I recently came dreadfully close to making a Very Bad Decision. There were a couple of weeks of ruminating and whining and imploring about What should I dooooooooo. Where should I doooo it?
All culminating in my spending an entire day in my pajamas eating chocolate and peanut butter. And also pretzels and ice cream. And a slew of other crap. Phew! Crisis averted. Just in the nick of time.
Of course gorging on sugar is kind of a crisis of its own magnitude, but I’ll tolerate that marathon eating spasm in order to gain a little perspective. I’m okay dealing with some minor nausea and frustration if it will keep me from backing my soul into a corner. That trade is plenty fair in my book.
I thought I was confused about this particular decision, but apparently my essential self was effervescently clear. And one of her favorite strategies for making a point is to highjack my attention by embarking on monumental lust for gooey desserts. Clever, that one.
(However, in order to keep me on my toes, she’s equally committed to manic preoccupation with obsessive attempts at achieving The Perfect Body. You know, to balance things out.)
After centuries of struggle, I’m intimate enough with these delightful quirks to know that whatever thing has her all wound up with cookies and compulsion has about zero to do with body stuff.
I used to be all Why?Why?Why? can’t I just eat like a normal person who is effortlessly slender???
Not a useful question. It just kept me from noticing that insistent tap on my shoulder and buzz in my ear. The one saying Ah ah ah, you are heading in the most incredibly wrong direction, Dearie.
Now it might take experiencing the rare junk food frenzy. But if I get very attentive and willing to go deeper than bittersweet chocolate (um, hypothetically speaking), and if I get curious about those impulses instead of critical, my essential self is happy to feed me clues about the state of my spirit.
And she ends up being right an infuriating percentage of the time.
Does your essential self have a favorite way to make you crazy command your attention?
Back from a long production shoot, and the subsequent recovery of getting Very Little Sleep. Which, being my achilles heel, usually leads to much fogginess and maybe a splattering of existential angst.
Anyway. Even though I’m always explaining the unglamorous nature of production assistanting, people still seem to get the wrong idea. So I thought I’d take this little chance to clear things up a bit.
The incomplete list of non-glittery things I’ve done:
- Running to the airport morning, noon and night to scoop up our “Talent.” Being the girl holding the sign that reads “Mr. Person I’m Picking up”? Awkward.
- Driving through a blizzard complete with 60 mph gusting wind to pick up nonfat plain yogurt with which to make a tasty par-freaking-fait for his holiness, the Grand Poobah Director.
(Kidding, Sir. And I know that you know that I whip those treats up with love. Really.)
- And don’t worry, I saved the best for last: Towing the port-a-potties. Plural, yes.
- Wait: Also? Towing those disgusting things through winding mountain roads only for the wind to whip them clear off my truck. And then radioing to the crew: “I just lost the port-a-pots. Again.” You really can’t imagine the teasing that ensues from this testosterone-centric crew.
Does it sound like I’m complaining? Really, there are so many things to love about this gig. So. Much. Fun. It’s just… Feeling dazzlingly sophisticated (or even simply clean) isn’t part of the deal.
Along with waking up well before 4 am (!) and running ragged for 18 hours, there’s also plenty of good stuff. Like:
- Watching the sun rise and set in some breathtakingly lovely locations.
- Hanging out with the producer, one of my all-time favorite people: A cross between the funniest guy you’ve ever met, the coolest boss you’ve ever had, and the dad/brother/husband you always wanted. In a way that sounds way less creepy.
- Bonding with the stylist and coordinator. As the complete female contingent on a crew of 40 — Epic conversations about work and life and love. And men.
- All the other juicy bits I’m not privy to talk about. Stupid confidentiality, grumble, grumble.
Somehow I’ve managed to extricate myself (at least for now, knock-knock-knock) from the incessant maddening loop of check-check-checking.
Either by way of the much-needed decaffeination project, my sailboat construction process, Grace, or some combination of all three, I am happily navigating a more peaceful, detached relationship with all things online.
Thankfully, I’m spending time on Important Things. And making progress.. oh, sweet progress.
