I started taking yoga classes in college, and I was immediately impressed by the dramatic effect focused attention on the breath had on my body as a whole. Before the poses themselves came to mean much to me, the breath and awareness of it really hit home.

The summer after I began my yoga classes, my family went to an amusement park, and I eagerly rode the roller coasters. Usually I’d throw my arms in the air, squeeze my eyes shut and scream like crazy the whole ride–that was how the adrenaline of the ride moved me. But that summer, I decided I was going to try something different: I was going to keep my eyes open and focus on my breath, just to see what a roller coaster would be like if I was totally aware of every moment of it the whole way through.

Where awareness & the coaster met

So I’m in the seat, and the coaster is making its slow click-click-click trek to the top of the hill. I can feel my pulse quickening and my breath becoming more shallow as we reach the crest of the hill, and I think, “There is no way I’m going to pull off not squeezing my eyes shut and screaming.” Click-click-click…the coaster reached the pinnacle and paused just slightly at the very top, the one brief moment of stillness before hurtling down the steep first hill.

And in that one moment, I did something that made all the difference: I opened my eyes, relaxed my arms and I exhaled deeply.

The coaster tipped forward, and as we careened down the hill, I didn’t squeeze my eyes shut or scream or throw my hands in the air. I breathed, and just took it all in–the speed of the coaster, the metal track twisting around me, the people screaming behind me, the wind blasting my face as we raced forward. It was so vivid, so exhilarating, so incredible. It was unlike any coaster ride I’d been on before, and I was hooked. Riding the other way would never again be enough.

On exiting the ride, I remember running to my family and exclaiming to them how radical this was, and how they just had to try this new technique. They laughed at me babbling about this whole “breathe and stay totally aware” thing–and to their credit, I probably did sound like a babbling fool. But I’ve never ridden a coaster or thrill-ride since then without using that technique: at the crest of the hill, in that most adrenaline-filled pause right before the ride tips forward, open my eyes, relax my arms and exhale.

I swear, it takes the ride to a whole other level.

I’ve been doing business with my eyes shut & screaming wildly

I recently realized that I live a huge portion of my life in fear. Fear of ridicule. Fear of rejection. Fear of failure. Fear of being mocked. Fear of being wrong. Fear of disappointing someone.

The basis for a huge number of decisions I make? Fear. The reason I stopped posting just when my traffic hit its peak? Fear. The underlying voice that tells me any expansion I make in my business will be wrong? Fear.

Entrepreneurial life is a roller coaster. I’ve been riding it and experiencing the adrenaline rushes, but I’ve also been screaming at the top of my lungs, eyes squeezed shut, hands in the air, aware of only the surface of what’s happening. It’s a bold decision to become an entrepreneur, just like it’s a bold decision to sit down in a metal cart that’s about to hurl you up and down and around a few tons of metal at life-or-death speeds. But I realize I’ve been missing a huge part of the ride, because I’ve let the fear grip me so tightly.

But I want more than that. I want to be aware of every twist the ride takes, of every hill and swooping track around me, of the sounds of my fellow coaster-riders. I want to experience that hyper-vivid, mind-blastingly exhilarating ride.

I want to open my eyes, relax my arms and exhale.

What will the new ride look and feel like?

Hell if I know. I’ve never operated from a place of eyes-open-and-exhale. I always operate from a place of fear. So I don’t know exactly what the entrepreneurial ride will feel like when I open my eyes and exhale deeply at the crest of the hill.

But I can extrapolate from my experience on the coaster.

First, instead of fear, it’s exhilaration. The wave of emotion is just as intense–perhaps even moreso. You don’t lose anything in intensity. The adrenaline still courses through your veins and your palms still sweat. But the experience of that energy isn’t eye-squeezing, scream-rattling fear. Instead, it’s is what I imagine a good drug trip might* feel like: just hyper-real, hyper-vivid, over-the-top magnificent, blissed out, high on wow.

* I say “might” because other than a few brushes with anesthesia or doctor-prescribed post-injury pain medications, drug trips are purely conjectural for me.

Second, while you’re still traveling at breakneck speed, you actually notice every single moment, as if it were happening more slowly. You’re still fully aware that the wind is whipping past you and you’re hurtling through space, but the sensation is more akin to flying than to being pulled along. You’re so present in the moment that you really feel each second and notice how it’s different than the second before, so even while experiencing the speed, you’re fully in the now.

