The new story; the now story

3:29

I did not write an intentions blog post last year.  I remember exactly why.  I wrote down my intentions elsewhere, in my Ink & Volt exercises (and yes, last January I invoked Brad Feld and said, “I wish I could do what the cool VC guys do.”  I repeat myself.  It’s fine.  If I say it twice, I must mean it.)

I met my goals and lived up to my intentions beautifully last year, ahead of schedule. I looked back at my posts from January 2018 and they made me very sad.  I was crushing myself.  I was not at all a friend to myself.  I did some extraordinary and brave things and told myself I was stupid and heartless to do them.  No. I was right the first time.  Once I got some momentum going, living in truth was unstoppable, and I have lived in truth as best I could for 2018.  I look back at least year’s Ink & Volt lists, and the blog posts, and recall the conversations with friends and see how small and scared I was then.  I wonder if I will look back a year from now and see the same thing, next year when I am that safe giant.

Or maybe this will be a year for consolidation, for cementing all of that behavior change when it will get really challenging.  Maybe this will be the year that I say that it’s okay for me to have all the good stuff.  Because even as I’m typing and thinking about the move and how great it’s going to be and the rugs I want to buy, I have that old fear, that something bad is going to happen.  That it’s not going to be really great after all.  That it can’t really be great for me.

Here is the antidote: I note, record, and revel in how this has been truly the best year of my life.  This year, when I walked into many of nightmares and continued walking.  (Did I write that already? I think I did.  I must really mean it.)  This year I learned that I could do that, walk into the nightmare.  I learned that even a nightmare truth is better than pretty lies.  The solidity of knowing the worst is better than the wobble-board of fearing the worst.  And there were so many people holding my hand as I walked into and through the nightmare.  I never thought that would be the case, but they showed up.  This might have been the hardest year of my life, but I don’t think so– I’ll have better perspective later.  When I put aside the fear, I had more room for happiness and joy.  When I detached from a grading system that would always fail me, I felt more successful.  I made things possible that seemed impossible just weeks before.

So… Even if my new apartment is less congenial and commodious than I hope; even if my neighbors are loud; and the water pressure in the shower remains unworthy of the name; and the cable cord is strung along the ceiling rather than the floor and it vexes me every single day and I have to stay home and pay money to get it changed; even if I run through my savings and have to borrow more from my parents; even if I buy all the wrong rugs and lamps; even if my stuff won’t fit in my new apartment and I have to rent a storage space for my Pesach dishes and college memorabilia and suitcases.  Even if lose my job.  Even if friends break my heart by leaving me because I have left Daniel.  Even if I never find the love I hope for.  Even if all those things at once, the last year is indelible.  It happened.  I am the me that did that.  I am also the me that undermined herself for decades, see, consolidation, above.  But a strong counterstory is emerging.  “Is emerging” as if it were a gas or natural phenomenon.  No. I AM CREATING a strong counterstory.  I am living a strong counterstory.

My main intention in 2019 is Abundance.  I have elsewhere told myself it’s abundance, not excess, but I’m going to excise the negative from my intention. I know the difference between abundance and excess.  One makes me happy and the other makes me anxious, so I don’t have to wag my finger at myself and warn myself away from too much (I’ve overspent this past week, and I’m struggling a lot with that.)

4:04, with breaks

 

Quashed (or not)

7:00

very little time before Shabbat, but enough time to shore myself up.  Daniel wants to reset, to walk away from the wreckage and start to be normal again.  I understand why it’s compelling, and I see some of his points: we need to be normal again some time, and re-hashing is not the same as a redo.  We have to start walking even if it hurts and we feel unready.  Those are good points. I will turn them over in my mind and heart.

What I also see is, that is a good way for Daniel not to take responsibility.  What I also see is, that might not work for me over the long haul.  What I also see is, maybe I don’t want things to work under any circumstances.  And that’s my prerogative.  Daniel’s policy is exactly right in foreign relations, and he calls this a truce, and often often often invokes Israel & Palestine — no kidding.  I am not sure it is right in intimate relations.  I told him I have the bends — we’ve moved very quickly from not talking to each other to him lamenting how little time we spend together.  I said, “Um, yeah, but I need to keep going to yoga.”  He got very upset.  Shrug.  Yoga has been better to me over the years than Daniel.  Much, much, much better.  Yoga never broke my heart, yoga never scared me, yoga never de-personed me or kicked me out of the circle of its regard.  Yoga routinely makes me feel great about myself and my body and my life.  Even when I told him “We weren’t talking to each other two weeks ago,” he replied, “Sometimes that happens.”  As if we somehow mutually or even independently decided to stop talking.  No.  What happened was, Daniel stopped talking to me, brutally.

Daniel insists right now on equal fault.  That is a lie. I will not continue my marriage on a lie.  I can wait for a while for him to get strong enough, to spend enough time with his therapist, to stop that particular lie.  But it’s a giant fucking lie and I will not live the next 25 years with it.  I don’t have to do what he says.  I don’t have to believe what he believes.   I can say, nope, fuck it, and leave.  That is bringing me tremendous relief right now.  The thought of leaving makes me feel better than the thought of staying.  And I can observe and see how that feeling changes or not.  And my story doesn’t have to make sense to anyone at all but me.  That is my Shabbat gift to myself.  That is what feels great.  I am the boss of me.

More stuff coming up: Daniel keeps setting boundaries about what we will and won’t talk about, what is and isn’t allowed.  I need to show him that he is not setting the boundaries anymore.  We are negotiating them, and they have to be good for me, not just him.  No more fucking fiats from him.  I didn’t show that strongly now — although I suggested it.