But. I have to admit – I really think that until now I was harboring this incredibly naive belief:
If only I can get all of my time-management ducks in a row, and wash away the more heinous of my time-wasting habits, I will end up riding along a magical swell of unlimited time.
I know it sounds lame and trite and all, but it’s true – I ignored the whole 24-hours-in-a-day thing.
Clearing the clutter has only made me more aware that even if I maximize each moment, I still only get so much time each day to do all the things I love. And sleep and eat and breathe.
It has thrown the inevitability of choice into stark relief. Saying yes also means saying no.
If I spend time I this, I don’t get to spend time on that. Gulp.
I thought if I was perfectly efficient and productive and engaged, I wouldn’t have to choose. Because, you know, once I get There, time will be boundless. I can’t believe I thought that either, but it’s true.
When I was wasting time, I believed (and definitely acted accordingly) that I had all the time in the world. Now that I’m milking it, time has transformed into something precious and viscerally finite.
(Note that for me, milking it doesn’t mean work-work-work and isn’t measured in productive output or anything crazy. It absolutely includes time for open space and play and following certain whims.)
Which in a roundabout way, only makes it easier to avoid the most egregious time wasting. Unfair somehow, like you have to stop procrastinating to discover how wonderful it is to not procrastinate.
And it only makes me more grateful for this process of evaluating the activities that fill my day, what I commit to, where I choose to give my time and attention and energy – which ideas, which people.
Do you ever think if you just put all of the puzzle pieces together just right, you’ll be able to do it all?
I ate a chocolate croissant on Sunday. I’ve been wanting one for a month, since seeing “It’s Complicated” on Valentines Day. Watching Meryl Streep & Steve Martin bake and delight in a batch of chocolate croissants in that sweet Santa Barbara bakery planted a seed that was bound to grow.
Not that I’ve been resisting having one, or denying myself the pleasure since then. I just haven’t spent the time or energy to fit the chocolate croissant into my life. Today I happened to be hungry and near one of my favorite bakeries at the same time, and the puzzle pieces fit together just right.
It was deliciously buttery and flakey and about the size of my head. It was actually so chocolatey that I had to scoop out some of the center and leave it aside, knowing it would make me sick to eat it all.
So I savored the treat, and at the same time I was aware of some angsty guilt and foggy thoughts about all of the (refined sugar and flour?! eek!) reasons why I really shouldn’t be eating it.
Sometimes I have to go ahead and do it anyway. In fact, I had a hunch I would feel uncomfortable. And being all judgey about a simple croissant is one of the reasons I chose to indulge.
My eating has been pretty clean lately, and for me there is such a thing as too clean. Because, you know, I can make broccoli an unhealthy decision. Too clean can carve a rut every bit as formidable and controlling as overindulgence can feel reckless and out of control.
My judgmental thoughts and free-floating guilt are leftover from old, painful patterns. They still like to say hello, but they’re transparent and flimsy, they’ve lost their impressive sheen. Which means that they no longer control my next move.
I guess I’m not as impressed because now I believe that I’m allowed to eat a chocolate croissant.
I still wonder why I sometimes need to consciously choose to make myself eat the croissant.
I think it’s about reminding myself that I am allowed. And remembering that although chocolate croissants taste delicious, they are only a slice of the sweetness available in any moment.
Butter and chocolate are yummy. But when you deny yourself something, the buildup is extreme and sensational. And the fantasy represents more than a simple pastry could ever deliver.
I’m also going on location next week for a production shoot. Which means catering and craft services instead of green smoothies and veggie salads. Basically, very little control and plentiful junk.
I used to set up so many conditions to feel safe and empowered around food. And then panic at the idea of having less control over my options. Eating a chocolate croissant now is a way to remind myself that balance is safe, and that taking the middle way is sustainable and nourishing.
Sometimes I have a moment when I remember that there are so many ways to make an certain experience happier. And for whatever reason, I don’t choose to take advantage of those ways.
There are these little, tiny, almost insignificant steps that can bring more ease and joy to an activity. Steps that aren’t difficult or time-consuming. So why I don’t take those steps way more often?