Third, you realize you’re okay. Your body’s coursing with adrenaline, your heart’s racing, you have to consciously remind yourself to breathe… but you realize you’re okay. Even with the thrill of what’s happening, you’re solidly and completely okay. More than okay–you’re great. You’re better than you were when you were standing solidly on the ground.

Fourth, you can do it again. Once that ride is over, you’re ready for the next one in a different way than you were for the first one. Desire replaces fear, confidence creeps in around the edges of uncertainty, and you’re already looking forward to the next crest when that moment of decision presents itself: scream and shut your eyes or exhale and open them wide. You want the chance to make the latter choice all over again.

Click-click-click…

Ideas are percolating and changes are coming, for me personally as well as professionally. Changes always feel like the crests of those hills to me, and I tend to close my eyes and scream. I really want to apply my yogi-cum-coaster-rider experience to this next round of changes. Will I be wholly successful? Probably not. Like any habit, changing from eyes-squeezed-and-screaming to eyes open and exhaling will be a challenge, and will likely entail a few slips backwards with each round of progress.

But I’m going to try. And in an act of Eyes Open and Exhaling, I’m writing about it here for the world (or the few hundred subscribers, at least) to see.

Click-click-click… to the crest we go. I take a deep breath in and…

And what?

I don’t know yet. But I think I’m ready to find out.

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• Giving myself permission

Gwen Bell has a fantastic “Best of ’09” project happening. Its hub is at her blog, but over 650 bloggers and Twitterers are participating, so it’s definitely far-reaching.

I’ve wanted to participate since its first day (December 1st), but, true to form, I kept putting off my blog-writing. And here we are at December 19th. I’m determined to do all 31 days of this Best Of look-back at 2009, so it’s high time I get started.

Hence why this entry shall be called Ketchup Part I… December 1st through 9th.

December 1: Trip

My best trip of 2009 was my venture out west to Taos, New Mexico. It was remarkable for a number of reasons, one of which is that it marked my first solo excursion of more than just a few hours by car. The destination itself was amazing–I fell in love with the New Mexico landscape and can’t wait to return. But the personal triumph of making the trip, combined with the introspection and soul searching I did while on the journey, put this trip at the #1 spot. (The fact that I made the journey to and did the introspection at a fantabulous location is icing on the cake!)

December 2: Restaurant Moment

Confession: I’m not sure my Best Restaurant Moment actually occurred in 2009. But I remember it as being 2009, so I’m counting it. The entire family–including Grandma–was at CoCo China Buffet. Mums and I were helping Grandma by getting her samplings of various foods from the buffet and bringing them back to her. She was ready for dessert, so I got a variety of desserts for her, including an almond cookie. When I came back, she looked over the array of goodies happily until she saw the cookie. She exclaimed, “An almond cookie?! Why’d you get me an almond cookie? I could get one of those at the store, Rissa.”

I realize this doesn’t translate to how funny it was at the time–it was the way she said it, and her utter indignation at an almond cookie being included with all of the other “fancy” desserts. It was so very Grandma. A hearty laugh at the time, and enduring fond memory now.

December 3: Article

Gwen (yep, same Gwen who created the #best09 challenge) wrote the “How to create your personal manifesto” article. It was not the first time my online path had crossed with Gwen’s, but after reading and re-reading the Manifesto article, it was the first time I started pouring over her archives and developing a serious golly-you’re-awesome admiration. I’ve returned to that article over and over and over again. It inspires and challenges me, but also makes me feel really happy and strong. In other words, it’s good stuff.

December 4: Book

A best-of for yesterday, today, and tomorrow: Fly High (a Little Golden Book). Boils down all sorts of life philosophies into just a few lines and illustrations. The best life rules are the ones that can fit into a children’s storybook and not seem out of place, you know?

December 5: Night Out

Before Alex moved to Virginia, Mums, Daddio, Chaz and I converged at his condo in Bloomington. We didn’t do anything particularly fancy–we had dinner and we hung out. We laughed a lot. We slept on air mattresses and recliners in the barely-furnished condo, the vast majority of the furniture having already been moved out to Virginia. And it was the last time that we all hung out together in that condo, in Bloomington. I was in my happiest environment: surrounded by my family (except for Jilayne who was already in Virginia). I wish we had more nights like that, but I treasure the ones I get!