Oh this is terrible, but I’m glad his anti-depressants are doing what anti-depressants do, which is suppress and crush and strangle and kill the libido.  I greatly miss sex, but I can’t have sex with him right now.  I’ll consider getting there.  But this is my pace, my terms for me.  Life is like that.  Daniel refuses to be on parole, but he kind of is… he broke things.  That sounds maybe vindictive, but it’s self-protective.  Anything else is a lie.  He needs that lie right now.  Okay, I won’t push.  He needs to take seriously — and I need to tell him — that the default is not staying married.  The default is me leaving, because I can do that.  What is he going to do?  And he can say “Nothing.”  Cool.  Goodbye, good luck, I’m so sorry.

This is why I write.  I write to de-quash, de-crush.

Also, while not writing, I’ve been over-spending.  Stress bought 3 books, one of which looks like loads of fun, one of which looks disastrous, one of which is in the middle.  Stress bought a pair of shoes, which I can justify as “needing” spring work shoes that won’t hurt my feet and will accommodate my heel insert and my lack of interest in pedicures.  It is true that most of my old sandals are useless to me now.  Stress bought a dress on Ebay for $35… but I am so so tired of all my black clothes, and this is made of organic cotton and under conditions that are good for workers.  Stress bought a fair amount of food in NYC yesterday — turmeric drinks, esoteric chocolates, lots of tea.  That said, it all adds up, I think, to less than the cost of a therapy session, and I missed therapy on Weds.  But… it’s not less than the cost of therapy after insurance reimbursement…  I’ll retune.

7:20.  must set the Shabbat table.

Joy

4:38

I’m breaking one of my cardinal rules, and blogging during the workday.  I will leave my desk in 22 minutes anyway to go to yoga, and there’s nothing work related that I can accomplish in 22 minutes. Well there almost certainly is, but nothing is coming to mind and I’m not looking hard.

So some things that are bringing me joy right now, regardless of all other things, and in no particular order

1. Frugality. When I am thoughtful about spending money, buying new things only to replace old things,and using up all the old things and clearing out and letting go, I magically have money for the things that matter (therapy!). I’m loosening my grip a little, but so far, it’s not been too hard and the psychic rewards are much greater than the rewards of careless spending.

2. My new CSA subscription. To be fair, I won’t see the produce for a couple more weeks, but I am very happy about the idea of the fresh produce and adventures in cooking. This subscription touts itself as being extremely easy to manage. A few weeks ago, I would have said I couldn’t afford it (groceries come from Daniel’s portion of the budget), but I think it will make me happy to spend this money in this way.

3. Bringing my lunch to work. Before our financial pinch, I never brought my lunch, and thought it would be impossible to do so. Who wanted to cook on Sundays for the week? Me, it turns out. Some three months in, it’s not oppressive. I have a very high tolerance for eating the same foods over and over (I’m on week 2 of lentils every day). I go into the common areas of our offices, and have my nice lunch away from my desk. I think eating away from my desk is essential to this enterprise, and the food is incidental.

4. My new offices. I thought I would hate this location, but the space is delightful. It feels fresh and new. I also like working in a slightly different neighborhood. I enjoy being an urban explorer.

5. Bicycling. The new offices are most easily reached by bike, and I delight in unlocking a bike every day and flying along the streets. My bike commute is very short, downhill (I usually take the bus or walk home) and energizing. I feel like a college student, or little kid, and I enjoy that.

6. Writing. At work, I write for 10 minutes a day on whatever project is at hand — mostly playing around, brainstorming, sometimes revising. It is magic. I have ideas I wouldn’t have come up with otherwise. I move projects along that would have seemed too daunting to take on. Even when I don’t feel like it, it’s just 10 minutes. I didn’t read about this practice on a blog or in a productivity book.  I just made it up, and I love the results.

7. Milo. He’s spectacular. He shows me what mutual love looks like, and there is so much freedom and happiness in it. (Shadow to this: my relationship with Milo, and the goodness in it, revealed to me so many of the limitations of my relationship with Daniel, and the wrongness of what Daniel said about me and how he treated me. It’s an awkward truth: Milo’s love showed me that I have to leave his dad. Hmm. Milo will need a good therapist of his own.)

8. My friends. I thought for years I was a bad friend, needy, self-centered, only showing up when I needed something. My friends show me something different. If these amazing women want to spend time with me, then there is something really right with me, and it gets more right the more time I spend with them. I didn’t have models of female friendship growing up. These women are saving me, every day.

9. The gym in the office building. Finally, finally, I’m running. Just the treadmill, just for 15 minute HIIT workouts, but I’m running and it’s hard and I like it. I’m also doing some weights and resistance work. I looked forward to it all day yesterday. It feels better (and is so much cheaper) than spinning.

4:59. Not my best prose, repetitive and pedestrian. I care enough to note it, but not enough to change it.

The door after another door

I love how WordPress has a simple icon and the word “Write” next to it at the top right of the screen.  Write — is it a suggestion, and invitation, a command?  I like it as a command right now.  If English had a distinctive imperative tense, we’d have the answer.

Without going into details, I am back to where I began this blog, in the following sense: there has been a terrifying, saddening rupture in my expectations of what the future will look like.  So, Write.  I wrote myself through the last rupture without knowing how important writing was.

Okay, a few details.  Daniel and I are NOT getting divorced, at least not now.  In fact, the thing that has happened might be the salvation of our marriage.  That is my hope.  For the foreseeable future, the family’s economic health depends on me and on our savings.  This is an unprecedented situation for me.  I might need to change jobs, trading love for security.  That’s what the spring will likely be about.

I am not feeling anything right now.  I can see the feelings, but am not feeling them.  I am opening up this space for when the feelings come.  Well, I am feeling dizzy, literally.  When I got out of bed at 5 to go to the bathroom, the room spun, and I fell hard against the side of the bed.  The spinning continued when I returned to bed, and it was intermittent throughout the morning.  The internet is of two (at least) minds whether vertigo can be stress induced.  During yoga class, it occurred to me to start writing again, and I recall having something urgent to say, a marker I wanted to lay down for myself, but I don’t remember it now.

