I'm the kind of person who needs to know what I want out of life. I need goals, dreams, a direction. I need to know what I want my big picture to be. For a few years in my twenties, I didn't have that. I knew I wanted to be married to my husband and stay close to my family, but other than that, I felt stuck. It was a terrible feeling and I resolved that I would never again allow myself to feel lost. In general, once I have my big picture, I'm good at making big decisions. If they fit in with my goals and dreams, they're a yes. If they don't, they're a no. Sometimes it takes a little while to work out (see 5 Things to Do When Making a Big Decision) but in the end, I'm happy with the result.
I am not, however, good at making little decisions. If I go to a bookstore, I get overwhelmed by all the things I want to read and sometimes leave without buying anything. If someone says, "What kind of takeout do you want for dinner? I'll get whatever you want," I instantly feel paralyzed. (Incidentally, this kind of thing happens a lot, because my husband and my dad both spoil me.) I need my choices narrowed down before I can make a decision.
Though it doesn't happen often, the converse is also true: I can't make a decision if there are too few options. I've been having trouble deciding what to wear recently because, though I can now fit into all my pre-maternity pants (YAY!), most of my shirts are stretched out from wearing them over my pregnant belly last spring. So I end up repeating a lot of outfits, which doesn't matter much to Edwin, but it bothers me.
Unfortunately for me, while choosing a takeout place or an outfit doesn't seem to matter much in the scheme of things, spending time on the little decisions does have a cost. If I spend ten minutes a day thinking about what to wear, that's ten minutes that I'm not thinking about the topic for my next blog post. I could start writing a post in my head that will be recorded online forever, and works toward my overall goal of being a professional writer, but instead I'm worrying about which pair of shoes to wear. It is rumored that Albert Einstein wore the same thing every day. If it meant he had more headspace to devote to E=mc2, I think that was the right choice.
So what's the solution? I need to find the right number of choices for things I do on a daily basis, and a system for making less typical choices. In terms of meals, 2-3 possible things to eat makes me feel like I have variety but doesn't take long to think about. In terms of exercise, I do most workouts on certain days of the week, with some variations for weather, so that doesn't take much headspace either. In terms of clothing, I guess I need to buy more shirts.
For less typical choices, the strategy gets trickier. Do I limit myself right off the bat? My sister and I used to use a system for choosing a movie to watch. One of us would pick 4 or 5, and the other would narrow it down to the final choice. That worked well for a group decision. When it's just me, I can try to pick a category and narrow it down from there. That used to work on regular library trips: Choosing Books.
What kinds of decisions are you best at? Are you spending the right amount of time on the little decisions, or are you letting them take over your time to think, dream and plan toward what you really want out of life?
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Love Another Mother
In writing a Mother's Day post, the simplest thing I could do is remind everyone to value their own mothers or take time to be grateful for their children. I could have written a nice little story about things my mother taught me and applied it to my own first experience of being a mother, and that would be that. Simple, honest, loving.
Instead, I'd like to point to something that I think needs some societal attention: mother-to-mother negativity.
We modern women are very hard on ourselves. We expect ourselves to have full careers, beautiful homes, strong marriages, and perfect children. At no point in women's history have we been more successful, but at no point have we faced more of a challenge to "do it all." Because of this, women often take their own feelings of inadequacy out on each other. In a recent high-profile example, editor of "Real Simple" Kristin van Ogtrop trashed Facebook COO Sheryl Sandberg's book Lean In, despite the fact that Sheryl and "Real Simple" are both about empowering women, albeit in different ways. Women commit this crime on a daily basis. We gossip and criticize. We pass judgement on others without knowing the full story. I am just as guilty of this as other women. It's in our natures, or at least our collective nurtures.
I say: let's fight it. Let's fight the urge to go negative on other women, and particularly on other mothers. Everyone thinks they know the one best way to raise children, even though we should be aware that each parent-child combination contains a completely unique set of personalities, problems and outside support. If you believe strongly in breast-feeding, that's wonderful, but it does not give you the right to tell a bottle-feeder that she's depriving herself and her child. If you used the "cry it out" method to get your children to sleep, don't pass judgement on the mother who feels she needs to sleep next to her child. For some children, for some parents, that's the only thing that works. If you go back to work after three months, and your co-worker takes an extended maternity leave, neither of you is a better mother or better worker than the other. You're each making the decision that is best for you and your family.
