Who’s In Charge

Although I’m not one to embrace the idea of “resolutions” for the New Year, I do like to spend some time pondering come January first. I think about what worked over the past year, and what didn’t. I wonder what I might do differently in the coming months to make me feel happier, healthier, more productive, more patient, more compassionate. Are there new habits I could embrace? Is a change in daily routine in order?

As I’ve been re-reading bits and pieces of Life in General, I’m so aware of constant themes that run through my life and appear in my writing practice. I spend a lot of energy bemoaning the passage of time, and feeling as if I’ve not been productive or accomplished enough because of it. How can I address that problem in 2015? I wonder.

The answer lies in another subject that comes up often: I expend inordinate amounts of time and energy trying to control things that really aren’t mine to control. Most of that time and energy is in service to worrying. “Why do you worry about things you can’t control?” my husband said to me the other day when I was (once again) obsessively wringing my hands about something. “Make a plan, stick to it, and stop worrying about it. Your worrying will not change the situation.”

Oh so easy to say for one who lives by the voice of reason and logic. (Note: But also one whose personalized license plate on his 2014 Dodge Charger reads “In Chrg”).

 I think all my worrying and attempts to control life and it’s variety of situations circles back to the It’s Only Me syndrome. Whether it’s because my family is so small, or so scattered, or just because I was raised as the bright, shining center of everyone’s attention, I often feel very alone in the world, a feeling that lends itself to a pathological need to manage the outcome of everybody’s life. Not only to do it, but to fret and worry about it, too. After all, if I don’t do it, who will?

Who else can help Mom get her grocery shopping done, make sure she’s eating, take care of her doctor’s appointments and medications? And if Mom falls and ends up in assisted living, whose fault will it be? Somehow or other, it will feel like mine. Because It’s Only Me.

Who else can make sure the dog with the finicky appetite eats his meal in a timely fashion so the dog with the voracious appetite won’t steal it? And if the finicky dog gets an upset stomach and the voracious dog gets too fat to waddle up the stairs, whose fault will it be? Mine. It’s Only Me, after all.

Who else can coordinate paying all the bills on time, scheduling the online payments so they’re withdrawn at the appropriate times during the month, depositing the checks that come in, getting cash from the ATM for lunch money and groceries? And if a check bounces, we get a late fee on the mortgage, our credit rating plummets, and we don’t have any money for lunch, whose fault will it be? 

Only Mine.

Obviously, the need to control every little thing arises from fear. Fear of something bad happening if I don’t stay on top of the situations. Fear of screwing up. 

But I also think it arises from some deeper sense of inadequacy, a need to prove to myself that I’m capable, that I can take care of things, that I’m In Control.

This year I hope to relinquish some of my need to control every aspect of life.  I picture it like letting some of the air leak out of a balloon - not all of it at once so my life doesn’t completely deflate with an embarrassing gasp. But judiciously, so that the balloon isn’t rock hard with inner pressure, stretched so tightly its skin threatens to burst with a loud pop. Just so it feels a little more comfortable and squishy in there.

Early on in the year I also like to choose a word or words that embody positive things I hope to manifest within my life. Seems like this year might be a good time for words like “relax” or “calm,” reminders to ease up and trust that life will unfold without all of my complex machinations.  

Because after all, who’s really in charge of the “laid back” and “chilled out” departments in my life?

That would be Me. 

Fast Away

“Fast away the old year passes, hail the new ye lads and lasses."

Though we often sing Deck the Halls as a Christmas carol, there is that fourth verse which hails the coming of a new year. And fast away the old years seem to go, especially the older I get.

In terms of Life In General, I have to classify 2014 as a Very Good Year -especially if I compare it with some of the Not So Very Good years we’ve experienced in the past decade. (2009, I’m thinking of you...) People who’ve finished Life In General have remarked about the posts written during that year. “Things were kind of grim there in the middle of the book,” one friend said.

“But then it got better!” I reminded her.

Thank goodness things usually get better.

Yesterday, in one of those strange synchronous events, I received an email from a friend that included a link to a NYT piece about Alice Herz-Sommer, the oldest Holocaust survivor who died in 2014 at the age of 100. Sommer was a pianist, and she credits her love of music with saving her- literally and emotionally - from the atrocities she lived through at Terezin. This was the camp where all the “intellectual” Jews were sent. Because she was a musician, she was allowed to live as long as she could play music and be trotted out as an “example” for foreign visitors. But it was her deep love of playing that kept her alive in spirit. “As long as there is music, than life is beautiful,” she said. “How can it be otherwise?"