There are some early intimations of fear.  I am terrified of having to do more, to work longer hours, to put more energy out into the world, to have more work of all kinds to do.  I can’t even talk to my beloved friends right now, although I am avidly emailing and texting, because I can’t release energy for conversation, for describing how I am doing, or how Daniel and Milo are doing.  Introverts in crisis: we need tea, a soft blanket, and Netflix.

That said, I have poured so much energy into a marriage that was not working, and that’s like pouring gasoline into a rusted-through tank.

I sound frenetic.  I don’t feel particularly frenetic, but I can see the frenzy.  I had hoped to be quieter and wise, almost vatic.  I will meet myself there.

Intentions 2017

2:47

So here I am again.  Intending.  Worried, as always, that I’m going to choose the wrong thing.  Wondering why the “something Jewish” intention is taking so very very long to manifest itself — and I was just about to type a joke about having baked challah for the first time ever, but even as a joke that’s not sufficient.

Pay attention and have fun are so durable and good.  I like reviewing the years to see how they have come about.  They are capacious intentions easy to see backwards.

Here are a couple of other intentions and a few challenges.

Be present.  Original? No no no no no.  I think there’s a clothing line called be present, even.  But in yoga this morning, this is what came up.  It seems to be the unifying idea beneath my daily sent of intentions (compassion, courage, honesty, integrity, kindness, joy & gratitude — I say that litany every morning). Pay attention is what I do with my mind.  Being present is what I do with my breath, my heart, all the rest of me.   Pay attention is mostly what I do towards the external world.  Being present is what I do with my own self.  Rather than paying attention during those conference calls, be present with the feeling of boredom and the need for stimulation, and wonder what that’s about.  Be present gets me closer to be curious, and that’s a good place to be.

Keep my heart open.  I mean that in a muscular/skeletal sense.  In my last indoor cycling class (pause here — I love how much we can learn from our bodies and how we use them), that was my goal — to keep my chest lifted and heart open, because it feels better to ride that way.  I’ll let the metaphors run rampant; no way to keep them out of a phrase like this.  But the body is the structure for the metaphor here.  Literally keeping my heart-area open reminds me to keep my spiritual & emotional heart open.  Keeping my heart open (emotionally) is not efficient.  I like to close it so I can go do other things that feel safer.

So, being present right this second and thinking about my open heart brings some sadness.  Daniel hasn’t seemed very present to me for the last few days, and we’re opening and closing to each other like those paper finger toys children make — never both open at the same time.  And that hurts my feelings, a lot.  I might be better at weathering Daniel’s more florid moods, but I find that I’m more vulnerable to the small, daily, unintentional slights and lapses in attention.  And, okay.  That’s something to learn and deal with, because the hardening in response has some costs. I’m curious (!) about whether those costs are ones I want to incur.

Challenges:

Because why not?

Replace alcohol with other things in January. Ouch.  I don’t like how hard this is going to be.  I do love drinking, I just do.  I marvel at how good and clear I feel when I don’t drink, and then I go right to the next glass of wine.  (More likely, next beer, but “next beer” doesn’t have the same elegant rhythm as “next glass of wine.”  I tried “next bottle of beer” but that had a levity I didn’t want & I didn’t love the alliteration.  “Next cocktail” was too grand.  Again, the truth getting in the way of the truth.)  Cooking Light magazine has a very gentle 3-day detox program, that only asks one to abstain for 3 days.  Maybe I’ll do that 3 day thing once, and then again, and again, and see if I can do it 10 times in a row.

I do like that I’m thinking of it as a replacement, rather than a deprivation. I wonder if that will make it easier.  The replacement could be a cup of tea, or a deep breath, or a tree pose, or a podcast, or a poem.

Replace added sugar with other things in January.  This will be easier, but I somehow think that means I’m less likely to do it.  My added sugar intake is pretty low already, so I suspect I won’t feel a motivating difference in health.  And, on the other side of equation, I love my daily squares of dark chocolate even more than my daily alcoholic drink.  And that lovely challah I just made won’t be fresh forever, and it has 3 tablespoons of added sugar.  It might make sense to trim added sugar — cut out the agave syrup on my morning yogurt, pause on the kombucha consumption– rather than cutting it out altogether, especially while I’m replacing alcohol.  I might have talked myself out of this challenge after a single agave-less breakfast.  Or perhaps this will happen during another 30 day, or 3 day, or 5 day period.

Replace shopping with outfit making in January (if not longer).  I’m coming down off a binge buying period, and feel the need to love what I have, rather than grabbing the next thing.  Somehow this is related to my favorites of pay attention (to what’s in the closet) and have fun (picking out different things).

Given everything that is happening in 2017, these challenges seem very selfish and small.  Shouldn’t I challenge myself to give more, do more, be better?   Probably.  But I know myself and I need to stay away from the self-improvement and perfection drug.  Pausing on drinking feels necessary because the regularity of my drinking — not necessarily how much I drink every day, but the fact that I do drink every day, or almost every day — troubles me.  The sugar challenge just seems hard and I like hard, but that’s probably not going to be motivating enough.  And the shopping thing is a form of penitence because I am not ever far removed from my issues about shopping and deserving and are nice clothes allowed and how nice and how much, and won’t I wish I had that money later, and I can’t retire on dresses.

And now it’s lunchtime, and I might have chocolate because I want it.

 

Ready or not — intentions 2013

I woke up this morning feeling the after-effects of too much wine and too little sleep.  It seemed to be an infelicitous way to start the day.  New year’s eve and new year’s day, I thought, are in an irresolvable contradiction.  It seems impossible to celebrate the former and still start fresh and early (I like to start early — are you surprised?) on the latter.  I wished, as I walked the dog at 9:30 this morning that there were 24 hours inserted between the two.  That would be the day to wake up late and groggy, and then do what was necessary — clean out closets, pay bills, fold the laundry, stock up, pare down, make amends, reflect — to start the year in some state of perfect preparation.