Let's say you're out in a restaurant and a child is screaming at the next table. It's disagreeable. You might want to say to your dining companion, "Why doesn't she take her kid out of here?" Instead, look at the mother and smile. This might be the only chance she had to catch up with a friend. Maybe she had a babysitter, but it fell through. She's not getting the opportunity to enjoy a lunch that might be an unusual treat for her. She's probably feeling stressed and embarrassed at her child's behavior. Instead of judging her, support her. (And try to distract the screaming child, if you can!)
Give your mother, grandmother and godmother plenty of love and appreciation today, but don't forget to extend some positivity to other mothers, be they friends, co-workers or strangers in a restaurant. We all have our own stories, our own difficulties. We all work hard to be the best we can be for our children, spouses, parents and employers. Let's not have to work to impress each other, too.
Instead, I'd like to point to something that I think needs some societal attention: mother-to-mother negativity.
We modern women are very hard on ourselves. We expect ourselves to have full careers, beautiful homes, strong marriages, and perfect children. At no point in women's history have we been more successful, but at no point have we faced more of a challenge to "do it all." Because of this, women often take their own feelings of inadequacy out on each other. In a recent high-profile example, editor of "Real Simple" Kristin van Ogtrop trashed Facebook COO Sheryl Sandberg's book Lean In, despite the fact that Sheryl and "Real Simple" are both about empowering women, albeit in different ways. Women commit this crime on a daily basis. We gossip and criticize. We pass judgement on others without knowing the full story. I am just as guilty of this as other women. It's in our natures, or at least our collective nurtures.
I say: let's fight it. Let's fight the urge to go negative on other women, and particularly on other mothers. Everyone thinks they know the one best way to raise children, even though we should be aware that each parent-child combination contains a completely unique set of personalities, problems and outside support. If you believe strongly in breast-feeding, that's wonderful, but it does not give you the right to tell a bottle-feeder that she's depriving herself and her child. If you used the "cry it out" method to get your children to sleep, don't pass judgement on the mother who feels she needs to sleep next to her child. For some children, for some parents, that's the only thing that works. If you go back to work after three months, and your co-worker takes an extended maternity leave, neither of you is a better mother or better worker than the other. You're each making the decision that is best for you and your family.
Let's say you're out in a restaurant and a child is screaming at the next table. It's disagreeable. You might want to say to your dining companion, "Why doesn't she take her kid out of here?" Instead, look at the mother and smile. This might be the only chance she had to catch up with a friend. Maybe she had a babysitter, but it fell through. She's not getting the opportunity to enjoy a lunch that might be an unusual treat for her. She's probably feeling stressed and embarrassed at her child's behavior. Instead of judging her, support her. (And try to distract the screaming child, if you can!)
Give your mother, grandmother and godmother plenty of love and appreciation today, but don't forget to extend some positivity to other mothers, be they friends, co-workers or strangers in a restaurant. We all have our own stories, our own difficulties. We all work hard to be the best we can be for our children, spouses, parents and employers. Let's not have to work to impress each other, too.
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
Games and Dreams
Sometimes it takes a long time to get my son to sleep. I walk him around the room, rocking him in my arms, humming or shushing until his eyelids droop. This can get kind of boring after awhile, so I play little games with myself. I name all the Presidents of the United States in order, or all fifty states (it's harder than you think). I think of all the authors or composers I know whose names begin with a particular letter, or I make up stories about the rest of a character's life after a novel ends.
