August Moon 14: Day 7: Stumbling along

Day 7: What tends to trip you up?

What is your kryptonite? Ask yourself in the most compassionate of ways.
Do you have lots of great ideas but have trouble choosing which one to focus on? Do you do so much research that you get overwhelmed when it comes to making a decision? Do you love generating ideas but aren’t so excited about seeing them through to the micro details?
What if these things were not detractions or blocks, just neutral facts about your preferred approach? What if it were just a matter of finding resources or people whose skills and interests complemented yours, so that the things you have listed would no longer hold you back?
Who might be able to work with you to help you work this to your advantage?

Ah, me.  Any consistent reader of this blog, most of my family, and nearly any of my former editors or managers will instantly know the answer to this question: procrastination.

Partly it is precisely because I tend to over-research most anything. I want to know everything I can possibly know about a person, place, product, event, price -- well, just everything -- before I feel prepared to write about it or offer up a credit card or do a project. Once I understand everything I can possibly know, then I am ready to act. 

But.

That itself can be a non-starter, because there is ALWAYS something else to learn, some new resource or factoid to dig out. So sometimes I am just caught up in that endless research and don't get to the action part very quickly (if at all). 

As a result, there are unfinished projects aplenty. I always met my deadlines as a writer and a student, but sometimes it was by a thin, fine hair. And I always knew exactly how far I could let a deadline slip without the editor getting really perturbed. 

My stories -- my English papers too -- were, on a whole, pretty good, and well-researched. Some of that is because once I begin the process, I also begin the percolation process necesssary to craft a good story or paper: the part where all the facts and research filter through my mind and end up with me knowing where it will start and how it will end. That part is subconscious for me -- I just live 24/7 with the tidbits I've found or heard or read about, so once I finally sit down to write the story, it usually flows fairly easily into a draft. A long draft. Often two or three times the amount of copy needed draft. And that's because I have gathered So. Much. Information. The hard part, then, is editing it to fit the allotted word count and still having it make sense and capture the essence of the person or event or place or theory I'm writing about. Combining that with a tendency towards procrastination doesn't work very well. 

It's like "Okay, that's a good story. Now it might have been GREAT if I'd had more time...." and yet, if I'd had more time, I'd still have ended up getting it done just a hair before the deadline. 

Far as I can figure, the only person who can help me work with this to my advantage is ME. It involves changing something about my approach: perhaps prioritizing the importance of whatever I'm looking into rather than going full-bore nut-job research nerd on every single thing. Ah...I smell 'moderation' somewhere in that steaming pile of words.....

I do think as I have aged that I have begun to prioritize better what is worth reading a lot about and what is merely a passing fancy. And part of that is because my priority now is making my life as happy and fulfilling as I possibly can. If something doesn't contribute to that, it doesn't get top billing any more.

And I don't miss deadlines one tiny bit.

Five years

I've been writing this blog for five years as of Oct. 11. Not counting this one, I have 334 posts, only around 66 or so a year, which is not impressive, although it averages out to a little more than one a week.

I've ranted and raved. I've whined. I've reminisced. I've preached. I've told stories. I've enjoyed myself immensely.

Someone asked me recently what I most like to write, and without even giving it a thought, I said, "My blog. It is all for me -- whatever I want to say, whatever I want to write, however many words I choose. It's my therapy, my safety valve, my journal."

As I was skimming back over the most recent posts, I did cringe a bit at some of the sentence structure -- sometimes I will go back and edit, but mostly I don't. Whatever comes out of my brain through my fingers is what you get. If I ever organize these posts into some sort of book, I'll edit then. Otherwise, you're stuck with my brain dumps.

I love interviewing people, learning about their stories and how they got to where they are. But writing the subsequent story is hard work, and I sweat out every paragraph, sometimes every word. I let their stories perk in my head for -- oh, let's just say that I usually wait until the deadline is looming large. And then I MUST write it, must tell the story to make that deadline.

Yes, it would be better to just write it immediately and not sweat the deadline along with how to best tell the story. But I bet nearly every writer does the same thing I do -- waits until the eleventh hour. I have tried to do it differently. Doesn't work.

I can dash off a news release about an event with no trouble at all -- years of experience in writing them. But a feature -- you can take so many different angles with most stories, and I want to be very careful to be true to the subject's words and intent. So I agonize.

But this blog -- I never lack for subjects. I never lack for a lede. It simply comes pouring out, sometimes faster than I can type. The only thing I must be careful about is saving my work, pausing occasionally to select and copy, even with the auto-save, because I've found the hard way that one little slip of a finger will delete AND save the document, and my profound words are...gone.

Not that I have any illusions about their profundity (is that a word?) This is my story. I get to write what I want. You get to choose whether or not you want to read it.

I love that you do, those faithful few of you. I love it when something I say strikes a chord in your story, and you tell me about it. For those few moments, my words have connected us, even if I don't know you.

There are a lot of words in the archives, and many of the posts have not been tagged (an ongoing project). Thank you for reading them for the past five years. Let's see where this next one takes us.

Salt air is a cure for smoke and haze

We escaped to the ocean over a long weekend -- escaped smoke and fire news and heat, and just soaked up the moist, cool salt air in Bandon, Oregon.

We'd planned to go to the Lost Coast some time ago and had made reservations, but the fires in Tehama and Shasta counties closed both main roads to the coast, and the alternate way, far south of us, led to more fire issues with some of those roads. So rather than cancel altogether, we remembered Bandon, a spot we visited more than eight years ago when we were on our honeymoon.

It was some miles and hours longer to get there, but probably not by a whole lot, since Bandon is accessible from here mostly via I-5, and then cutting over to the coast on reasonably good road.