Then I realized that we are always starting again in the middle, or at least I am.  I live on two calendars, secular and Jewish.  The new year isn’t exactly a surprise on either of them.   Yet I’m always so preoccupied with the current year, day, moment, I’m in that I don’t get the clean start that I say I crave.  But as I’ve thought about it since 9:30, I am okay with that.  I take the start as I find it, or as it finds me.  Maybe this is what living in the present means.

So, imperfectly, I’m having most of what I want so far.  I’ve seen friends, cooked and eaten wonderful food.  I’ll go to yoga later, a good, sweaty class.  Things are just slightly more in order than they were 10 days ago.  I am reflecting and taking stock, kind of.  My intentions are not especially well thought out, but last year’s weren’t either.  This, again, is starting in the middle.  If these intentions don’t serve me, I can find new ones (although I worry a bit that I’ll be peeking too much at my intentions, and wondering if I need better ones.  But maybe if I do that, the answer is yes and I can get on with it).

So, imperfectly, unreadily, provisionally, present-mindedly, here are my intentions for 2013 (there aren’t 13, at least not yet).

1) Stay the course!  This matters greatly to me.  I did so much last year.  I want to hold on to it, or deepen it, even.  So that means continuing to write the book, continuing to take up space, continuing to be present with Daniel’s feelings even when I strongly would like him to have other ones, and continuing to be comfortable with my life and luck as it is and has been and not comparing it (always negatively) to others’.  I want to continue to use my time in ways that are good for me, whether that is laying out my work day in big blocks every evening so that I move intelligently through the next day; or “suffering for 15 minutes” to accomplish tasks that I don’t love but that drag on me when they are undone.  (I have mixed feelings about the blog and project I’ve just linked to, but I find it useful nevertheless.)  When I do these things, I am easier to live with.  I am less likely to push my energy and anxiety on to others.  And I am happier.

2) Find a new job.  Not necessarily a new employer, but a new job.  Once the book is done, I’m going to have to reinvent myself as work, as I do after every new project.  I’m in a strange, in-between kind of position, and it’s pretty clear to me that even after the book, I’ll never be in management there, never have a line of business of my own, never have a full team to lead and work with.  That works to my advantage in some ways, but to my disadvantage in others.  I worry in particular that my current role and responsibilities makes me less hire-able elsewhere, and I want always to be hireable elsewhere, even if I don’t take advantage of it.  I am also just tired of having to reinvent myself every 12-24 months.  I am not sure what this new thing is — the hardest question for me ever to answer is “what do you want to do?”  This is the year that I press myself for answers and try to implement those answers in the world.  And then maybe come back with some new questions and new answers.

Implementation: finish the book and the marketing and then start relentless coffee and lunch dates to find out how people with skills like mine are operating and developing in other organizations.

3) Do a negotiation class.  Ramit Sethi’s time management class completely changed the way I work day to day, which has changed how I see myself professionally and has enabled me to write my book.  His recommendations seemed laughably simplistic, and during the online, pre-recorded course that was obviously just a repackaging of some of his other material, I thought “why did I pay so much for this? This is a bunch of hooey.”  But I did it anyway, and it was great.  I bought his very expensive negotiation class (again, online, pre-recorded, re-purposed) several months ago, intending to do the work after the book was done.  I can’t imagine that this course will work.  I believe that my job and life circumstances aren’t really negotiable.  I believe that my boss will never respond to the negotiation tactics that I’m going to learn.  So that’s exactly why I need to do the course.  This intention is a big part of the implementation of (2) above.

Implementation: Once the manuscript is turned in (approximately March 1) set aside time every Sunday to do the course work

4) Reduce spending/increase saving. Oh boy.  Spending is an issue for me.  My paycheck will be a little smaller for at least the first half of 2013 than it was in 2012, so a reduction will be forced upon me to some extent.  But I’ve been using spending like some people use food, and like many other people use spending — as a reward, as a comfort, as a treat, as a stress-reliever, as a facilitator of small adventures (A new lip balm = a small adventure).  I wasn’t eager to stop in 2012 because spending like this was bringing me pleasure and because I told myself that my energies were going into getting the book done and all those other intentions.  And that was true in 2012.  But in 2013, it’s time to find other rewards, comforts, treats, and paths to small adventures.  Oh I don’t want to do this!  I want to buy all the little treats I want — like the $12 eyelash curler I got yesterday at the pharmacy when I picked up a (rather pricey) prescription for Milo, or the $74 Rag and Bone blazer I scooped up on eBay two days after Christmas (originally listed on eBay at $150!  Original retail price $300 or so!).  I want this freedom from constraint.  But it’s either small constraints or the larger and awful-er constraints that come from having insufficient savings and rainy day funds.  So, again, other rewards and adventures.

Implementation: I’m in such a tantrum state about this that I don’t even want to think about implementation.  I’d rather just throw myself on the floor and pound my fists.  I’ve unsubscribed from all flash sale sites and most store newsletters and all eBay alerts.  I’m swearing off Paypal so that online transactions aren’t completely frictionless.  I can take a walk, meditate, or distract myself when I’m tempted to buy something.  I can also — to stop the tantrum — not criticize myself for the past year’s spending and for enjoying all the new fun things that my spending has enabled me to try (new lip balm!).  It was delightful.  I got a lot of pleasure out of my money that way.  I am happy to have acquired this new stuff.  But it’s not appropriate to continue this way.  Now it’s time to use what I have, enjoy it a lot, and find other things to enjoy.  Maybe I’ll start reading poems instead.  That sounds constructive.  Not rejecting the past spending is a very comforting thing, as is adjusting the intention by adding “increase saving” to my original negative statement of “reduce spending.”

5) Find substitutes for (web)surfing.  I am overly dependent on the pseudo-calming effect of screwing around on the internet.  I get an almost narcotic pleasure of seeing my top sites arrayed on my browser and visiting them every night between 9 and 10 (11, more often), and finding some new ones.  When I pull myself away from these sites I think, “oh, is that all?  Isn’t there more?” I feel like these sites are my friends.   I’m not talking about facebook or social media, where I might engage with people I know.  I’m talking about blogs.  There’s no connection, just consumption and craving.  This is another thing that I don’t really want to change, but I believe I will feel much better once I do.  Can I start tomorrow?  Always tomorrow, never today.  Two obvious and wonderful substitutes are reading  and meditating.