My favorite game was suggested to me by my sister a few weeks ago. She told me the story of a man who would write down 25 things that happened each day that he was grateful for/happy about. Then he would put the list under his pillow and fall asleep thinking of those things. This is a wonderful exercise! I don't write them down, but just naming the 25 things in my head as I walk back and forth seems to make my spirits lift, my heart rate slow down, and my son feel lighter in my arms. Even when I've had a bad day, I can still find 25 things to be grateful or happy about. They don't have to be big things. Items on my lists recently have included green on the trees, listening to bird calls, my son's funny expressions, and my husband giving me a back rub. It only takes a few minutes, but it seems to help me process every day in a positive way.
I also have to use games like this to help ME get to sleep sometimes. If it was easy to get Edwin down, I might play the 25 Things game as I'm attempting to drift off. I also like to think about my dream house. I have two: a big sprawling ranch in Colorado, and a small cottage on the coast of Maine. I imagine what each room would look like and what kind of lifestyle I'd have there. (Colorado: hiking, riding horses, a gourmet kitchen, lots of fireplaces, and an outdoor hot tub; Maine: biking to town for groceries, spending the day writing on a screened porch smelling the salty air, a big lovable dog at my feet, and my husband cooking dinner every night on a butcher block island.) If I really can't sleep, I pull out the big dream: what I'd wear to the premiere of the incredibly successful movie adapted from my novel. (That's what dreams are for, right?)
What do you think about during the parts of your day when your mind can wander? What do you dream about before you go to sleep?
My favorite game was suggested to me by my sister a few weeks ago. She told me the story of a man who would write down 25 things that happened each day that he was grateful for/happy about. Then he would put the list under his pillow and fall asleep thinking of those things. This is a wonderful exercise! I don't write them down, but just naming the 25 things in my head as I walk back and forth seems to make my spirits lift, my heart rate slow down, and my son feel lighter in my arms. Even when I've had a bad day, I can still find 25 things to be grateful or happy about. They don't have to be big things. Items on my lists recently have included green on the trees, listening to bird calls, my son's funny expressions, and my husband giving me a back rub. It only takes a few minutes, but it seems to help me process every day in a positive way.
I also have to use games like this to help ME get to sleep sometimes. If it was easy to get Edwin down, I might play the 25 Things game as I'm attempting to drift off. I also like to think about my dream house. I have two: a big sprawling ranch in Colorado, and a small cottage on the coast of Maine. I imagine what each room would look like and what kind of lifestyle I'd have there. (Colorado: hiking, riding horses, a gourmet kitchen, lots of fireplaces, and an outdoor hot tub; Maine: biking to town for groceries, spending the day writing on a screened porch smelling the salty air, a big lovable dog at my feet, and my husband cooking dinner every night on a butcher block island.) If I really can't sleep, I pull out the big dream: what I'd wear to the premiere of the incredibly successful movie adapted from my novel. (That's what dreams are for, right?)
What do you think about during the parts of your day when your mind can wander? What do you dream about before you go to sleep?
Sunday, May 5, 2013
Writing My Fears (Why I Didn't Want Children)
This past December, I wrote a post called Reading Your Fears. I've reached the next level: writing my fears.
I'm struggling a little with the current draft of my novel. The novel is written from four perspectives: two younger women named Rachel and Hannah, one younger man named Billy, and an older woman named Greta. I'm happy with the four characters and how their stories compliment each other. Now that I'm getting down into the nitty-gritty, though, I'm focusing on making each of their voices (the way they think and talk in the context of the story) feel unique. Rachel and Hannah are easy, because I feel I know them so well, and they are, for the most part, extensions of myself (Rachel is more like my teenage self, and Hannah more like my adult self). Billy isn't too difficult either, though it's always a challenge for a female author to write a male voice. The character I'm really struggling with is Greta, the older woman. For long time, I couldn't figure out why. I just knew that writing in her voice felt uncomfortable, like an actor performing a character completely foreign to himself, or a musician playing a secondary instrument.
Well, I've finally figured it out, and it only took a conversation with my friend a few days ago, a scary incident involving my son cutting his toe, and letting my mind wander during yesterday morning's workout. In the middle of my balance-ball squats, I had an epiphany:
I'm uncomfortable writing Greta because she embodies my greatest fear.