December 6: Workshop or conference

In July, I attended Jennifer Louden’s Writer’s Retreat in Taos, New Mexico (same trip I mentioned for “Best Trip,” above). I got to meet Jennifer and Havi Brooks, both of whom I’d been working with for some time, and neither of whom I’d gotten to actually meet (or hug!) until that point. In addition to meeting them, I got to meet several other talented, fascinating women, and I got to explore the idea of me as a Writer. It took most of the week to stop thinking of myself as “Assistant to the ladies running the retreat” and start thinking of myself as a participant… hazards of the job, I suppose (my own framing of the event, not their treatment of it or me!). But even that was instructive, and illuminated certain patterns in my life. But it was, for the container and the people and the place and what it meant for me, the most meaningful workshop I attended all year.

December 7: Blog find of the year

Gwen again! This goes hand-in-hand with December 3rd’s answer to “Best Article.” Finding Gwen’s blog was very much a “How did I not know this was out here?!” moment. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed it ever since.

December 8: Moment of peace

One of the reasons I’m a devotee of Jennifer Hofmann‘s Office Spa Day is the peace of mind that follows each Spa Day session. In just a couple of hours, I can shift from having a piled, messy desk to having a clear, usable desk space… and shift from anxious and fretful to calm and centered. Those Moments of Peace are little oases in my month, and keep me coming back for more, month after month.

December 9: Challenge

I went from fully-booked to strapped for cash in a period of, oh, about 3 weeks. It was a messy series of happenstance and it scared me. A lot. I wistfully longed for the “security” of a desk job in some big corporatey building (cue laughter from all of the folks who experienced the “security” of those jobs in recent years). I struggled to find good, affordable health insurance, and missed the built-in benefits of those corporatey jobs. I pulled down some incredibly long hours and worked through some incredibly stressful client situations.

In other words, I owned and managed and was the sole employee of my own business for the entire calendar year of 2009. Talk about a challenge.

But anytime I needed a gut check, I (or someone else) would inquire, “Are you happier now? Would you go back to the corporatey world if you could?” And my answers were always “Yes” and “Hell no,” respectively.

The challenge, in this instance, was also the reward. I was a business owner. No safety net, no second income from a roommate or partner, no day job to rescue me if I got scared. It was the most challenging experience of my life. It taught me how resourceful I am, how persistent I can be, how strong I really am, how much support I’ve got from unexpected sources, how resilient I am, and how much I want this. It taught me that challenges come from the stuff I do right, in addition to the mistakes I make. It taught me that I can do this.

I can do this.

That’s the first time I’ve said that out loud: I can do this.

No related posts.

Dear Grandma,

You got comfy in your recliner yesterday afternoon. Snuggled up with your blanket, in that soft pink and white striped top you loved, with a kleenex or two tucked up in your sleeve. “I’m just really, really tired,” you said as you reclined in your favorite chair.

And just a few minutes after falling asleep, you were gone.

Ever since your sister Toodo passed away in her sleep, you’ve said you hoped you’d be as lucky, to just fall asleep and sleep away. You didn’t want to struggle or linger, you said.

You always knew how to get your way. I’m glad you did this time, too.

I saw you for what would be the last time on Saturday. You were in that same recliner, and you teased Mums, Dad and me about “loafing the day away.” And then you laughed, and said that you did “nothin’ but loaf every day,” and then we all laughed.

On my way out of the room, I leaned over your recliner and kissed you on the cheek and gave you a hug. “I love you, Rissa,” you said. “I love you too,” I said. “I’ll see you later.” And just as I was leaving–just a minute after you’d teased us about loafing all day–you said, “Now don’t work too hard!” and we laughed again.

It was our usual farewell routine. It was light and happy and loving.

I’m really, really glad that was how we parted that last time. But I’m really, really sad we won’t do that again.

I could say something about this…

Grandma, you were never at a loss for words. I think that’s where I get it.

Our weekly family get-togethers were never complete until we had a couple of great Grandma quotes to add to our memory banks. Whether you were just getting started (“I could say something about this… and I will.”), keeping your son-in-laws in line (“There’s a million ways to kill your son-in-law, but you really only need one.”), or demonstrating your modesty (“I’m the only one around here who’s got any sense!”), you were witty to the end.

You loved to chat with your grandkids, even though you insisted you didn’t understand half of what we talked about “because of all of that computer business.” And you got the giggles about silly things–when I went to Taos, New Mexico, you kept giggling because you thought the word “Taos” was inexplicably funny. And you loved to ask me about “that Twitter stuff,” but you got the giggles every time I said that someone “Tweeted” to you or called someone a “Tweep.”

The fact that you knew Twitter and Tweeted and Tweep… well, just goes to show you did better keeping up with “all of that computer business” than you gave yourself credit for.

