Posted on

14 Days, 3 things I know for sure

It has been two full weeks since I promised myself and all of you a 30-day search for little things to cool the burnout and recharge the joy. Here’s what I’ve learned:

1. My body knows what it’s doing. Listen to it. My outlook has improved these past two weeks but my energy is still fragile. A busy week led to a near-shutdown on Saturday. So, instead of spending the evening serving food at a fundraiser I snuggled at home with my 9yo and watched Frozen. Today, I was still tired but functional. And content.

2. People will help if you drop the perfect act and let them in. I spent last night with my 9yo because my husband stepped up and took my place at the fundraiser. No argument, no pleading, he simply said I should be home resting and he would have a good time helping out. During the past two weeks, I’ve been asked how I’m doing, offered help if I need it, and given an encouraging word or a hug out if the blue. We are all connected by something. Trusting in that connection is incredibly comforting.

3. Little things grow into wonderful things. My children. Three glasses of water a day. 35 minutes a week on a trampoline. I have a long way to go, but the panic is ebbing with each crunch of my carrot, and my optimism inches upward with each note on my playlist. I even planted tomatoes today from seed, and fully expect to savour their sweet fruit at summer’s end. So I may be a bit high on sunscreen and life … But I’ll take that any time over sitting in a chair wishing the world away.

A new week begins tomorrow! See you then.

Posted on

Seven days: three lessons learned

And on the seventh day, He rested. Regardless of belief or religion, that line from the Bible makes sense. Review and reflection are part of recharging, and of smart planning. I’m writing this a bit later today, and my gift for myself today and every Sunday is just that: time to look back on the week, build on the lessons and throw out the trash. So, here’s what I’ve learned so far.

1. We are way, way too quick to punish ourselves, and severely at that. We would dismiss the thought of withholding water from a child who didn’t finish her chores or force a puppy to hold its breath for mistaking your homework for a chew toy, but when I think I’ve forgotten an email, a school note or some other detail, I hold my breath. When I’m frustrated at my lack of energy to plant the garden, paint the furniture, clean the house and cook a fully organic meal, I forget my water and dismiss my five-minute bounce as too time-consuming. I hadn’t made  the connection between my negative thoughts and my self-denying habits before. Now I have. Last night, I stepped back from the stove and drank two glasses of water. Within minutes, I felt calmer. Maybe I needed water, or maybe I just needed a bit of self-care. Whatever, it worked.

2. We ask: How can I do more? or When can I fit that in? when we should be asking Why Do I Make the Choices I Do About What I Do? The answer will shed more light on why there is no time for the good stuff than an overpacked calendar will. I found my day filled with disconnected appointments of things I felt I had to do. No joy, no choice, just obligation. Am I volunteering for an event I detest because all the other parents are doing it? Then, that will fill my time and drain energy from the walk I want to take. It’s not the fault of the school, the parents, the government, or the economy that I have to volunteer: it’s mine for saying yes. It’s a slow switch in mindset, but I’m working on it.

3. Little things do add up. Little negative things build over months and years into anxieties and frustrations. Little positive things, even in a week, can bring a moment of brightness to the dark. Can a few glasses of water and extra veggies, with a bit more bounce and few naps really change anything? Well, I’m still tired, still frustrated at my lack of energy and still get that knife of anxiety in my gut when I think about work, but I have also enjoyed this past week much more than those in recent memory. I have worked outside, read more, and today, for the first time in a long time, I wanted to write. Wanted to, not had to. And for seven mornings, the first thought in my head was not ‘how am I going to get through this day?’but ‘what am I going to do for myself to help me enjoy today?’

Thanks for reading. See you tomorrow.

Posted on

No time to talk, my brain is getting a massage

That is what I told myself the other day when a crowbar couldn’t wedge another event into my calendar. Massage was the most soothing word I could think of to keep my brain from dissolving into quivering globs of gelatin.

The rush began before sunrise, when my children descended from their cocoons sleepy, hungry, and demanding. I have no clean gym pants. Sign this permission form. Where is my clarinet?  By the time the yellow bus appeared I was ready for wine but the teenager needed a drive to school, across town and through road construction that has been half-done for six dog years and costs an extra half-tank of gas, each way, before heading into a publisher meeting where over liquid breakfast (tepid coffee) we generated a to-do list for me that outnumbered his list four-to-one, including item 5. Write next book. Then, it was off to a job that actually pays money, where I spent two hours listening to a new government program that could do great things if – yep – I started another to-do list. Lunch was at the junior high as an in-school mentor to two eighth-graders.   Still swallowing my sandwich, I dashed to afternoon crafts with a lovely group of ladies set to sip tea and stitch holiday pillowcases, until I had to leave mid-stitch to meet the yellow bus and refuel the youngest for dance.  Then pickups, supper, dishes, laundry, baths and an hour of TV before the house was finally quiet and I collapsed into bed.

As much as I yearned for sleep, my creativity flowed like sap from a maple tree. I longed to write. Why?

The day replayed again, except this time instead of a horror movie I saw a documentary and before I knew it, I learned something.

The time lost sitting in road construction was gained in conversation with my teenaged son, who chatted about music and braces and his excitement about the Christmas holidays.

The publisher’s coffee was lukewarm but our conversation was sizzling with the release of our new book and the possibility for our new ideas to take shape.

The government meeting: there was money and the will to use it. Time to propose a marriage of groups who for the first time are seeing the value of working together?

Mentoring: teen girls giggling with hopes, fears, and compassion for my attempts to master my new iPhone.

Craft afternoon: the generation gap really does shrink with age.

Immersed in sunshine then chilled in darkness, sap from the maple tree flows watery and colourless, with only a hint of the sweetness within until boiled and bottled, it becomes liquid gold.

Immersed in the moment, chilled in the air of transition and boiled by the constraints of time, the brain is massaged to savour each experience and reveals its sweetness in a flood of inspiration.

There is a point to the busy schedules. It just may take some boiling to find it. And a whole body massage or two, just to be sure.