155 Days

I will be thirty-nine years old for another 155 days. Then I will be forty. I’ve never worried too much about my age. At least not since lack of it in my youth felt like some sort of deterrent. And I’m not so much worried about forty either, but it sounds different than the other ages so far. Like a shift. Something deep in the ground. Something seismic but subtle on the surface. And 155 is a nice number. Not really round or aesthetically shaped, but far enough in front of the superstar 150 days to give me time to play. You know, on the off-chance that there’s anything I’d like to accomplish before I turn forty. So what could I do in that five months? A list of potentialities coalesces in my fore-brain. To be sure, this is not a midlife crisis yet. Ask me again at 100 days. 

Thao says, “Rest and Be Strong / Wash and Be Clean / Start a New Year / Whenever You Need,” and you know I’m a fan of Reset. 

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?

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? 

One Stitch

I see injustice and suffering in the world and I want us to pull together and fix ALL THE THINGS. Some might think it’s foolish to continue to believe that we can do this. Some people might be overwhelmed by the bigness of the problems. But there are shining lights of hope all around us. Sparks that show how good we can be to each other. Knitters have awesome insight into the value of small actions. By doing one small thing (one loop, one stitch) over and over and over, eventually big things (blankets, sweaters, love, warmth, compassion) emerge.

The Yarn Harlot’s Knitters Without Borders is one of my favorite sparks (Knitters have super powers). There are other examples all around us. Please share your favorite sparks in the comments. The local high school here had a mixer between high-performing students and low-performing students as a way to break down those barriers and positively influence one another. An Islamic Cultural Center opened in New York this week with a portrait display that celebrates diversity and our shared humanity. People make beautiful things and help each other all the time.

What will be your one stitch, your one loop today?

Dreambox: a Visit to Tinkertown

“I did this while you were watching television.” —Ross Ward, creator of Tinkertown.

A room added on to another room. And another. And another. Until I lose count of how many rooms (the website says 22) and porches and connections make up this ramshackle mountain home. Some rooms have walls of wood. Some are composites of concrete and empty glass bottles — the open ends left pointing out so we can tuck messages and wishes inside as we pass by. Some floors are also concrete. Some are hard-packed dirt. Old license plates have been hammered down to cover gaps or jagged bits where two seams of the floor don’t line up quite right. Every room is filled with something. Collections of oddball Americana or dolls or a dry-docked boat. Here and there are mechanical contraptions that move and sing when you drop in a quarter.

The most impressive collection is made up of hundreds of hand-carved and painted wooden figurines, all made by the same man over forty-odd years. A whole town and a circus, filled with characters. Like a Mordillo soccer scene made into little wooden people. I could look all day and still not see every individual carving in the scenes. I make do by trying to see everything that moves when I press a button. The jump-roping girl, the flying Mary Poppins, the hammering blacksmith, the slowly opening coffin lid.

The people visiting this quirky place are mixed. A businessman, middle-class tourists from Texas and Japan, a handful of Mennonites, among many others. We all find the place strange. It’s dusty. Piled in a garage, we might call it junk. Laid out with love on the counters and in boxes and every nook and cranny, it’s not so much a museum as it is the fertile imagination of one man. Imagination given a form that continues on in his memory.