The Foam of Knowledge

You proudly declared that the reason I was smart was because I got the Foam of Knowledge that overflowed from you.

I completely agree.

From the first day you said that, that was our joke. You’d tell me I was smart. I’d tell you it was because of the Foam of Knowledge. You’d tell me I better not forget that. And we’d laugh.

You always asked me about my work, even though you said you didn’t really understand what the heck I was doing now. But you were proud of me. And you believed in me so completely… even when I didn’t believe I could do it, you did.

“You’ve got the smarts for it, kid,” you said. “If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

One day, out of the blue, you called me to tell me how proud you were of me. How much it meant to you that I visited you and chatted with you and “liked spending time with an old lady.” And I told you I never thought of you as an “old lady,” and you just said, “Oh, Rissa,” and giggled. We talked for only a few minutes that day, but it was one of the best phone calls of my life.

Oh, Grandma. I miss you so much.

Gratitude & Memorials

In the past 24 hours, I’ve received an outpouring of support on Twitter, on Facebook, and in my email inbox. It means the world to me that so many of you are taking time out of your day to let me know you’re thinking of me and my family. Thank you..

A few folks have asked what they can do. Grandma had requested that when she died, people remember her through donations to our local animal shelter. If it feels right to you do so, you can make a memorial donation to the Bluffton Animal Shelter, 1613 West Cherry Street, Bluffton, IN 46714, in memory of Larraine Humbracht.

Other things you can do that I know Grandma would love:

• Eat a piece of really good chocolate.
• Laugh.
• Play Pinochle with friends and family, and insist it’s your partners’ fault if your team loses.
• Reminisce about your childhood, emphasizing the funny stuff.
• Hug someone you love. Just because.
• Giggle over something silly. And then giggle because you’re giggling.
• Have a piece of cake. For breakfast.
• Call someone out of the blue and remind them that you love them.

Larraine Humbracht
1924 – 2009

Goodbye, Grandma. My heart is full with all the love you shared with me, the memories, and laughs… and it aches that you’re gone.

By the way, I’m proud of you too.

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Jen Hofmann’s Office Spa Day is always an adventure and a welcome break from my routine, not just because I get to interact with Jen and several other really fantastic folks, but because my beloved office area gets some much-needed care and attention.

I rave to friends and family about how much I get done each time I participate in Spa Day — today I took photos. As the Before photos demonstrate, my office was pleading for Spa Day compassion and rescue!

Just for reference: this transformation happened in just about 80 minutes!

Here’s my Coffee Table, which sits near my desks

My Computer Desk:

My Computer Desk Area:

My Writers Desk:

Sure, I could work on my office space outside of Spa Day. But truth is? I don’t. There is something about the way that Jen structures Office Spa Day that makes it… well, more than a decluttering session. She makes it a gentle and compassionate, humorous and accepting, journey through your space, your stuff, and yourself. I don’t get that on my own. Hence why I’m an Office Spa Day Addict!

I cannot encourage you enough to check out Jen’s website: Inspired Home Office. She’s got a blog where she offers up incredibly useful and relatable posts, and she’s got several products & services, all of which I recommend highly and without reservation.

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My brother Chaz had a rollerblading accident on Friday, and wound up with two badly broken wrists. He’s had surgery on his right wrist (and is the proud owner of a metal plate and some pins and some wires in that arm now, sure to set off metal detectors wherever he roams), and the left wrist will be put in a cast sometime in the next couple of weeks. He’s currently recovering at home and is in really good spirits.

We’ve received a plethora of well-wishes from folks far and near, many via Twitter and Facebook. I can’t tell you how much we all appreciate the kind words and support (and the many wishes for fast healing!). Suffice to say… big, big THANKS to everyone for sending your thoughts and good energies.

If the text in the images seems blurry, just click on the image to see a higher-resolution version of the image, which will open in a new window or tab.

The fellow referring to cocoa and coffee (above) is speaking about something else entirely, though I’m sure Chaz would think references to cocoa and coffee were pretty swell too.

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there lived a woman named Marissa who did some internet stuff and some assistant stuff and a whole lot of websurfing and blog-reading stuff.

One day, in and amongst her usual websurf locations, she happened upon a blog called The Fluent Self.

And it wasn’t what she expected, even though she didn’t expect anything, really, because she’d never heard of it before right then.