When the novel opens, Greta is a deeply unhappy person. Her only son died a few years previously (this isn't too much of a spoiler; I won't tell you how old he was or how he died.) She loved her son as deeply as any mother can, and now that he's gone, she has nothing to live for. She's distanced herself from her husband and co-workers. She has no comfort, and most importantly, no hope for the future. She's merely existing day-to-day.
That is my greatest fear.
A few years ago, I went through a period of time when I didn't want to have children. It wasn't that I wasn't ready, or didn't think my husband and I could handle it, I just didn't want them. I even saw a therapist about it, because I didn't understand what my issue was; when I was younger, I always thought I would have children. One night, I had a major break-through while watching a news special about children with terminal illnesses making jewelry to raise money for other sick children. I started to cry, and it was at that moment that I recognized why I didn't want children: I was afraid. I was afraid that my children would become ill, like I was. I saw what my cancer did to my parents; I didn't want that happening to me. I didn't think I could bear the pain of loving a child so much and watching him be seriously ill or even die.
After awhile, I realized that I didn't want to hold myself back from a wonderful, life-changing experience just because I was afraid of what might happen. My husband often assured me that if something terrible did happen, we would be able to handle it together, and that helped a lot. About six months later, I decided I was ready to take the leap, and Edwin was born the year after that.
But losing Edwin is still my greatest fear, and that's why Greta is so hard to write.
Strangely enough, now that I've realized my problem with Greta, I think it's going to be much easier to write her. The author Jodi Picoult has said in interviews that she writes about the things she fears as sort of a talisman against them happening to her in real life. Maybe writing Greta will be sort of a therapy for me. Maybe knowing she's inside me will be my talisman against my greatest fear.
Maybe the act of writing this post released my fear to the world.
How can you release your greatest fear?
I'm struggling a little with the current draft of my novel. The novel is written from four perspectives: two younger women named Rachel and Hannah, one younger man named Billy, and an older woman named Greta. I'm happy with the four characters and how their stories compliment each other. Now that I'm getting down into the nitty-gritty, though, I'm focusing on making each of their voices (the way they think and talk in the context of the story) feel unique. Rachel and Hannah are easy, because I feel I know them so well, and they are, for the most part, extensions of myself (Rachel is more like my teenage self, and Hannah more like my adult self). Billy isn't too difficult either, though it's always a challenge for a female author to write a male voice. The character I'm really struggling with is Greta, the older woman. For long time, I couldn't figure out why. I just knew that writing in her voice felt uncomfortable, like an actor performing a character completely foreign to himself, or a musician playing a secondary instrument.
Well, I've finally figured it out, and it only took a conversation with my friend a few days ago, a scary incident involving my son cutting his toe, and letting my mind wander during yesterday morning's workout. In the middle of my balance-ball squats, I had an epiphany:
I'm uncomfortable writing Greta because she embodies my greatest fear.
When the novel opens, Greta is a deeply unhappy person. Her only son died a few years previously (this isn't too much of a spoiler; I won't tell you how old he was or how he died.) She loved her son as deeply as any mother can, and now that he's gone, she has nothing to live for. She's distanced herself from her husband and co-workers. She has no comfort, and most importantly, no hope for the future. She's merely existing day-to-day.
That is my greatest fear.
A few years ago, I went through a period of time when I didn't want to have children. It wasn't that I wasn't ready, or didn't think my husband and I could handle it, I just didn't want them. I even saw a therapist about it, because I didn't understand what my issue was; when I was younger, I always thought I would have children. One night, I had a major break-through while watching a news special about children with terminal illnesses making jewelry to raise money for other sick children. I started to cry, and it was at that moment that I recognized why I didn't want children: I was afraid. I was afraid that my children would become ill, like I was. I saw what my cancer did to my parents; I didn't want that happening to me. I didn't think I could bear the pain of loving a child so much and watching him be seriously ill or even die.
After awhile, I realized that I didn't want to hold myself back from a wonderful, life-changing experience just because I was afraid of what might happen. My husband often assured me that if something terrible did happen, we would be able to handle it together, and that helped a lot. About six months later, I decided I was ready to take the leap, and Edwin was born the year after that.