Maybe part of it has to do with just how tiny and insignificant they seem. Like, why bother?
This morning while I made breakfast and chopped vegetables for lunch, I put on music and even, um, twirled around the kitchen a bit. (Bonnie Raitt in case you need the full, embarrassing picture.)
Usually I go about this part of my day quietly which is also perfectly nice. But adding music changes things, changes me, even if just for those few minutes.
Maybe I’m waiting to sing and dance around my kitchen until all of the Big, Important Things are just right. But of course that never happens — there is always something between here and there.
And waiting is so nonsensical, because all of those hoped-for changes are only designed to make me happy. And I can be a little bit happier just by singing “Luck of the Draw” while I make a smoothie.
Maybe when I’m already feeling cheerful, I’m more likely to take these steps. Which comes first?
I guess I don’t really want that to matter. I want to remember to choose the happifying steps either way. Because just acting cheerful is so stunningly effective.
Now I’m wondering how to plant reminders, something that says: Hey, remember how much more fun it is when you take the time to play a song? And maybe creating rituals around the tiny steps.
And I wonder about all the other little tweaks that can bring more light and fun and grace to my day.
All of it has these words of Thich Nhat Hanh swirling in my head:
Sometimes your joy is the source of your smile, but sometimes your smile can be the source of your joy.
Do you ever notice this or forget to do the little things that make you happier? How do you remember?
Last weekend I was waiting in line at Trader Joe’s with my basket full of stuff. An older man lined up behind me, and he was just holding a quart of milk so I offered to let him go ahead.
Right away I felt this surge of cheer and goodwill and community. Oh happy day, isn’t everything wonderful? Which made me think of the concept of paying good deeds forward. But I’m not as interested in whether a small gesture like that will cause him to be more charitable with someone.
I’m wondering how much it encourages me to be more charitable. Because, you know, it feels good.
And before I give you the (wrong) idea that I’m always so gracious — Last week I was waiting in line somewhere else, and a woman lined up behind me, then gestured to her few items and asked if she could cut ahead. And while I let her, I’m not proud to say – I felt some mild irritation that she asked.
And of course my irritation with her was ultimately irritation with myself for being irritated with her. And so obviously stingy. Not to mention irritable.
And now I’m wondering: Is that what made me more generous this time? Remembering how icky it felt to be so miserly last time? And um, how does that relate to the whole pay it forward idea?
Like… She annoyed me by asking me to be charitable, which then encouraged me to be more voluntarily charitable with someone else? Oh bleargh, my brain just scrambled.
Which means: Warning, I’m about to oversimplify things.
And why does being generous provide that surge of cheer? I’m guessing something to do with affecting the way we see ourselves. Which reminds me of something I remember being surprised to learn in college social psychology: People are more inclined to like you if they do nice things for you.
Not, If they like you, then they’ll do nice things for you. Other way around: If they do nice things for you, they’re more inclined to like you. Something to do with justifying our behavior to ourselves.
Counterintuitive, because I’d always assumed (people pleaser!) that the relationship went the other way. That it was my kindness on someone’s behalf that most affected the way they felt about me.
When really those gestures are affecting the way I feel about them even more. And apparently, the way I feel about myself. So back to the pay it forward thing… Who gets more out of it? Definitely me.
I would love to hear your ideas, because I’m obviously just figuring this out making this up as I go.
So yeah, I’m structure-resistant. And it’s not just about that pendulum swing of rigid productivity versus slacker rebellion. I think it also has to do with thinking I shouldn’t need help.
Because I want to be one of those people who is perpetually mindful and productive. And since I think I should already be there, I’m not allowed to ask for directions on how to get there. Not a helpful cycle.
So instead, maybe I can be someone who creates a safety net, like a sailboat, while I am mindful and grounded. Something I can turn to when I’m scrambling around all bijigetty and overwhelmed.
Instead of Structure: The rigid plan required to keep my attention-challenged inner slacker in line, I’m trying to build A structure, like a container. One that can hold space for the things that are important to me. And one that can remind me what those essential things are.
