WordSisters

Category: Friends

  • Revising My 10-Point Plan for Happiness (a.k.a. the Lure of Possibility)

    More than 30 years ago, a good friend and I regularly launched what we mockingly called our “10-Point Plan for Happiness.” Our plans always included these steps: Quit going to the bars so much, especially during the week. Stop dating losers. Work out more. No more French fries/potato chips/chocolate or whatever indulgence was tempting us that week. Oh yeah, and save more money. But over the years, I’ve shortened up the list.

    Even as my friend and I made those resolutions, we knew we were likely to backslide.

    But there’s something very appealing about setting goals and having a plan—it helped me feel in control of my life. Setting goals is the means to accomplishing something and the counterpoint to daydreaming, but never doing. If I just follow these simple steps, I can make my life better—who wouldn’t want that?

    Butterfly

    Believing change is possible is ingrained in the American psyche. The lure of possibility is undeniable. If you’re fat and out of shape you can be transformed, especially if you win a chance to be on The Biggest Loser. If you’re clueless about clothes and your personal appearance, Stacy and Clinton can reform you on What Not to Wear. If you’re a philandering politician, you can humble yourself, ask your spouse and voters to forgive you and after some time has passed, you can be re-elected like U.S. representative Mark Sanford (ex-governor of South Carolina).

    I believe real change is possible, but it isn’t fast or easy—it takes a lot more effort than making lists as I did in my 20’s or a going on a whirlwind clothes-buying spree. The people I’ve known who have reinvented themselves worked hard at it for years.

    Sometimes my life feels like it’s one big Continuous Quality Improvement project. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that the changes I need to undertake are refinements, not sweeping transformations. So I try to be a better writer, and I tinker with how to squeeze in more time for projects I enjoy, travel, family, friends, and fun. That focus has made my life richer and more fulfilled.

    I no longer believe that I’m capable of making major improvements to myself . . . or that I even need to. That’s not smug self-satisfaction, but another way of saying I’m learning to accept my flaws. I’ll keep trying to think before I speak. I’ll also try not to offer advice unless asked. However, I know I’m going to backslide sometimes, and even though I’ll fall short on those goals (and others), I’m still basically OK.

    If the goal is happiness, perfection is not required  . . . or even useful. So my current Plan for Happiness has a mere three points:

    1. Be kinder to myself— accept and forgive my shortcomings.
    2. Continue to focus on being healthy (food, exercise, stress management), but don’t fret too much about any of those items.
    3. Continue to spend more time doing what I love, less on what I don’t.

    What works for you?

  • The Gift of Nothing at All

    I am blessed to have a number close women friends. Any one of them can make me feel great about my new haircut, laugh their butts off with me over the stupidest little thing, let me rant about my job/parents/kids/house/you name it, and offer wise advice if I want it or simply listen if I don’t. I trust them with my secrets, and I count on these friends when times are tough. You know who you are, and I love you.

    But I don’t want to buy you presents even though you deserve them—loads of them.

    Why? Gift-giving anxiety. Go ahead—roll your eyes. It’s stupid, I know.

    It starts off innocently enough. I see cute a little tchotchke—maybe it’s a 4-inch tall robot that makes me smile and I think, that would make (name of close friend goes here) laugh. So I buy it to give at Christmas or your birthday. Sometimes I covet a lovely item—maybe a small oval box covered in marbled Florentine paper, but I stop myself because I already have a number of pretty little boxes. But one of my besties would love this too, so I buy it. And that’s how the gift exchange among girlfriends begins.

    Screen Shot 2013-12-09 at 8.09.38 PM

    At first, it’s fun. I’ve received many wonderful, inspired gifts. I love them because you thought to give them and because I enjoy the things themselves. I’ve tried to return the favor. Over the years, I’ve given scented candles, deluxe lotions and soaps, cool earrings, whimsical artwork, Christmas ornaments, good books, pretty scarves, food treats—whatever little luxury I think you’ll enjoy.

    But after several years of gift exchanges, I’ve exhausted my good ideas for small treasures. Gift-giving anxiety creeps in. Didn’t I buy you earrings last time? How many scented candles does a person need? Will this red scarf go with any of your clothes? I want to do something nice for you, but what? Soon I am haunting gift shops and boutiques in search of the perfect cool thing for you. And then the missteps begin. I get a book you’ve already read. Coffee hurts your stomach, so that special coffee and mug—well, maybe you can give it to somebody else.

    If you didn’t matter so much to me, this wouldn’t be so hard.

    Eventually, we are both struggling. Finally, one of us says let’s call off the gift exchange. We are both relieved.

    We agree to go out instead and do what we love most: talk, laugh, advise, comfort. That’s the best gift—time with you.

  • Another way to see the Minnesota State Fair

    2013 MN State Fair
    2013 MN State Fair

    A few weeks ago, Ellen, wrote about her experience of the Minnesota State Fair.

    Jody and I were not loyal fair goers until we had the children. Crystel’s birthday falls on September 4 and the State Fair soon became an activity that we incorporated into her birthday week.  You might expect that a middle-aged person and an 11-year-old girl see the State
    Fair differently.  Because it is part of her birthday celebration, Crystel chooses what we see and the order in which we see it.

    7-years old with his turkey leg.
    7-years old with his turkey leg.

    Over the years not much has changed. Aunt Amie continues to accompany us as she has done every year.

    Since we often enter the fair from the west side the children’s barn is our first stop. Antonio and I skip it, using this time to get our turkey legs – regardless of the hour.

    This year, Crystel stopped in the barn only long enough to snap a picture of a cow for Mama Beth, who grew up on a farm with 50 cows. The kids don’t understand the distinction between growing up on a farm and being born in a barn, so
    they usually tell people the latter about their mother. . . and Jody doesn’t
    correct them.

    Butterfly garden at age 7
    Butterfly garden at age 7

    Even though Aunt Amie is a vegetarian she doesn’t scrunch up her nose at us devouring our humongous turkey legs.

    Taking a right, we walk immediately to the Haunted House. I sometimes think the haunted house is the only reason we come to the fair.

    Crystel has gotten big enough that she can no longer ride on Aunt Amie’s back digging her head into her shoulder blades so she can’t see what she doesn’t want to see. Now she’s progressed to walking next to Aunt Amie, though I can’t tell you what exactly happens inside the haunted house.  I am the keeper of bags, purses, and extra clothes who sits outside contentedly people-watching. What happens inside the haunted house stays inside the haunted house.

    After ugly comes pretty. The butterfly garden is a must after the haunted house. Crystel’s yearly goal is to see how many butterflies’ she can get on her person.

    Butterfly garden at 9-years-old. The hat is to draw more butterflies.
    Butterfly garden at 9-years-old. The hat is to draw more butterflies.

    This is cotton candy time for me and Antonio.

    The Giant Slide is the first time that Aunt Amie and Jody get a breather. I grab a gunny sack and follow the children.

    If our timing is right, there might be a dog show to see after the Giant Slide.

    Nothing is better than your own bag of cotton candy.
    Nothing is better than your own bag of cotton candy.

    By now, we have eaten snow cones, corn dogs, deep fried cheese curds, deep fried battered vegetables, sweet corn, and Sweet Martha’s cookies. Time for the Midway and a couple of rides.

    We have one last item to do before leaving the fair. That is to get Aunt Amie wet on the log chute. It’s not the State Fair if she goes home dry.

    As you see we have not visited one educational building, saw not one piece of fine art, or watched any fair animals being judged. Maybe next year.

    2010 State Fair
    2010 State Fair

    This year, I visited the State Fair like a child.