But it was goofy. And it was real. And it talked about wacky yoga brain training alongside ducks as business partners alongside nonviolent communication alongside why you don’t actually have to conquer your fears.

And Marissa was hooked.

This shining oasis of wacky, wonderful, totally-get-it-ness was created by a woman named Havi. Who has a duck named Selma. A small, rubber duck, with her own personality and fanbase.

Marissa couldn’t get to the “Compose Email” button fast enough. And once she hit that button, she professed to Havi that she was a “googly-eyed fangurl” for her writing. And her duck. And, just, her.

And Havi wrote back and said the email was awesome, and that someone should really hire Marissa to write emails and send out that awesomeness to the universe.

And Marissa thought, “Golly, that would be really cool.”

Golly, this is really cool.

Then one day, Marissa opened an email from this fabulous woman named Havi and the email asked Marissa what she thought about possibly working together. Working with Havi. And Selma.

And Marissa closed her email, then reopened it, just to make sure the email was still there. That it was real.

Because what Havi couldn’t possibly have known–nor Selma either, for that matter–was that Marissa had a list of “People I Dream of Working With” taped next to her computer desk. And at the top of that list was the name, “Havi (and Selma the duck).”

With a speed and certainty that only a certain joy and happy-dancing-squeeing-enthusiasm can inspire, Marissa wrote back to Havi to tell her that she welcomed this opportunity to work with her with open arms.

Gifts from the Birthday Girl

In the relatively brief time that this woman named Marissa has worked with this woman named Havi and Havi’s irrepressible duck named Selma, Marissa has learned a great deal from Havi, and from the folks Marissa gets to chat with while working with Havi. There have been laughs. There has been an understanding and empathetic ear for business queries and concerns. There has been a helping hand and totally wise but totally real-person, down-to-earth advice for personal queries and concerns.

There have been doors opened to this woman named Marissa that Marissa would perhaps never have even passed by, had it not been for her opportunity to work with this woman named Havi (and that unmistakeable duck named Selma).

It’s Hallmark-level cheesy, but it is also a fact… that one email from Havi to Marissa changed Marissa’s life in a very bright and wonderful way.

Gift to the Birthday Girl

On this very day in this very land there is much celebration, for it is Havi’s birthday.

And Marissa wanted very much to find a gift for Havi that expressed how much she appreciates her– appreciates her writing, appreciates her spirit, appreciates her humor and her duck business partner, appreciates the unfathomably awesome circle of folks that hang out with her, appreciates her help and her friendship and her mentorship and her advice on everything from blogging to TV-less-ness to why Mount Hood is probably just a figment of everyone’s imagination.

But no gift seemed to adequately bundle all of that up.

So Marissa sat down at her trusty keyboard and just decided to write about how much she values Havi. Values her as a blogger, as a writer, as a friend, as a business mentor, as a personal supporter, as an inspiration. And as someone who thought it was completely normal that Marissa’s dogs happened to be her business’s vice-presidents.

And after Marissa wrote all of this, she wrapped it carefully in giftwrap made of gratitude, tied a really pretty bow around it in the form of a big hug, and sent it out to Havi via that great communication-carrier we know as the Internetednessdom.