But losing Edwin is still my greatest fear, and that's why Greta is so hard to write.
Strangely enough, now that I've realized my problem with Greta, I think it's going to be much easier to write her. The author Jodi Picoult has said in interviews that she writes about the things she fears as sort of a talisman against them happening to her in real life. Maybe writing Greta will be sort of a therapy for me. Maybe knowing she's inside me will be my talisman against my greatest fear.
Maybe the act of writing this post released my fear to the world.
How can you release your greatest fear?
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
Appreciating the Magnolia Tree
Last week, Laura Vanderkam wrote a post about savoring the bloom of the magnolia tree. The value of the magnolia tree is not only in its beauty, but in the brevity of its bloom. If we let other things sidetrack us, if we let the short window of its pink-flowered life pass by, we won't get another chance (at least not this year).
This weekend, my husband and Edwin and I went to visit the blooming magnolia at my in-laws' house. It was in full flower, a gorgeous shade of pink. My mother-in-law ended up getting some fantastic pictures of us with Edwin beneath the tree. Hopefully, we can be there same time next year, to take more pictures and compare Edwin's growth.
Enjoying the magnolia during its brief window of bloom made me think about savoring the stages of Edwin's development. Right now, he's going through a bit of stranger anxiety. If he hasn't seen a face for a little while, that face better not get too close, because Edwin will crumple and start to wail. When that happens, his arms fly out to wrap around my neck and he burrows his tearful face into my shoulder.
I'm probably supposed to be bothered by this stage, or at least feel sorry for the person Edwin cries over. But I'm not. (Okay, I do feel bad when it's a close family member.) I'm loving the fact that my son is securely attached to me, that I'm the one who can make him feel better, just by being there and holding him. I'm loving that his arms fly around my neck and his face nestles into my shoulder. I'm loving the role of boo-boo kisser and protector from strange people. I don't have to be a veteran mother to know that life is short and this time goes all too quickly. Before I know it, he'll be toddling off on his own. Then will come the day when he wants to be left alone to play. And finally, the heartbreaking moment when he asks me to not drop him off right in front of school and please, mommy, don't kiss me goodbye.
My son's window of needing me might be longer than a magnolia's bloom, but it's even more precious, and I'm going to keep appreciating it until the last flower drops.
This weekend, my husband and Edwin and I went to visit the blooming magnolia at my in-laws' house. It was in full flower, a gorgeous shade of pink. My mother-in-law ended up getting some fantastic pictures of us with Edwin beneath the tree. Hopefully, we can be there same time next year, to take more pictures and compare Edwin's growth.
Enjoying the magnolia during its brief window of bloom made me think about savoring the stages of Edwin's development. Right now, he's going through a bit of stranger anxiety. If he hasn't seen a face for a little while, that face better not get too close, because Edwin will crumple and start to wail. When that happens, his arms fly out to wrap around my neck and he burrows his tearful face into my shoulder.
I'm probably supposed to be bothered by this stage, or at least feel sorry for the person Edwin cries over. But I'm not. (Okay, I do feel bad when it's a close family member.) I'm loving the fact that my son is securely attached to me, that I'm the one who can make him feel better, just by being there and holding him. I'm loving that his arms fly around my neck and his face nestles into my shoulder. I'm loving the role of boo-boo kisser and protector from strange people. I don't have to be a veteran mother to know that life is short and this time goes all too quickly. Before I know it, he'll be toddling off on his own. Then will come the day when he wants to be left alone to play. And finally, the heartbreaking moment when he asks me to not drop him off right in front of school and please, mommy, don't kiss me goodbye.
My son's window of needing me might be longer than a magnolia's bloom, but it's even more precious, and I'm going to keep appreciating it until the last flower drops.
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
I'm From Here
When I went off to college, I chose a school six hours north of home. I thought my hometown was kind of boring, and I wanted a change. I loved my family, but I needed to separate from them. I swore I wasn't going to move back home after I graduated.