Because even when I’m doing something I’ve decided is important, I pretty much always have some nebulous sense that I should be doing something else. Some whispy guilt hanging around regardless of which action I choose.
Like, I know my day goes so much better when most of my morning is spent doing things that don’t look much like work. Things like journaling and Dance of Shiva and meditating and hiking.
Everything flows so much better from there. Stuff gets done. Things jive happily. Except…
Ozzie. Scary, right?
It doesn’t stop Lizard Brain Ozzie from unleashing a cacophony of frantic shrieking:
What do you think this is, Leisure World? We have a LOT to do. Hiking doesn’t pay the bills or save the world, you know. Sheesh.
(Once he got a load of how hilarious I found the coolest puppet on Earth Kelly’s assistant, Ozzie demanded his online debut. Not to be laughed at… No, no, no. To terrify all of you.)
Anyway, this vague, wispy, annoying sense of guilt is so counterproductive. And so widespread.
I know a guy who wants to spend more time reading. So he lets issues of The New Yorker and Atlantic pile up around his house. And, as a guiltifying reminder, actually carries heavy stacks along on his commute. To encourage himself to spend more time doing something he already wants to do.
There’s got to be a better way.
I think for me, it means stepping back and building my structure from way up high. While I’m centered and thinking clearly and have the perspective to say “this, this is important.”
And when Ozzie freaks out and yells: You shouldn’t be blogging, you should be working! You shouldn’t be hiking, you should be blogging! I can ban him from the bakery offer him a cookie.
And then maybe I can turn to the mindful part of me (the one who built the sailboat/bakery) for directions. Hmmm. Any ideas? Do you ever think you “should” be doing something else, even when you’re doing something that seems perfectly “legitimate”? How do you deal?
Even if you’re prone to seasickness. Or, erm, emphatically structure-resistant like me.
Maybe I should back up, yes?
One of my prevalent life-sized patterns is to swing wildly from one end of a pendulum to another. Back when the main hitch in my giddyup was food and body-related, it looked like this:
Deprive self of favorite treat. White-knuckle it. Watch “helplessly” while grand mal gorge ensues.
And repeat. Ad nauseam. (Oh, and quite literally, add nausea.)
So when I left my corporate career, the one where I tracked my billable time in six minute increments, I abhorred the idea of enforcing a rigid structure to my work schedule.
In some wildly illogical diva moment, I decided I couldn’t be creative on demand. I needed boundless space and freedom to allow inspiration to strike. (Cue laughter. I know, Twyla, I know. I’ve seen the light. I’m getting to that part.)
Plus, I was still carrying some issues with the whole concept of productivity. Because when you’re doing work you don’t enjoy, ramping up your productivity just means doing more of it. Gag.
But then! When you start doing work that jazzes you up with energy and enthusiasm, there is so much you want to do! You wonder if maybe there’s something to this time-management brouhaha.
Because the lack of structure wasn’t really doing it for me. I had a swirling sense of time passing without anything concrete to show for it. Not to mention a swirling task list where Urgent, Trivial, and Important things got all tangled up until I couldn’t tell them apart. Recipe for dissatisfaction.
And that’s where having a sailboat is coming to my rescue. A wha?? A sailboat: A gentle, flexible structure to my day. Actually, Eileen’s time-management plan is a sailboat. My business is a bakery*.
(Cryptic much? Sorry. *Adds to list of eight jillion things to blog about in order to link to in order to blog about other stuff.*)
I’m happily discovering that creating structure is the exact thing that gives me freedom to create. Ah, darling paradox. And it’s not that I always follow the schedule perfectly. At all. But that’s okay.
Because while I’m immersed in some kind of flailing procrastination (check-check-checking perhaps) I know that I’m not doing something else. And, even better, I know what that something else is.
And, this is the important part, I know which activities I deemed essential back when I decided to craft this recipe for productivity in the first place. Ahhh, satisfaction.
Okay, more on this sailing, baking, producing stuff next time. Are you a structure lover or rebel?