Implementation.  One day at a time, literally.  I don’t get on the computer on Friday nights now, because I don’t use the computer on Shabbat.  I can read or meditate rather than surfing on one more night a week.  And then another, and then another.  And then I’ll hold steady.

Okay, that’s enough.  Those last two are sufficiently pinching.  I had one more thought about intentions, though.  I am pleased that there are some intentions that I don’t have, which suggests areas in my life in which I think things are going pretty well.  I am so glad to realize that there are big swaths of contentment, sufficiency, good-enough-ness.  One of the rules in one of the time management class sessions was “You must allow yourself to celebrate your wins.”  I am very grateful that this process of intention setting has brought my attention to some wins and helped me see what to celebrate.  I wish the same for all of you.

Intentions check in 2012

In the opening days of this year, I wrote two posts about my intentions for 2012.  I did a check in post in February, and then forgot about the intentions until about 24 hours ago, when I realized, in the calm of my parents’ house, away from all my daily obligations and ceaseless motion, that intention setting seemed to work very well for me.  Of course, I have no idea right now what my intentions are for 2013, and I’m a little intimidated by the prospect of setting intentions now that I’ve seen how well 2012’s worked out — I worry about setting the wrong ones and missing opportunities.  But that is a worry for next week, a project for the flight home.

For now, I’m going to do what I rarely do, which is take stock of some good stuff and think about how it might have happened so that perhaps it can happen again. So here is my original list of intentions, and the follow up of how they manifested themselves throughout this year.

1. Don’t fight lucky strangers.  In other words, don’t get unmoored when someone else turns up pregnant.  This is still, forever, a long term project. Even a few weeks ago, I was very reluctant to have dinner with the woman who I wrote about in these posts.   This will always be a work in progress for me. I think I’m better able to weather these storms than last year — at least until another storm unmoors me.

2. Continue to be brave. I am being brave. I am writing a book (more on that below) and am being brave that way.  I am being brave in my relationship with Daniel, and blessedly it doesn’t feel so much like being brave, it feels more like doing what I want to do.  It’s nice to think that perhaps bravery is becoming a way of life.  The more I think about it, the more places I choose to see it, especially if I expand the definition to include things like being more self-directed about my time and money, and therefore taking an extra hour out of my work day to go to yoga, and taking control of long-delayed house expenditures and saving up the money to pay for them. That may not be what others call brave, but I’m (bravely?) defining it that way because it all seems to be of a piece.  (See also “take up space” below.)

3. Corollary to #2: Be present in what I have, and balance that with staying open and welcoming miracles. Well, this year has been more about the first part of that, being present in what I have.  I am skeptical and sore about miracles, and I’m okay with that.  I have enjoyed more paintings in the sky, more flowers, more deep breaths, more beautiful faces, more excellent food, more spontaneous pleasures than I have before. Lisa at Privilege wrote something about this yesterday (or so) that resonated: “But most any time I get melancholy I can startle myself into a tiny rapture by paying attention. I find my way forward most often via a conscious waiting for the sadness to pass through, and a parallel close observation of exactly what’s right there.”

4. Write a book. Yes! Yes I am writing a book.  I wrote 25,000 publishable words this year.  I wrote many many more unpublishable words, or words unpublishable in their current order.  But holy crumbs — that’s three really solid, well-footnoted, lucidly laid out chapters, plus most of the interviews done for the fourth.  My co-author has been much busier with other things and therefore less diligent, but I think we’ll have a book by May.  A book I said, a book!  I did not think I could do this.  I did not think this would happen. But it has, and it has because I made it happen.  I took control of my time, and I wrote paragraph after paragraph knowing that these weren’t the right paragraphs but I could only get to the right paragraphs by going through the wrong paragraphs.  I have learned an enormous amount. I have taught others an enormous amount.  I taught myself how to write a book.  I finally feel like I know how to work — after 18 years in the workforce.  I finally understand how to take the next steps, I finally can draw on all this stored up knowledge I’ve been gathering.  I could go on and on about this.  Writing this book this year has been a huge milestone for me, a tremendous step forward.  Hooray for me.

Someone read one of my chapters and asked “Is fiction in your future?”  I have ideas for 3 novels.  This writing stuff is pretty addictive. 

5. Meditate for 10-15 minutes a day at work.  Um no.  This didn’t work out.  I have a deep respect for meditation, and it does great things for me, but I am not open now to making it a regular practice in this way.  I don’t know why, but I recognize that I am not putting any energy into making it happen.

That said, I do a quick review/intention-setting/check-in every morning.  I read about it in a Yoga Journal article which isn’t available online, but the book from which the practice is taken is here.  This practice has had a profound effect on me.  I chose to focus on four intentions in it: forgiveness, compassion, fearlessness and prudence.  My marriage has improved beyond what I could have hoped, and I am certain it is because I am keeping forgiveness and compassion in my brain.  I don’t always practice it perfectly, and Daniel and I had some horrific fights this year, but I am getting beyond some old, bad stuff.  Daniel seems different to me, and maybe he’s got his own practice of some kind of thing going on, but I think the difference is me and my eyes to see him.

Sometime this year, Sister was telling me that her marriage just got itself to a better place, and I thought, “That is simply impossible, I can’t do that, we can’t do that.”  But we have, for now, and I believe it started when I started to do this very simple morning intention practice, which doesn’t even require me to sit up before I get out of bed.