Last night we were surfing through Netflix, trying to find something to watch, when we came across as short documentary film entitled The Lady in Number 6. Yes, it was about Alice Herz-Sommer, filmed in 2013. She was 109 years old, living in a small apartment in London. The film opens with her, frail and birdlike, shuffling over to her piano and sitting down to play the Bach Two-Part Invention in F Major, something I’ve been playing myself since I was 12 years old. 

“I play every day, starting at 10:00 in the morning, so my neighbors know every morning what time it is!" she said with a grin. “It’s always a beautiful day when you can play music. It’s the music, it is so wonderful."

Though she lost her husband in the Holocaust, and her only son died suddenly when he was 64 years old, there is not a trace of bitterness or discontent. “I don’t hate anyone,” she says. “Because of what happened to me, I learned that life is precious and not to be taken for granted. That is a wonderful thing to know."

I sat teary eyed through much of that film. I needed to see that, after the past month when I’ve been tired and then sick and generally feeling whiny and sorry for myself. Sometimes things come our way for a reason, sometimes the stories of other peoples lives can illuminate so much about our own.

This morning at 10:00 I went to the piano and played the F Major Two-Part Invention. These short study pieces are quite perfect in the way the two melodies intertwine, weaving in and out from one hand to the next.  I recalled all the times I’ve played it before - in my piano teachers basement, in the music room at high school, on stages for judges and competitions. I wondered where I might play it in the future - if someday I too will live alone in a tiny apartment and walk slowly to my piano bench each morning, my hands crooked with arthritis, but still able to find the keys.

How lucky I am, to have the gift of music, the gift of reading and writing, the gift of family and friends who honor it in me. These are the gifts I carry with me from year to year, through all the old years of my life, and hopefully into many more new ones.

May you find and honor your gifts today. 

And may you hail the New Year with joy.

Definition of Success

One of the defining factors in my ability to get Life In General finished and published was an online course I took during the summer, and I have to credit my friend Deb Smouse with pointing me in the direction of this class. The Conscious Booksmith, created by Christine Mason Miller, was a unique blend of practical exercise and inspiration, a tapestry of videos, worksheets, art projects, and interviews. 

One of the early lessons talked about defining success, and we were encouraged to think about what we would consider success for our particular book project. For some of us that might be a publication deal with a major house, a spot on the best seller list, and a bidding war over movie rights. For others, simply holding a bound copy of their book would be enough.

The takeaway from this lesson was pivotal for me. I fell between these two extremes, knowing from the beginning that I would be self-publishing and having no grandiose expectations for commercial success. I really did just want to hold a bound copy of this book in my hand. But I also wanted to offer it to my friends and family as a gift, a way of saying “Here is something I made, and it carries my heart inside it.”

I watched that lesson video several times, and it felt good to have that part of the equation settled. It seemed to give me the necessary impetus to continue moving forward, now that I had a clear idea what I wanted to gain from the project.

 By my own standards, then, Life In General has been a far bigger “success” than I imagined. Where I had only intended to give away 25 or 30 copies, thinking I might sell a dozen or so more, I have already gifted the books I intended and sold almost 100 copies besides. The books are traveling throughout my neighborhood (a neighbor bought 10 yesterday to give as gifts to other neighbors) and the world (the first copy sold on Amazon was shipped to Australia). 

I realize this is a minuscule achievement in today’s world, where everything seems to be big and loud and in your face. But for me, it feels like the fulfillment of a huge dream.

Defining my own terms for success with this project leads me to believe in the value of a similar exercise for life in general. It doesn’t mean you shouldn’t Dream Big - it just means I think you’ll be happier if you Dream Real. We are all destined for greatness, but in varying degrees. Maybe you’ll be the founder of a major philanthropic organization. Maybe you’ll pass out blankets and sandwiches to homeless people in your city. Maybe you’ll discover a cure for cancer. Maybe you’ll take your dog to visit hospice patients. 

All of these are worthy achievements. Depending on the way you define success for yourself, they could each be considered greatness.