And the little tag on that imaginary box read simply, “Dear Havi, Thank you. May your birthday be happy, and may your year bring you threefold the blessings you’ve given to me.“

~~~The End~~~

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I wanted to have my theme words set for ’09 prior to ’09 actually arriving, but that didn’t happen. But I did get ‘em solidified by Day 2 of ’09, so that’s still doing just fine, I think.

Theme Words for 2009…(drumroll, please!)

They are Abundance + Heart.

I want to focus on seeing, finding, and sharing abundance in all facets of my world. And I am going to very consciously tune in to my Heart Center, and allow myself the time and space to speak from it, relate from it, own what I find within it, and respond to people and situations with it as my compass.

I’ve seen magic occurring since I’ve started doing that. Not always magic that immediately comes in the form of comfort or “easiness,” but magic all the same. And I want to make more of that magic. Seek it, create it, and share it like crazy. (And we’re back to abundance!!)

The Runners-Up

I’d played around with Growth, Expansion, and similar words, but I realized that my urge to use words like that came from a place of scarcity–I must grow my business or else I won’t have enough money / find enough clients / etc. So I decided to choose Abundance, and explore the ways in which trusting in the plentifulness and leading with the heart center would offer up the business goals I seek when I think of “Growth” but without tying it to my longer-held notions of growth vs. lacking.

I’m flippin’ the script, as the youngin’s say.

Mini resolutions / intentions for me in ’09

1. Continue using my semi-made up words freely, as people seem to enjoy them, “get” them, and don’t at all judge me for them the way I used to imagine they would. Plus, semi-made-up words bring me disproportionate amounts of joy, and embodies a lot of the “Be Marissa” and “Playfulness” traits I’m intending to honor as well. Examples: epiphanettes, googly-eyed-fangurlism, technogremlins, Can-Do-Ology.
2. Allow the TV to take a conscious place in my life, and allow myself conscious enjoyment of it.

   

   Photo McGee & Abbs of NCIS (c) CBS

   I’m moving it (today, actually) from my main living room into the room currently labeled “Den.” And one of my favorite old desks from “Den” will come out to take the TV’s place, along with my iTower so I can fill my living space with music, rather than constant television. Constant tv actually overstimulates me. Makes it hard for me to go to sleep at bedtime. Makes me feel restless. Makes me actually feel more isolated, in an odd way. I will allow myself to watch the shows I truly loooove and look forward to (Psych! CSI! NCIS! House!), but I’ll have to intentionally go to the other room to do so, and I won’t be tempted to be computering / dishwashering / etc. at the same time. This leads to…

3. Focused multi-tasking. I’m not going to fool myself into believing that I’ll be unitasking anytime soon. (Blasphemy! See also: Nigh impossible!) But I’m going to be aware of the multi’s that I task, rather than using them by default. E.g., the TV is here, so I’ll have it on while I work, even though it makes me restless, overstimulated, and I actually miss a lot of the great programs I want to see. Instead, I’ll have music on while I work, or the blinds open to the common area out back while I work, or enjoy a steaming hot cup of cocoa while I watch the newest NCIS, or comb Rosco’s perpetually shedding but super soft coat while I catch up on Frasier reruns.
4. Grok the clocks. I resonate strongly with the idea of natural time, or slow time, or internal time, etc. And I fight that, because I’m “supposed to” have a schedule. I’m “supposed to” do things at certain times. Ah, the “supposed to” nonsense. The reality is that I internally have ebbs and flows and peaks and valleys and huger times and wakeful times and totally unproductive times, and they don’t really give a whip about what the numbers on a clock have to say about it. So instead of trying so hard to force Me into conforming with The Clocks, I’m allowing myself space to let The Clocks be a part of Me. With reminders in place for appointments and meetings and such, of course, because I want to be accepting and natural, not late and disrespectful. LOL
   

   (Relate to this? Check out School of the Seasons by the amazingly insightful Waverly Fitzgerald, and consider buying her book Slow Time–which is awesome.)

5. Grazie Mornings. Begin each day by sitting up and immediately saying the first 5 things that come to my mind for which I’m thankful for… before even setting foot on the floor or removing the covers. Make gratitude the absolute first conscious act of my day, every day, for a year. Doesn’t that sound like magic in the making all by itself?

What are your intentions, hopes, goals, wishes, or thoughts for 2009?

No related posts.

Jacqueline Thomas, one of the bloggers at Carrie & Danielle, wrote a post inquiring what you’d say to your 10-year old self, if you were magically able to visit him or her.

My favorite piece of advice that Jacqueline offered to her 10-year old safe was “Don’t Waste Energy Being Nervous.” She’s so right when she notes that:

Most people are caught up in the dramatic story of their own lives, and don’t have the time to waste worrying about me. Nervousness only comes when you focus on the wrong thing. Instead of focusing on how you feel, focus on what you give.

In my imaginary journey back to talk to my 10-year old self, I realize she had a lot of really great lessons that were easy to remember in childhood, far less easy to remember as an adult. Here’s the advice about which my 10-year old self reminded me:

At age 7, dressing "punk" like my aunt who lived in New York City

1. Work and play every day. Don’t set yourself up to work endlessly “until you’ve made it” or until the world says it’s okay to play. They go hand-in-hand, like recess in the school day. You know how tired some adults look when they forget to play? Don’t let yourself get tired like they have. Play.
2. Every single moment is packed with potential. Don’t stop waking up with some inkling that today might be really awesome in some unexpected way. Don’t stop looking at the day ahead as not being nearly enough time in which to fit all the Super Exciting Fun Stuff that’s bubbling around in your head. As a kid it was easy to be excited about now and tomorrow and yesterday all at the same time. Hang on to that.


Age 6ish with my dog Tulip

3. Believe in the fantastic. Believe in Santa, and the Tooth Fairy, and in a giant rabbit that shows up in the middle of the night and leaves you candy and little presents and somehow ties it all in to a holiday celebrating a deity. Believe in wishes on shooting stars and the idea that you might just be the next great author / singer / fighter pilot / actress / professor / dog resort owner / computer genius / lawyer / paper frog maker. Just because no one before you did it doesn’t mean you won’t. And the believing is half the magic, half the fun, and half the battle anyway. So believe, regardless of what others say. (The best things that happen in life are the ones that leave you breathlessly saying, “ohmygosh, i just knew it was possible!”)
4. Dance. Even if it’s in the middle of the outfield when you’re supposed to learning how to play T-ball (yes, that happened), or even if it’s right smack in your own front yard where all of the neighbors can see (yes, that too), or even if it’s up and down the hallways of your own house for hours on end until you’re sweaty and a little giddy and you have to take a bath before bedtime. There is no bad mood stronger than a really good song and an unabashed dance session.
5. Be The Bean. You’ll use words that your peers will find quirky and odd. You’ll insist that you can be a CSI Medical Examiner and a computer whisperer and a lawyer and a can-do-ologist long after you’ve reached the point in adulthood where others tell you “reality” should be a factor in your dreams. You will forever relate to the Curious George cartoons and the Amelia Bedelia books, and reading Calvin & Hobbes will always be an adventure. You will have an intimidatingly accurate memory that will allow you to get away with so much less studying than the average student that you’ll assume you must be missing something even when you’re not. You will fall a lot. In public. In front of the boys you like and the authority figures you hope to impress. You will be oddly and uniquely and exuberantly different, and the world will welcome you for it in surprising ways. So when the obstacles around you make you feel like you “should” be something else, go ahead and trip and flail wildly while quoting the lyrics to a song no one but you remembers and then get up and write a poem. Because you’re The Bean, and that’s what you do.


Me, age 8, doing my best "Gilda Radner as Judy Miller" impression

What about you? What conversation would occur between you and your 10 year old self? What advice would you have for the child-you, and what advice would the child-you be eager to give the now-you? (And would you listen?)

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In Honor of Mothers Day (a.k.a. Mums’ Day), we at Daily Struggles are proud to present The Top Ten Rundown–the top ten memories, things we love, traits we admire, or moments we’ll never forget, about each of the Moms in our life. Let’s get started!

10. For years, I thought the way she and Daddio said "about" and "again" was extremely awesome because it was just like the way the kids on Nickelodeon said those words. I thought it was some kind of ultra-cool dialect. (I later realized it was because Gram was raised French-Canadian, and the old-school Nickelodeon shows featured Canadian-based actors and actresses.)

09. Two words: Boundless energy.

08. Superb taste in perfumes (I have purchased several kinds of perfume after falling in love with them on Gram or on the tray on Gram’s bathroom counter–most recently Samsara).

07. Gram-centric memories: apple juice in the kitchen of their old house, floor tiles reminiscent of melty ice cream, and lots of color, especially fuschias and teals.

06. Rissa in New York City at age 13, and pretty naive–some random dude walks up to Rissa and Gram immediately post-flight and starts reaching for me saying, "Hey, c’mon, I’ll take you in my taxi…" and Rissa thinks, "Oh, how nice! We don’t even have to flag one down!" and Gram, knowing better, gives a solid pull on Rissa’s hand and glare at the creepy dude that sent him scurrying in the other direction. Awesomely.

05. Two more words: handmade jewelry.

04. More Gram-related memories: a glass tic-tac-toe set with gold x’s and o’s that fascinated me when I was young, and a tall slender statue-figure that stood on or near the record player that played soft jazz at dinner time.

03. The awesome and healthful food Gram introduces–most recently, the spinach mango avocado salad that simply rocked my world.

02. Braving horizontal sleet and snow on a "lovely" "spring" day in Chicago for a many-block hike to a CLE program I was attending.

01. She raised Daddio, who happens to be one of the coolest guys I know. And a very significant part of why I personally exist. So, you know, debt of gratitude there.

10. I have no idea what her Evanston apartment actually looked like, but the clips stored in my memory make it seem awesome. Except for the shower that would come on by itself and scare the bejeezus out of a bathing Rissa.