6. Be harder on my body.  This has worked.  I am taking 3-4 yoga classes a week most weeks.  I tried other practices, even running again, but the answer to the limits of yoga was… more yoga!  Practicing alone isn’t the same as being in class with a great teacher.  And practicing several times a week is much more effective at keeping me open than practicing once a week.  I didn’t understand how much I was closing up between classes until I no longer had time to close up.  This is all yoga-speak here, but I had been practicing for almost 15 years without having a good understanding of my midline and how to pull in around it and use it for balance.  I couldn’t access my core very well, or open up my back, and now I can.  I can’t do all the dazzling poses, and that’s okay.  I can get so much more out of basic poses now.

7. Take up space.  This is happening as well, not necessarily because of conscious effort, but because of greater comfort with exercising force in the world in terms of my use of my time and my money — which are the force-making tools that are most readily accessible to me right now.

8. Move to France. In other words, buy more nice underwear.  Yes to that, although it’s been erratic.  I’ve also spent much more on accessories, and less on clothes (maybe — I haven’t done the math and am a bit scared to) this year than in the past and am loving how well it’s worked out.  This post is already overlong, so I won’t go into much detail, but I do feel like I’ve finally nailed down what I want to look like and am sticking to it.  (Short version: Like this — a revelation!, and like this.  Slightly longer version: Tomboy – 1/2 (JCrew/Preppy) + 2x French.)  To say nothing of a huge surge in skincare spending and experimentation.  (As the book writing has become more intense and stressful, I am almost compulsively buying new oils, unguents, and balms.)  It all feels very French to me!

9. Date again. (Daniel — go on dates with Daniel) Um, no.  Not yet.  We had a good run of parties and events throughout December, but I can’t pretend that this has been a success.

10. Let Daniel have his own feelings, even if they make me uncomfortable.  See 5, above.   I am probably not doing better at this, but it seems less pressing.  I am putting less stress and less anxiety on/into our marriage, so perhaps it’s easier to step back and let Daniel feel as he feels.  He just seems so much easier to live with of late, and I’m pretty sure he’s the same as ever, it’s just that I’m not making it harder.  I do find myself trying — often too late — to do things differently when we are having a version of our standard fights.

11.  Give money to Yoga Activist. Yes — as of about 10 days ago.  I got a solicitation email and realized that they had set up an automatic donation system, so I am giving them the bare minimum each month to be a “member.”  This was purely fortuitous, because I was steadfastly ignoring my calendar reminder.

12.  Learn to poach an egg.  I did this very early on, then realized that I prefer fried.

I wish all my dear readers (if I have any left) every merriment, happiness, and celebration.

 

Money and shame

Today I am thankful that I have a very strong body (even with a sore back) that enabled me to go to a difficult yoga class and then spend almost 5 hours in various kinds of housecleaning — laundry, scrubbing my oven, reorganizing a couple of cupboards, and then scrubbing, scrubbing, scrubbing my refrigerator.  Some time during the last year, heavy cream spilt on the top shelf, and then dripped down and collected under the vegetable drawer.  I remember catching the top-shelf spill when it happened, but didn’t know what would await me when I did my Passover cleaning.  Judging from the other stains and drips, there was a root beer disaster at some point as well.  But it’s all sparkly now!

So… money.  Money money money.  I am struggling with it.  On Tuesday, to save $7 on cab fare, I lugged home a new blender.  It didn’t feel that heavy when I left my office, but I checked — it’s about 10 pounds.  Long and painful story short: saving $7 on a cab cost me $180 in two chiropractor visits — and my chiropractor isn’t covered by my insurance plan.

An unexpected $180 expense at the very end of the month wasn’t in my new budget.   I have this new budget because I gave myself a 10% paycut, starting with my most recent paycheck.  Daniel and I always get socked by taxes because he has a substantial amount of freelance income, and the simplest way to deal with it is for me to start withholding more from my paycheck.  Or, rather, that seemed the simplest way to deal with it before I blew the budget this month.  Those chiropractor bills came after a deeply unwise shopping trip.  That shopping trip more than ate up the money I had budgeted for emergencies and screw ups.

Here is my family history with money: I grew up in a family that was extremely moralistic about money and over the top in our efforts to pursue a good deal (never mind that “a good deal” still means spending.)  My mother and I once drove around for 3 hours when it was 102 degrees outside so she could save $25 on a dress.  My father knows every pawn shop and Goodwill store within a 50 mile radius of my parents’ house.  (Somehow the cost of gas never figures into their calculations, and the value they place on their time is zero.)

My father once described his childhood this way: “We always got everything we wanted, we just knew never to want that much.”  I was raised that way, too.  There was always money for what was important, and even luxuries, like the country-club membership so my mom could play tennis and my dad could play golf and I could be on the swim team, and piano lessons and running shoes.  There was no deprivation, but there was clearly a ceiling on what was to be wished for.  There was a clear line, beyond which it was “too much,” and “too much” was frowned upon, severely.  I remember my mother rolling her eyes at the profligacy of her mother in law (my grandmother) for using (expensive) paper towels to wipe up spills, rather than a (cheap) sponge or rag.  Even now, my mother, grandmother and aunt will criticize my cousin’s dear and lovely wife by saying, “She likes to spend money!”

So I learned very particular habits of frugality.  You could buy, but always buy on sale.  Buy generic whenever you can.  When you buy, make some kind of extreme effort so your purchase doesn’t seem careless.  In college, I had plenty of money from scholarships — but I rationed vending machine soda.  I only bought it twice a week.  Spring of my senior year, when I’d won another scholarship to graduate school, I was still packing my lunch everyday but Wednesday, when I’d spend $1.75 on a calzone from the food truck.

And about those scholarships… I had them to a big public university because I couldn’t attend the excellent private college that I desperately wanted to go to, because my money conscious parents hadn’t understood that private college was crazy expensive and nobody got academic scholarships to the top schools because everyone at the top schools is supersmart, and financial aid offices had a very different understanding of need than my family did.

What this all added up to was a feeling that certain things, certain freedoms, certain pleasures of money were not for me.  They were off limits to me.  They were unworthy, wasteful, and foolish, but I was also unworthy, I was unworthy of those luxuries, of that particular ease of buying what I wanted when I wanted it, not the off brand, not the knock off, not the 80% off when it’s no longer fashionable.  That’s the double-edge of money and shame for me — it’s shameful to spend freely, and I feel ashamed that I can’t spend freely.