I went hiking one morning last week after rain had left the canyon slippery and sludgey with mud. After ten steps, my tennies were caked and heavy and I was sliding and clomping. Um, anti-graceful.
And I had this fleeting thought that it was ridiculous to be hiking. Like I was doing something wrong. Guilt attack. Apparently I was going to somehow break nature or something by walking in the mud.
I’m familiar with this (little) girl in trouble gig. And since I’m playing with the idea that every little thought yanking at my attention isn’t unconditionally true, I wondered what this one was all about.
Because really, Monkey Mind? Break nature?
And what eased the wave of guilt was to play this thought all the way out. What if I had stayed home because of the mud? Then what would I be telling myself?
I’m pretty sure that if I had stayed home, the tune would sound more like:
What a baby. A little mud? Good one. Pathetic excuse for your laziness. Please.
Lovely. So the Guilt Monger will fight either side. And realizing that I can’t dissolve the guilt by choosing to act differently is counterintuitively freeing.
Fine, guilt. If you’re going to hang around either way, might as well do what I want.
So I went on another hike this morning, again after heavy rain. (Dear Divine Meteorologist, I live in Southern California for one very sunny reason. Thank you.)
Anyway, three minutes in, my foot sunk so deep you could hear slurping as I yanked it out of the hole, muddy to my ankle. Gross. And so funny. Funny because, again, not so graceful. But also because I had already out-philosophized some of that guilt.
So I feel guity when I hike in the mud. Dirty shoes and fragile nature. I feel guilty when I use mud as an excuse to skip my hike. And then noticing both dissolves the guilt so that I get to laugh.
Do you ever notice this teeter-tottering? Does it help you ignore the irrational resistance?
I woke up this morning thinking about taking the leap, choosing your own adventure, answering your hero’s call. And that it isn’t supposed to be easy.
People say living from your heart and steering toward your best life feels like paddling downstream.
You get this image of leaning back on your raft with the sunshine on your skin and a serene smile on your face.
Oh, Sweetie. The truth is you can’t even climb into the boat the first few times without tipping it over and soaking yourself in freezing water.
And you forget that paddling downstream still involves paddling. And it requires using different muscles. Muscles you’ve never used before which means tearing down and rebuilding. Upheaval.
Your stream is probably flat in places, and then you have to paddle a lot. And it winds through a canyon where sometimes the walls are so steep, you can’t see anything around the next bend.
Your vision is totally limited to this one single stroke.
Oh, and there are rapids. And eddies and holes full full of fear and doubt and what-ifs. You have to keep paddling. And bail water when your boat fills up. And scout the terrain ahead.
And of course you knew all of this. You chose this route precisely because the landscape is rugged and pristine and freshly carved. Which equates to uncertainty and confusion and many wrong turns.
You don’t choose it because it’s easy. You choose it because you can’t not.
And so you say yes to your hero’s call and you leap into your saga. And you find yourself repeating the mantra of my teacher Martha Beck: This is a lot harder than I expected, and that’s okay.
A lot harder. And all worth it because you’re moving downstream, in the direction of your life. Your life. The one full of serendipity and freedom and growth. And possibly a sprinkle of bliss.
And you feel this incredible relief when you remember that it’s okay for things to be hard. You stop taking the challenge personally. You meet yourself where you are. You say yes to this moment.
Except once you allow it to be hard, then you enter into this twilight space. Where Hard and Easy pull some ridiculously impossible kung fu manuever and dress up in each other’s clothes.
Sure, the old you might think this is all a bit reckless. But the new you knows that there’s nothing harder than drowning in abandoned hopes or suffocating from lack of inspiration and possibility.
This is all exactly the kind of absurdly obvious epiphany I’m always having from Dance of Shiva.
The kind of truth you can read about and you can hear people you admire explain 793 times. But none of it matters until you hit that moment when your jaw drops and you suck in your breath.
OH! I get it.
And you try to explain it, but people just roll their eyes because you can never express the intensity of your new understanding with the corresponding eloquence. And so you just keep saying:
No, really. It’s supposed to be hard. And it’s all so perfect. And isn’t it absolutely glorious?