We are continually bombarded with the world’s idea of success. From the time we start preschool, our parents and teachers have us on a fast track to college. All through college, we’re urged to narrow our focus, hone in on what type of job we want to have, start networking, researching companies that pay the most, have the best benefits. As we start thinking about a New Year ahead, perhaps we should step back and think about what success would mean to us personally - not what the world thinks it should be, but what deep in our heart of hearts would make us feel as if we’d done what we set out to do in life and in our relationships. The lesson on success in the Conscious Booksmith allowed me to do just that - to realize that my expectations were valid, that even though they weren’t grandiose, they were just fine they way they were. 

If we begin to measure ourselves with our own personal yardsticks, I have a feeling we’re all a lot more successful than we ever imagined. 

Lasting Connections

One of the first online connections I made in my writing journey was with writer and teacher Andi Cumbo Floyd. I think we first “met” through Write On Wendesday, which was a weekly writing blog I hosted. Andi’s writing was obviously of professional quality, and I was so honored that she shared her thoughts and her work in my little gathering space of wanna-be writers.

In the half-dozen years since, Andi has continued to inspire me as writer and as a person. She has followed every one of her dreams and made them come true. She left the academic life and started her own business; she wrote and published a beautiful book; she is living on a farm and creating an artists retreat space there. Oh, lest I forget, in the midst of all this, she found the man of her dreams and got married!

I’ve been sitting back watching all this sort of like a proud mother. I am continually amazed by all the things she has made happen in her life. So I couldn’t be more honored to be featured on her Writers Write Interview Series this morning. 

I hope you’ll check out my interview. While you’re there, meander around Andi’s blog. She’s a great connection to have.

Another One Done

My husband and I don’t always see things from the same vantage point, but this morning we were in total agreement: neither one of us could remember a Christmas when we had less holiday spirit than we did this year.

“What do you suppose was the reason?” I wondered, as we prepared to take the dogs for their morning walk.

“I think it’s because we didn’t do anything to get into the spirit,” he answered. “I would have liked to go to Greenfield Village, wander through the Village, have hot chocolate, or sit by a fireplace in one of the old houses. Or maybe drive around and look at Christmas lights somewhere. We didn’t even get to have our annual shopping day."

I think he’s on to something. Although there were plenty of pre-holiday festivities, none of them were of the kind that get us into the winter holiday frame of mind. That kind of laid-back, warm and cozy feeling you get from being relaxed, enjoying the sights and sounds of the season at your own pace. We did everything separately, too - his choir, my groups, all performing in different places and times. 

Of course it didn’t help that my schedule was far busier than it should have been, and that once all my commitments were over I promptly fell sick with an upper respiratory infection, bad enough that my poor mother wouldn’t even come near me for fear of catching it (a fear I completely understand, because respiratory infections are pretty scary when you’re a frail 88 year old.) But it meant we spent Christmas in our separate houses, even though one of the reasons we don’t travel is so she won’t be alone for the holiday. 

So not much Christmas sprit here today. In fact, at the risk of sounding like a complete Scrooge, I’m glad it’s over. I want my television shows back  - The Good Wife! Nashville! Parenthood! I want some free days again - no more concerts or long rehearsals. I want the traffic to die down. I want to be able to get into a store without a battering ram.

I want everything to go back to normal. 

I know. Scrooge. Grinch. All of the above.

I wish I were a Christmas person. I wish I were a holiday person. But holidays are hard for me. I feel pressured to be happy, to create some picturesque vision, to meet expectations, when really I just want to be left alone. And then I feel guilty because that’s what I really want. I always come out feeling less in some way. Less social. Less crafty. Less worthy. Less happy.

This year seemed worse than most in all those departments.

What was missing was a sense of connection with the season, the kind you get from rituals and practices you enjoy and find meaningful. I think Jim was right - we didn’t do some of the things we’ve done in the past, some of the quiet activities we enjoy as a couple that mark the holiday as special. We were so busy running around that we lost our connection with each other. (Well, mostly I was so busy.) And since we haven’t been attending church, we didn’t have those kinds of rituals to inspire the holiday feeling either.

So some lessons learned, some food for thought for Christmas 2015. Since it’s basically only the two of us for the Christmas season, it’s up to us to make it special by leaving time to be together, for creating and enjoying our own simple holiday traditions rather than tearing off in a dozen different directions all month. 

But for now, I’m glad it’s done. I’m ready to move on, clear the decks, and get 2015 underway. I’m excited to see what the new year will bring.

Merry Christmas to all.

And to all, A Good Night.