First Aid Kit

There’s one in the kitchen and one in the car, with band-aid, ointment, and gauze. But sometimes the hurts aren’t blood or sting. Sometimes it’s a pinch to the ego or a bruise to the feelings, an accidental bite on an old worry, or the lying crush-hug of depression. Then conventional band-aids won’t do. In those cases, I need another kind of first aid kit.

Contents:

* Comfortable clothes.

* Sunshine.

* A few sheets of paper and my favorite kind of pen.

* An inspirational poem.

* A fluffy, clean towel to rub against my face. 

* A small, safe space into which I can first crawl, then press against, then escape.

* A box in which to keep the sadness, frustration, rage, confusion, apathy, and all the other feelings that make up the weft and weave of the heavy cloak of impossibility and self-doubt. 

* A pretty, humane surprise, a demonstration of genuine love between people. A tiny daisy-in-the-fist-of-a-three-year-old of human compassion.

* A play list of music. Some songs can be angry, but not defeatist; there must be a kernel of hope. Some thumpy-asskicking-boots drum lines are helpful now and then. Clever lyrics about anything in the world would not be remiss.

Some bits expire (just like medicinal ointment), so I should check them for efficacy from time to time and make replacements as necessary.

Now, what sort of container will hold all of these things? 

The Clutter

The clutter doesn’t bother me as much as what the clutter represents. Putting away the stuff is an act of handling the ideas: throwing away some, resolving some, making a management plan, moving some to a position of greater comfort or utility (for me), or simply putting things away until I’m more ready to deal with them. 

New Month's Resolutions: February

Last month I suggested an approach to resolutions that slices your time more narrowly than a year. Did you set a ping for February 1st? Did you reset and recommit with the new month? 

My January goals could be broken down into four categories: Write, Move, Knit, Balance. 

I did fairly well in most of those areas. Knitting went well (I finished the Watson Scarf and one Watson House Slipper), but I blew my intention of mending well-loved socks. Moving (as in exercise, baby) got off to a slow start, and some Writing time was taken up by Lingering Crud among the Sonars (we just need Pink Eye and a Broken Arm to get a Common-Childhood-Illness BINGO). I was most successful in my Balance category, primarily through a return to regular knitting (it’s almost like meditation, man). 

This is how I am going to adjust and recommit for February (what’s left of it anyway). 

Write. This should really be Read and Write. Read more, as in A Book A Week (did you hear that echo?). Write more, as in Blog with some regularity (and a more clearly programmed variety) and Plug Away at my Rewrite-in-progress. 

Move. Walk to nearby destinations. Get through a few weeks of an interval running program (I heart Podrunner). Add in some strength exercises of one flavor or another (who wants to do some push ups?). 

Knit. Finish the Shizuku (With Tendrils!) Scarf. Finish and felt my Watson House Slippers. Mend one pair of well-loved socks (they’re worth it!). 

Balance. I will make some quiet space and time to contemplate and reflect, so that I can make intentional choices and give my time and effort in ways that are healthy and satisfying. I need to make sure that my volunteering doesn’t derail the writing goals!

So how about it? Did you meet or exceed a January goal? Fall short? Need to readjust? You have a bonus day this month. What will you do with the rest of your February?

The State of this Union, 2011

A few years ago I mentioned that the U.S. State of the Union Address bears personal significance for Partner and I, marking that time, lo these many years ago, that we started our wanderings together. This week, President Obama’s third State of the Union Address had me counting on my fingers.

Seventeen.

Seventeen years of sharp right turns, overabundant grapefruit, and sleepless nights. 

In no particular order, here is a less-than-scientific accounting with which we might measure our seventeen years:

— 3 states (one of them twice)

— 4 cars (ok, two cars, one truck, and a Eurovan)

— 1 murder trial (neither of us) 

— 8 abodes (five apartments and three houses)

— 7 incisions (I lead by one, but do not hope for advancement on either side)

— 1 parachute jump (no, not me)

— 1 frog (may she rest in the compost pile)

— 4 hand-knit sweaters (three for me, one for him; he’s bigger)

— 1 nose ring (that one’s me)

— A handful of messy breakups (is there any other kind?)

— A bucketload of bagels (boiled, of course; chocolate-chip from time to time)

— 4 high schools (all him; three as teacher, one as oppressor)

— 3 institutions of higher education (four degrees and a certification)

— 3 Sonars (eeny, meeny, and miney)

— A mountain of books (and counting)

— 1 red and blue dye job (still not me)

— The infinite hope that we can put together at least another seventeen years (preferably with 100% less criminal justice system and 100% more intellectual engagement).

Love you, babe. 

New-Month's Resolutions Doesn't Have the Same Ring To It, But...

I know people usually make these resolutions closer to the beginning of the year, but statistically speaking, I’m still in the ballpark of the New Year, right?

We need temporal demarcations like the New Year because they offer us a bright spot in our memories with which to compare one year to another. The year is a good unit of measure for our larger goals and progress through life. We need to pause for self-reflection sometimes, and what better time than when we switch out our calendars for fresh pages and sweep out the detritus of the darkest days of winter and the long holiday season? What better time to resolve to make some changes in our lives than this New Year Marker, so that we can measure it against the years before and after?

A year is such a relative thing though. The year is not so BIG when taken as a slice of the typical life. But in the day-to-day living of that life, the relative BIGness of the year is precisely why most New-Year’s Resolutions fail.

Resolutions come in a lot of flavors. They might mean accomplishing something good, quitting something bad, changing an attitude or emotion. They might be about health, wellness, sanity, safety, creativity, bravery, idealism. They might be personal or communal, public or private, weird or noble. They might be HUGE (like quitting something massive) or small (like flossing every day).

You may have heard some people say that in order for a change or goal (especially the big ones) to succeed, they must be plausible, well-defined, and measurable. You might have heard that gradual changes or baby steps are better for permanent change. You might have heard that for a change to stick you have to repeat it every day for twenty-eight days (or weeks or months). For a resolution to succeed (especially a big one), we have to reign it in from its lofty disconnection from our everyday reality and pin that sucker down. That resolution might feel like a whale, and pinning it down might mean cutting it up into more manageable bites.

A year is BIG, relative to a day. A month is less BIG, relative to a day. A month fits a bit more precisely into the pocket of our memory, doesn’t seem quite so GIGANTIC and permanent. A month offers a demarcation with which we can compare one fourish-week period to another, likes beads on the Year-String. 

So, what if you could take that resolution, that thing however small or HUGE that you’d like to change about your life, and divided it into twelve pieces? Twelve steps along the way. Twelve wayside inns that are specific and measurable and smaller than the lofty resolution floating out there in the clouds. What if you drew a pretty frame around the first of each month on the wall calendar and a note about the Resolution’s benchmarks, or a reminder in your electronic organizer of choice that pings at you on the first day of each month? These smaller bits might be easier to chew through. You can compare how well you’ve done this month to last month. You can reflect on whether you are moving closer to that BIGger thing that you’d like to change. And if in one month you fall short? You recommit the first day of the next month. It’s not so far away. You have a chance to recommit twelve times this year alone.

If the month bite is still too big? Well, you know what to do. Weeks and days sit out there, waiting for you to lay out your hopes to CHANGE and DO and BE whatever it is you want to be. 

So what is your whale? And how are you going to carve it up?