Ten years after I left college, I'm still living in my hometown. I moved back home for two reasons: one, I got a job in my old school district (which just happens to be one of the best in the state for music), and two, my boyfriend (now husband) whom I met at that college six hours north of home, happened to be "from here" too. In fact, we'd been at the same music festivals in high school, but hadn't met. It just seemed natural that we'd settle here; after all, both of our families were here, and we found it easier to get jobs here too. (To our credit, neither of us lived at our parents' houses for very long. I moved out after six months. You're welcome, Mom and Dad!)
Now that we've been settled here for a decade (wow, that sounds even longer than "ten years"), I'm happy we're here. I've learned to appreciate the beauty of the Hudson Valley. I don't associate the area with my childhood and teenage memories, because I've made memories here as an adult. Most importantly, I love being near both sides of our family. I appreciate having much of my husband's extended family in the area too, since all of my aunts, uncles and cousins have always lived scattered around the country. One of my husband's cousins became one of my very best friends (hi Jen!).
Sometimes, though, I wonder what would have happened if I (or we) hadn't come back home. Would I have stayed close to my own family? Would I have made strong relationships with my husband's family? What would that have meant for Edwin? Now he sees all of his grandparents at least once a week. How would their relationships with him have been different if we weren't living so close?
I also wonder how different my social life would be, especially where it overlaps with work. I admit that I've never made much of an effort to form a social circle at work. Other than a group of music teachers I'm friends with, I pretty much keep to myself. I like to keep my social life separate from my work life; it's one of my coping mechanisms for compartmentalizing the stresses of my job. Even though there are plenty of wonderful people at work with whom I am compatible, I've never felt motivated to make more friends because I'm pretty happy with the level of socializing I already do outside of work. Would this be different if I hadn't moved back to my hometown? Would my social life have revolved around work instead of family? Would I have wanted to take such an extended maternity leave, or would I have felt too isolated from my social family?
Everyone has had the opportunity, at some point or another, to either leave or stay. Which did you choose, and why? What do you think would have been different if you'd gone the other way?
In other news, I'm finally getting paid to write! One of my proposals was accepted on Elance. Writing career (or side career) here I come!
Ten years after I left college, I'm still living in my hometown. I moved back home for two reasons: one, I got a job in my old school district (which just happens to be one of the best in the state for music), and two, my boyfriend (now husband) whom I met at that college six hours north of home, happened to be "from here" too. In fact, we'd been at the same music festivals in high school, but hadn't met. It just seemed natural that we'd settle here; after all, both of our families were here, and we found it easier to get jobs here too. (To our credit, neither of us lived at our parents' houses for very long. I moved out after six months. You're welcome, Mom and Dad!)
Now that we've been settled here for a decade (wow, that sounds even longer than "ten years"), I'm happy we're here. I've learned to appreciate the beauty of the Hudson Valley. I don't associate the area with my childhood and teenage memories, because I've made memories here as an adult. Most importantly, I love being near both sides of our family. I appreciate having much of my husband's extended family in the area too, since all of my aunts, uncles and cousins have always lived scattered around the country. One of my husband's cousins became one of my very best friends (hi Jen!).
Sometimes, though, I wonder what would have happened if I (or we) hadn't come back home. Would I have stayed close to my own family? Would I have made strong relationships with my husband's family? What would that have meant for Edwin? Now he sees all of his grandparents at least once a week. How would their relationships with him have been different if we weren't living so close?
I also wonder how different my social life would be, especially where it overlaps with work. I admit that I've never made much of an effort to form a social circle at work. Other than a group of music teachers I'm friends with, I pretty much keep to myself. I like to keep my social life separate from my work life; it's one of my coping mechanisms for compartmentalizing the stresses of my job. Even though there are plenty of wonderful people at work with whom I am compatible, I've never felt motivated to make more friends because I'm pretty happy with the level of socializing I already do outside of work. Would this be different if I hadn't moved back to my hometown? Would my social life have revolved around work instead of family? Would I have wanted to take such an extended maternity leave, or would I have felt too isolated from my social family?
Everyone has had the opportunity, at some point or another, to either leave or stay. Which did you choose, and why? What do you think would have been different if you'd gone the other way?
