feelings, I adjust to saying the words "President Elect Trump." Or I begin to. Even typing them arouses fear, fed by stock market downturns and an increasing awareness that this election has unleashed more than a mere difference of opinion.
But a decision has been made, and it's time to do what we've been looking forward to for weeks -- moving forward. It's time to put the vitriol behind us, put on our big person pants and use the energy that propelled us to the voting booths to propel us toward healing wounds and closing chasms. Toward seeing the individuals behind the votes. Toward taking a stand for the things that matter, just as we would have had the other candidate won the title.
This is still my country, and he is our president. I don't like it, but I respect the process.
Time for wounds to heal.
I don't usually participate in
NaNoWriMo, but I'm wondering if this year might be the year to make an exception. Again.
So far, I've done it twice, both with my own agenda in mind. The first time, I was close to finishing a middle grade novel, and I used the NaNoWriMo nudge to get myself to finish the book. By the end of November, the book was finished, but I'd gone off on so many tangents that the last quarter of the book had to be completely reworked. I decided then and there that NaNoWriMo wasn't for me.
Until a few years ago when I had another work-in-progress that kept getting swept to the bottom of the pile. This time, it was non-fiction and I had a plan in place, so, encouraged by an article I read on EBookWriMo, I once again dug in. This time, I was more successful in terms of structure, but less successful in terms of completion.
Once again, I find myself in the midst of a stalled work-in-progress. Time is the factor, but, if I'm honest, so is motivation, and I'm wondering if NaNoWriMo might once again provide the nudge I need.
There's something about writing with friends. The combination of camaraderie and accountability creates a "we're all in this together" spirit and, more important, an energy that's sometimes lacking when it comes to writing solo. I've found this in the sprint group spearheaded by
Ramona DeFelice Long; this group keeps me moving in the summer, but I struggle to keep up during the semester. when my teaching responsibilities consume more than their fair share of my time and energy. And, before I know it, much too much time has passed between sprints.
When it comes to NaNoWriMo, everyone approaches it in his or her own way. My sister, a planner by nature, prepares for months ahead of time so she can maximize the month. Others just jump in feet first or dive in head first and start writing.
I'm somewhere in between. Nowhere near the planner that my sister is, I nevertheless require some sort of plan to make NaNoWriMo work, as evidenced my my previous experiences. Having no plan in place as I turned the calendar page, I figured this year wasn't the time to do it.
But maybe it's time to shake things up. Find something
different to kick start my writing, and perhaps counting words for a month will do just that. And, if I add in the words for
all of the writing I do, maybe it'll provide me with the sense of writing accomplishment I'm sorely lacking at the moment.
So, I'm dipping a toe into NaNoWriMo. I wish I could say I was more committed and optimistic than that, but the fact is, this is an act of desperation.
Wish me luck.
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I'm loving our weekly writing meets, Lisa! And I agree, it's going to make our productivity just "a little bit better." :)
I'm loving them, too! Not only is the company good, but my productivity is way up!!