It takes a lot of energy, or it took me a lot of energy, to maintain that kind of vigilance and that two-way force field of shame.  Over the years, I lost the energy for it.  If my parents knew what I spent on ANYTHING, from groceries to underwear to childcare, they would be shocked.  It would put distance between us.  I can change religions and that’s fine, but money it turns out goes even deeper than faith.

Once I started spending more, I enjoyed the ease very much.  I enjoyed feeling like I was making a decision about buying something, rather than having it be a priori off limits to me because of the price.  It felt like power.  It felt like the happy absence of shame.  So I am no longer frugal.  I am reasonably careful and not in debt.  And I usually like it, but I also lapse into guilt about it.  It will be a while before I forgive myself for not having the money for IVF.  (Of course, over the long term, that was absolutely the frugal choice — not only did we not drain our savings, we didn’t incur the expense of another child.  Funny how unsatisfying that is!) In post after post, I have to justify how much I spend, or when I buy new clothes, or somehow indicate that I have not entirely abandoned my frugal patrimony.  I am not bad!  I am not irresponsible!  I am not a financial grasshopper!

So being back in the land of NO, the land of budgets, is challenging for me — and it’s challenging BECAUSE it is challenging.  How can this be hard for me, given how much I earn and how unfrugal I have been?  Of course a 10% pay cut doesn’t mean a 10% reduction in each expense.  The big bills stay the same, so it works out to about a 30% cut in discretionary spending.  But… still.  Why is it so hard?  Why did I spend so much last fall, so much that I had to drain all the money I had saved for re-doing my bathroom just to catch up?  Why am I 30% over my budget in this first month?  What the hell am I doing? I am ashamed of myself, ashamed of my lack of control.  But in not spending, I feel the old shame, the shame of being the girl who always had to worry, to say no, who never got the best stuff, the stuff she really really wanted.

Of course, I have gotten the best stuff sometimes, but I choose to ignore that.  I’m only hearing the chorus of “NO! don’t touch that — it’s not for you.”

And I’m going to end this post like I’ve ended so many lately: I have no idea what to do with all this.  I think I will keep my larger goals in mind, so that I feel like I’m saying no for a reason — a good, honest, self-chosen reason (to save money, to ease Daniel’s financial burden, to wait and buy something better, to enjoy what I have more).  I will be open to a non -moralistic approach to money (which will be sorely sorely tested when I am in Bay City this weekend for Passover with my free-spending sister in law, who has money issues of a different kind, but has no trouble buying beautiful, beautiful clothes that make her look dazzling and make me ill with envy).  And I will remember what I wrote above, that I have gotten the best stuff sometimes, and that best stuff didn’t always have a price tag.  I will be open to the possibility of transcending.

 

 

Intentions, day 37

Today I am thankful that I have discovered that I don’t like Pilates mat classes.  I tried them, to implement one of my 2012 intentions, and I don’t like them.  They bore me.  They annoy me.  I am too old and too accomplished to do leg lifts of any description, or “little pulses.”  I think my body would respond very well to these classes and I would look more lithe and sculpted.  And I don’t give a fig.  I’d rather be a little dumpier and move my body in a way that’s more enjoyable and more meaningful to me.  That is what I am thankful for.

So what about my other 11 intentions for the year?

Well, 1-3 are hard to quantify and in some ways a daily challenge and in some ways ever-present background noise.  My tumult over an acquaintance’s lucky pregnancy isn’t really in line with #1 Don’t Fight Lucky Strangers, but I rebounded rather more quickly than I thought.  I’ll be fine as long as I avoid her in thought and in life, and happily it’s pretty easy to do that.

#2 Be Brave, #4 Write a book, #7 Take up Space:  I think of those together, because I am having to be very brave to write this book I’m working on.  I have spent a lot of time and energy not being a writer, and running far and fast away from this thing I love and am better at than most people (I mean my professional writing, not my blogging).   And, on Feb. 1, I put down the first words for this book — 567 of them.  This book is 3/4ths a collection of things that have already been written, by me, my co-author, or our colleagues have written.  I’m as much a curator as a co-author.  But you know what?  Those words aren’t going to arrange themselves.  And usually what’s already been written is 100 words when 1000 are needed.  So what I’m doing is hard.  And I’m doing it.  Every morning I spent between two and four hours writing new things or finding the right things that are already composed, and figuring out what else I need to know and how I’m going to learn it.  And I’m loving it.  I am being brave about it.  I’m not going to stop till the damn thing is done, either.  I’m not daunted at the moment by how far I am from  the ending, or the fact that I have no idea how the last two chapters are going to come together or when.  I’ll know when I get there.

One of my bosses — the one who frustrates the hell out of me — seems to have a very narrow idea of what I can do, and always seems to want to keep me in my place.  I heard someone at a meeting use the phrase “everyone needs to swim in their own lane,” and I thought, “Yes, she just wants me to swim in my own lane, but the nature of my job is to be all over the pool.”  But this book demands a lot of focus and determination.  So I found photos of Michael Phelps and Dara Torres and hung them next to my desk.  If I have to swim in my own lane, I’m going to swim like they do.  They stay in their own lanes, but own that damn lane, and usually the rest of the pool.  So I’m staying in my own lane and taking up space at the same time.

#3. Be present in what I have, and balance that with staying open and welcoming miracles.  Well, that’s the challenge of my life, isn’t it?  I do notice that I am more inclined to smile and people on the street, and, now that we have a dog, I have a newfound feeling of affection for all the dogs I see.  Surely that’s a sign of something.

#5 Meditate 10-15 minutes a day at work.  So far, I’ve done 5 minutes a day more often than not — which is a very good start, I think.  I get so excited about my book work in the morning that I don’t want to stop and meditate. I probably should.  Usually around 11 or 11:30 I find myself straying from my work to noodle on the internet.  Meditation would be better.

