The Blog

If you need a gift idea for the person who has everything -- and I mean “everything” more literally than figuratively, here -- I have a suggestion. Introduce her to Brooks Palmer.

Brooks Palmer logoDarrell and I had fun helping Katie move into her first apartment last summer, and we have Brooks to thank for how smooth that transition was. The place is beautiful, but it’s small. It’s very small. Her residence hall life at NYU was expansive compared with this apartment, and she needed to pare down for life to work.

But how? Katie “loved” her clutter. She found it soothing. It’s one way, maybe the biggest way, we were different. But Kate also has an open mind, and I asked if she was open to what Brooks had to say. She was. After reading one of his books she couldn’t wait to give me this report…

I feel enlightened. I don’t know if I’ve ever been able to relate to you as much as I do right now. Seriously. I’m sitting around daydreaming about things I can get rid of. Can you believe this? This man is a genius. I am excited to clutter bust. All I can think about is how happy I’ll be. I have a new lease on life and I haven’t even started.

And so it began. The next report was even better…

I started yesterday and I went on another binge just now and I’m almost worried about the euphoria I feel. This isn’t even remotely close to bad. The best part is, the more caught up I get, the easier it is to make cuts. I’m glad I’m not one of those people who worries about turning into her mom, because if I did I’d be screwed. But I am not and I am becoming free.

The most difficult part of being a parent is watching a child suffer. I was sure the move would be painful for Katie because she’d have to pare down. But thanks to Brooks it was not only not painful, it was exhilarating.

Katie travels so much lighter these days. She’s smarter with money because she realizes how quickly most things become clutter. And her rapid-fire and oh-so-sweet transformation reminded me the best present you can give anyone is, as they say at NYU, an education in possible.

Forty-nine percent of people in the United States don’t know what they’re having for dinner tonight.

Are you thinking what I’m thinking? Dinner comes around every evening. So many decisions!

Oh, sure. It’s fun to try out a new restaurant on the spur of the moment. To walk arm in arm through an outdoor market, deciding what to throw on the grill. To assemble an assortment of treats for movie night.

But in general you might find it easier, as we do, to have a rough outline of how dinners might unfold this week -- or every week. You exponentially increase the odds you’ll make good choices. Grocery shopping’s easier. And you won’t overwhelm your brain cells with routine decisions. They have more important problems to solve.

You might enjoy this experiment. Watch people having conversations with each other. Notice when someone offers an opening line. The subject doesn’t matter. What matters is that the person pauses after the opening to give the other person a chance to respond.

You might notice, as I have, how often the person who speaks first keeps going without any encouragement. She keeps going despite a lack of a followup question or raised eyebrow or even any eye contact at all. It’s as if she’s going to railroad through whatever it is, the lack of interest be damned.

Was the other person rude for not responding? Maybe. It depends on the context. But it’s a good reminder that conversation is a dance. It takes two.

“I’m done!” my pal in the third grade exclaimed, ready to get in line for lunch or recess or whatever the reward was for finishing the assignment.

“You’re not a turkey!” our teacher fired back. “You check a turkey when it’s in the oven to see if it’s done. You’re finished.”

All these years, and the line was delivered with such passion it was impossible to forget. There’s some debate about the egregiousness of this error, but I was all finished using the word “done” in that context.

Sometimes it isn’t so much what you say as the manner in which you say it.

Sometimes it isn’t that difficult to plot your next move. Sometimes it’s just a matter of paying attention.

The Happiness Project’s Gretchen Rubin knew her heart wasn’t in her legal work when she never wanted to talk shop. But writing? That was a different story. So to speak.

140411 3 for the blogWhen Katie went to business school at NYU it was with the goal of becoming an actuary. I couldn’t have been more supportive -- you can ask -- but I couldn’t help thinking that profession would use approximately one percent of her gifts. Can you imagine how amused I was when she couldn’t bring herself to attend meetings of the undergraduate actuarial society? She couldn’t even bring herself to read those eMails. “Even the subject lines are boring!” she reported. But her on-campus jobs? She couldn’t stop gushing about them. We were sure those experiences would point Katie in a direction more suited to her personality, and we were right.

A woman we know loves the E-flat clarinet so much she used to play hers at stoplights. “I’d put it down when the light turned green,” she says, “and then play it again at the next stoplight.”

Can you imagine?

Sometimes I think parents have one job, to make sure their children know it’s okay to want what they want. Don’t groom your kids. Get to know them. They’ll learn to trust themselves, and the rest will be logistics.

I go to great lengths to avoid encounters with animals. And by “animals” I mean even gnats. Not a fan. So when I heard about Cheryl Strayed’s Pacific Crest Trail hike, I was fascinated. Live in the wilderness? For weeks? Alone? On purpose?

Wild, indeed.

I read the book, Darrell and Katie read the book, I read the book again -- and we all saw the movie. The movie did not enchant. Repeat, did not.

Katie knew why. “You knew way too much going in,” she said. She knew I’d clicked on every behind-the-scenes video, read every account of how the book and the film came to be, watched every trailer not once but multiple times. By the time I saw the movie I was filling in what felt like only a very few scenes. I left as satisfied as a kid would be on Christmas morning if he’d snuck down to the living room, opened all his presents, and taped them back up before anyone else in the family was awake. How do you feign excitement for the official unveiling? You probably don’t.

Deep background’s delicious -- but as dessert, no?

What’s next?
July 11, 2018

It is very scary to overhaul your life and anyone who tells you it isn’t is a liar. When I got frightened I made a list of things I could do to advance my dream. The list was filled with tiny things -- make one phone call, send two eMails, whatever. But I didn’t freeze up.

If I was so hysterical I couldn’t even make a list, I cleaned the bathroom. It’s hard to worry really successfully when you’re cleaning the bathroom. After it was sparkling I was probably not one bit closer to my dream. But at least I had a clean bathroom.

That’s New York City librarian turned Florida harpist Mary Jane Ballou, demonstrating a principle called “the next right thing.” Big changes are scary because they’re big, duh. So break them down. Tackle those smaller steps the same way you eat an elephant -- one bite at a time.

When you’re making a big change, a friend once suggested, focus on what hasn’t changed. One thing that never changes is what you have to work with -- this moment, and this moment only. Dig into it with enough abandon and the future might take care of itself.

I never fancied myself the kind of person who would beg for drugs when I had a baby. Even back then I was almost as health-conscious as it was possible to be. I wanted to be awake for the experience, really awake, feeling everything.

I got my wish, even though I’d quickly changed my wish once I realized how much labor hurt. The hospital in my small town wasn’t set up for epidurals. I’m glad I didn’t know that until the big day. I would’ve dreaded the big day. I wanted to feel everything, as I mentioned, but I wanted the option of opting out of that feeling. By not knowing I wouldn’t have it, I accidentally proved ignorance really is bliss.

When the contractions started in earnest and I had a better feel for how painful this time would be, I made a dandy decision. I powered through them with the goal of Darrell not noticing I was having them! It worked. A few hours later the nurses told me I was making this look easy.

It hadn’t been easy, and the difficult part was only the beginning. Katie was born, appropriately, sunnyside up. But mastering phase one gracefully gave me a lot of confidence for phase two.

I chose how I wanted to look back on this most important afternoon in the life, and that choice transformed the experience. Crying and complaining wouldn’t have helped, after all. I let myself feel what I was feeling -- ouch, ouch, and more ouch!! -- but I didn’t spoil anyone else’s day.

It wasn’t so much that I pulled it off. It was realizing the memory I made was largely up to me.

Magic.