In other news, I'm finally getting paid to write! One of my proposals was accepted on Elance. Writing career (or side career) here I come!
Sunday, April 21, 2013
Re-kindling the Mommy Flame
I'm going to make a confession: I've been feeling a little burned-out, motherhood-wise, for the last few days. Edwin has been particularly difficult, fussing and crying more frequently and being unpredictable about everything from his nap lengths to how much he'll eat for dinner. It's been harder for me to do things around the house, let alone for myself, because he's been so much needier than usual. Yesterday he had two total meltdowns while we were out shopping with my sister, something he's never done in public before. (There's something about dressing rooms that he doesn't like.)
I love being a mother and I love Edwin, but I can't help but look back on our pre-baby time with a touch of nostalgia. I suppose that's only natural. Here, for my own re-kindling and your enjoyment, are some things I miss about being childless, along with some corresponding compensations for having a child.
What I miss: The freedom of being able to go out whenever I wanted, stay out as long as I wanted, and not have to bring fifty pounds of necessary stuff with me (not counting the baby).
My compensation: Having cute, often smiley company for walks and shopping trips.
What I miss: That moment when you wake up on your own and realize that you can go back to sleep for a couple of hours.
My compensation: Snuggling with my son and having him reach for me at night.
What I miss: Being able to pick up and go to our favorite vacation place for a spontaneous weekend getaway and not worry about how we can afford it.
My compensation: Experiencing our favorite places in new ways as we introduce them to Edwin; having vacations become more precious because they are more rare.
What I miss: Not having to plan my day around nap times and lunchtimes.
My compensation: Learning a new skill set that allows me to get things done in small, unpredictable windows of time.
What I miss: Doing laundry once a week or less.
My compensation: Getting that satisfied feeling of completeness when the laundry is done. (Okay, that one's a stretch.)
What I miss: Having to answer only to myself; not being needed so often and so much.
My compensation: The feeling of being the most important person in the world to my little boy.
My verdict? Of course, the compensations outweigh what I miss. I love my son and I'd never want to be free of him. But I do need to make some time to be on my own. I know I'll value it highly and it will leave me feeling refreshed. In the meantime, here's hoping that Edwin's "fussy time" will end soon, and that a new nap/sleep schedule will emerge from the chaos.
Saturday, April 20, 2013
Knowing Your Characters, Knowing Yourself
Sometimes I find it interesting to apply writing advice to real life. Here's a meaningful one:
Get to know your characters before you write. The story will write itself because the characters will tell you what they want to do.
Isn't that a great metaphor for real life? If you get to know yourself well, your life will be easier. You'll be more comfortable making choices and feeling good about the outcomes, because you'll know they're the right choices for you. You'll have confidence in your path because you'll know what your dreams and ambitions are. You'll have stronger relationships with others because you'll present a clear picture of yourself. Even if and when life hands you difficult situations, you'll know how to handle them in your own way.
This advice has worked for me, both as a writer and in real life. My stories always flow much better when I know my characters; they really do tell me what they want to do. And my life got much better once I understood my own personality, strengths and weaknesses, and dreams. It took most of my twenties to get to that point, but I feel good about myself now and I know where I want to go in life.
Spend some quality time with yourself today, and see what you learn!
Get to know your characters before you write. The story will write itself because the characters will tell you what they want to do.
Isn't that a great metaphor for real life? If you get to know yourself well, your life will be easier. You'll be more comfortable making choices and feeling good about the outcomes, because you'll know they're the right choices for you. You'll have confidence in your path because you'll know what your dreams and ambitions are. You'll have stronger relationships with others because you'll present a clear picture of yourself. Even if and when life hands you difficult situations, you'll know how to handle them in your own way.
This advice has worked for me, both as a writer and in real life. My stories always flow much better when I know my characters; they really do tell me what they want to do. And my life got much better once I understood my own personality, strengths and weaknesses, and dreams. It took most of my twenties to get to that point, but I feel good about myself now and I know where I want to go in life.
Spend some quality time with yourself today, and see what you learn!
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