#6. Be harder on my body.  This isn’t any easier than it’s ever been.  My favorite class is on Thursday nights: for the previous two and next four Thursday nights, my time is otherwise spoken for.  But I did try Pilates mat, and last week I changed clothes in my office, put a “do not disturb” post-it on the door and did half an hour of yoga right there next to my desk.  Now that I’m not doing yoga every day, I enjoy it so much more when I do practice.  Meanwhile, I love, love, love reading Fit and Feminist, (which I found via Already Pretty, which is the source of most of my great blog finds and it itself an amazing blog) I believe that being exposed to that conversation will, somehow, help.  And F&F has such a nice post today about Madonna and not disappearing (I’m soft on Madonna — she was the soundtrack of so much fun in the late 1980s and early 1990s.).

#8. Move to France  (sartorially).  I bought a dress with glitter on it.  I can’t claim victory here.  And lingerie buying will have to wait until my dragon-like credit card balance is a more manageable lizard.   In the meantime, I’ll point you to someone who actually did move to France, some 20 years ago.  I love this post on Another Garcon, which I found thanks to Deja Pseu at Une femme d’un certain age.  I especially love the piles of bags and papers and whatnot under the bookshelves.  That is, and always will be, the signature characteristic of any home I share with Daniel.

#9. Date again (Daniel).  Nope, nothing here.  Between Daniel’s recovery from surgery and his travel, we’re not making time for each other and it shows.  Daniel is being very dear and very strong and struggling with post-surgery blues (which he recognizes are post-surgery blues) and with changing his disastrous eating habits, which is analogous to giving up smoking for him.  He’s tired and so am I.  But if we wait till we aren’t tired, we’ll be waiting forever.

#10. Let Daniel have his own feelings, even if they make me uncomfortable.  Could you do me a favor and go back to the top of the list where I talk about all the great progress I’ve made?  To be fair to myself, I haven’t had many occasions to rise to this challenge, because Daniel and I haven’t been very quarrelsome.  When we did quarrel a few nights ago, I thought Daniel was being really unfair to me, and it’s hard to let him have his feelings when he’s angry for things that have nothing to do with me, yet directing his anger at me.   When he fusses at me because I ask him to do too much, or when I fuss at him because the kitchen counter is an impenetrable mess of newspapers, magazines, bills-about-to-get-lost, backpacks, wrappers, and crumbs (you’d fuss too, right?), what we are fighting about isn’t the request or the counter but something else that’s making us feel so unbalanced that the request or the counter is absolutely more than we can take.  That’s the fight we had a few nights ago.

#11.  Give money to Yoga Activist. Another not-yet-success.  Expensive dentist appointments, unexpected household bills, no financial discipline during Daniel’s hospitalization and recovery.  I haven’t given money to our synagogue to make repairs to the Torah scrolls, nor to the charity that Lena’s family designated for donations in her memory.  Those are the first places my donations will go when I’m out of credit card debt.

#12. Learn to poach an egg. Done!

What would Ines do?

Today I am thankful that Daniel is steadily getting back to normal, and that Milo and Percy (the dog) have been superstars throughout this whole experience.  Percy’s devotion to Daniel has been very touching, and if one has to spend a week in bed, it’s very nice to have 17 pounds of warm and friendly dog at one’s side. (Yes, Percy is welcome in the bed.  Resistance was futile.)

This post started because I wanted to buy this dress

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lovely, presumably very well made, practical as all get out, on a walloping good sale.  And yet… perhaps a bit staid?  Dull?  One would never be incorrect wearing this dress, but would one ever be glorious?  What, I intended to ask, would Ines do?

I didn’t buy the dress, or, rather, I haven’t bought the dress yet.  I may, eventually (please advise, dear readers).  The ostensible reason is that I really can’t afford it.  But in fact, over the last week, I’ve spent the cost of this dress on other things: new shampoo, conditioner, and shower gel (day one of Daniel’s hospitalization); a new foot smoothing file (the day Daniel left the hospital); a different new dress, vintage, inexpensive (the first day Daniel was home all day recovering); and, today, a vintage necklace to replace one that broke last week.

Daniel’s winter illnesses have wrought minor havoc on my budget.  This is not a crisis, by any means.  We have health insurance, we can afford our deductible, we will not lose a dime of salary because we both have paid sick leave.  The budgetary havoc I’m experiencing is the kind of havoc that lucky people have — the kind of havoc you have if you can afford to.   So this is not a complaint about my financial situation, merely an observation about how I’m using money to deal with stress.

When I added up the costs of my many (almost daily) “minor” purchases, and recognized that they more than added up to a major purchase, I was all set to be vexed at myself.  For goodness sakes, why am I leaking money like a dripping faucet?!  If I wanted to buy something to make myself feel better, why not buy a perfect dress, rather than these bits and bobs?  Isn’t the cardinal rule of French women: Buy less, buy better?

But my discipline has deserted me.  I want things that make me feel uplifted immediately, and in myriad ways.  I want pretty feet and bouncy hair and a new dress.  I want stuff I can touch and smell.  I take a shower every day — I’ll only wear that nice black dress once a week at most.  I need a new hit, constantly.  And I’ve decided that that’s okay.  It’s okay not to make wise purchases right now.  It’s okay to be felled in the health and beauty aisle of the grocery store — I’m vulnerable because Daniel usually does the grocery shopping, so my appetite is whetted by the novelty of all of it, and they have so many things that promise instant soothing, relief, respite, rejuvenation, and I’d like all of that right now.  I’m very tired, and I’m taking care of a lot of dependents, and I want treats.  So, because I am a grown-up competent woman and I’m doing a great job, I’m getting them for myself.  All the time.

And I think Ines would approve.  Because even more important to joie de vive than buying less and buying better is knowing when to opt for pleasure over practicality, indulgence over rules, flowers over frugality.