09. Assisting Mums in extracting Rissa’s head from in between the headboard’s slats where Rissa somehow managed to get it stuck.

08. Always room for one more animal in need of a good home.

07. My first steady, paying babysitting customer.

06. Cinnabar.

05. Excellent source of good hand-me-down clothing (which sometimes still carries some Cinnabar fragrance!).

04. Best use of do-rag and Carlos Santana albums for housework and laundry.

03. Christmas Eve dinners (in recent years, accompanied by scented soap placecards!).

02. Mary : Party Dress :: Monty : Dust Rag :: Mums : Spiffy bowl haircut

01. For realizing the little red wagon she was pulling felt just a little too light, and going back to fetch the fallen-out-toddler-Rissa who was seated perplexedly in the middle of the road during an otherwise routine stroll around the neighborhood.

10. "I could say something about this. And I will."

09. Sitting on the Easy Street porch and asking her to, "Tell me about the Olden Days."

08. Taking over the role of Second Mom when Daddio was in the hospital after The Accident

07. "You’ve gotta spend money to save money!" (Excellent life lesson.)

06. "I’m going home and going to bed, and I’m not gonna bop it or pull it or any of that crap."

05. "Well, then you better get started." (In response to Dad’s claim that he was going to waste away before her very eyes without prompt food intake.)

04. "I like meeting people that think they’re better than me. No one’s ‘better’ than me."

03. "I think you’re marvelous!"

02. "Once upon a time there were two little boys who were content to play with the crap in their Grandma’s closet. But now it don’t mean diddly-dip to them and they don’t play with nothin’."

01. For reveling in and celebrating the little kids we once were, and for supporting and adoring the adults we became–even though she’d really prefer that we’d stayed little kids. (Me too, sometimes, Grandma… me too.)

10. Those big brown eyes that she only gave to one of her kids…

09. Never complaining about 3am phone calls and tears on her shoulder.

08. Teaching her kids that what will be will be, and while you control your own destiny, there must be a certain amount of faith in some of the forward steps you take.

07. There are times when life just bottoms out, and you can either sob until it hurts or you can laugh over the exploded baked beans in the microwave while crying, because at least laughing ’til it hurts hurts a little less.

06. Three rounds of algebra homework, three rounds of "St. Louis by dinnertime" story problems, three rounds of "creative" "art" assignments that required bizarre items and unfathomable grading measurements, three rounds of adolescence, three rounds of final exam panic attacks…

05. Teaching by example that a lap full of little dogs is the best way to keep yourself snuggly during a quick nap.

04. Being the first to believe her kids when they said something wasn’t quite right, even though others kept insisting that everything looked perfectly normal.

03. Pushing Rissa in a stroller as a baby. And as a toddler. And as a kindergartner. And until Rissa quite literally no longer fit in the darn stroller and was forced to get off her butt and walk.

02. Buying the little red tape recorder so that she could avoid the instinct to just eat her young when mommy’s ears became insufferably, unhealably, desperately tired.

02 1/2. Beefus!

01. For giving me, you know, life and whatnot. And for endless support and belief in a better tomorrow, and for being my best friend even at times and through situations that no other friend could weather, and for not actually banning ice cream from her house even though she wants to just because Daddio and Rissa find such ludicrous joy in it… and for telling me "No" when I want to throw in the towel or declare defeat. For being stronger than she realizes. For being the beauty in this world she can see elsewhere but never sees when she looks in the mirror.

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So I’ve been kicking around the idea of trying to give up television. Just for the hell of it, just to see if I could, I guess. But then I watch an episode of Scrubs or The Office, and I think, no way can I give this up! Which is actually a little sad, and sort of precisely why perhaps it would be a good idea to do so. It’s not like I’d have a hard time "filling that time," as some people say, because I’m almost always doing something else while I’ve got the TV on. Which again brings up the idea that maybe it’s not as necessary as I think.

You know what concerns me most about that idea, though? Becoming one of those people that cannot have normal conversations with others in social situations because they’re totally out of touch with pop culture. Say what you want about the uselessness of pop culture, current tv trends, etc., but that’s a HUGE part of what people talk about at work, or at parties/mixers, etc. If you don’t have television, you are automatically completely excluded from those conversations.

Plus, a lot of people who go without tv end up coming off as the intellectual-snob type. The guy that’s like, "I’m just too good for tv. TV is below me. Blah blah blah I’m a tool." I do not want to be that guy. I don’t think TV is stupid or worthless or below me or any of that. I really enjoy it. But I also really enjoy my books and magazines and music, and I tend to put those aside in favor of TV, and that’s probably not a good thing.

I’ll continue to ponder. Thoughts and opinions on this subject are appreciated, either in the comments or via email.

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