We drove through smoke and haze until we got well north of Redding, where the smoke from the Shasta Dam fire billowed over the roadway and we could see smoke plumes much more closely than we really wanted to see them. By the time we came back yesterday, the air had cleared a lot. The fires are more under control, although by no means out. And the air quality is better, but far from good.

It was a lovely getaway. I read a whole book -- okay, an appropriate beach read -- the second in Nora Roberts' Blood Brothers trilogy and hardly requiring much brain, but perfect for the weekend. We ate fish, we watched a lovely sunset, we walked miles on the beach, we slept and watched some mindless television. Mostly we watched and listened to waves and sea birds. The constancy of the waves is reassuring, endless in its repetition. I love it. Tony said I was like a puppy sniffing the air. I took great gulps of the air, even filling my lungs full several times just before we left to come home in hopes that it would sustain me until I get back. When I close my eyes I see the waves, hear the waves. It is a good place.

The kitties missed us. McMurphy was all over us last night, wanting to be petted, and Ches just watched nearby, although he let me pet him and love on him later in the evening, but didn't climb into Tony's lap until just a few minutes ago. As long as the outside kitties are fed, watered, and petted daily, they're fine. And they were.

The garden is bountiful with squash -- zucchini and yellow. Tomatoes are ripening slowly, green peppers are appearing, and there are a couple of Japanese eggplant. No green beans. Lots of foliage, but no fruit. I've gotten some cucumbers and there are more out there. I still would like to plant more chard. I have a little plant -- the seeds didn't all come up -- and need to just plunk more into the ground. It's good -- all is tasty and fresh. Herbs are good too -- basil, chives, oregano, thyme, mint. Cilantro never does well, though -- I don't know why.

Time to fold clothes and try to relax a bit. It's been one of those days where I tied up loose ends and putzed, but didn't do some of the things I now HAVE to get done. Ah well. Such is the nature of a deadline-driven writer, I guess.

Steeped in history

After a really lovely weekend including dinner with friends last night and a fun excursion to the Chico Home Show today, we watched the first two episodes of HBO's John Adams tonight.

Strains of "Sit down, John! Sit down, John! For God's sake, John, sit down!" are ringing in my ears -- that was the opening number to the musical 1776 which depicted the events leading up to the Declaration of Independence which I saw first in Boston in 1973 or so.

John Adams takes it much farther, and is just extraordinary. Much has been written in newspapers and magazines about this production, which is based on the book by notable historian David McCullough.

If you are at all interested in history -- if you are a fan of Paul Giamatti or Laura Linney -- you should try to see the episodes sometime this week as they are re-run. There are, I believe, five more episodes with the last one on May 18.

I've got multiple deadlines this week and I probably shouldn't have taken the time that I did -- but I'm glad I did, even if I end up working late the next three nights. (And of course I multi-tasked -- folded clothes while I watched...)

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I was dishing out a little bit of ice cream for us while we were watching (fat-free, no added sugar -- makes it slightly less sinful), and suddenly thought about my dad, who loved ice cream and often had it as an evening snack (even though he probably should not have -- he was diabetic for about the last 25+ years of his life, but had a big sweet tooth). He would have enjoyed this production tremendously, as would have my mother. I was hit by a wave of nostalgia and -- grief is too strong a word anymore -- but I missed him. I miss him. I miss her. Tonight it was very present.

I'm very aware anymore of time, how precious it is, how much we take it for granted when we are young, and how the awareness of its swift passage grows each year. It is too easy to get caught up in the busy-ness of do-ing do-ing do-ing, and let slide the importance of be-ing. We all have deadlines, we have activities, ever-present chores. But there is nothing more important than being aware of where we are, of who we are, of what we are choosing to spend our time on, and of being grateful.

Slow it down!

December is flying by -- it's like the wind that's been around here for several days is urging the sun to scoot across the sky and night to come more quickly.

Our days are shrinking -- slightly less than two weeks and we'll be at the shortest day of the year, the Winter Solstice. And then it's a rush to the New Year. At least days will begin lengthening again as we continue with the second half of winter.

It's not that I mind winter. I rather like the cold days, the clouds, the rain and wind. It makes me want to curl up with a book, cat in my lap, and sip tea while I read something delectably trashy. (Like I've allowed myself THAT particular luxury... ha!)

And I don't miss the sunshine much. We have so much of it in the summers that I like to soak up the clouds and cool.

No, it's that the days go by so quickly, with sunrise at 7:20-something, and sunset before 5.

I've also been knee-deep in deadlines, as if merely accomplishing Christmas tasks weren't enough -- and they've taken second place to the other deadlines. There are no cookies nor breads baked, nothing is wrapped -- very little has been purchased or done, and what's going to be mailed has gotta be ready in a week. I did get a few decorations up yesterday so it looks festive, and we've been enjoying Christmas music immensely.

A word on that: the Trans-Siberian Orchestra has a couple of Christmas CDs out that are just dynamite played on a good system -- they're good regardless, but we've enjoyed them even more with new equipment.

Do you remember the Christmas lights video of a couple of years ago? That was set to one of the Trans-Siberian cuts, "Wizard in Winter." The creator of the lighting display has done several more since, actually creating a company as a result of the popularity of this display.

Anyway, the music is quite fun.

So I always have good intentions of making gifts -- sewing, or taking photos, or baked goods -- and sometimes I actually do it -- but I don't think this is the year for much. I think I'll get a little baking done, but not a lot -- and we don't need it anyway. I'll send fudge and maybe a couple of other things..

The wind has been really wild and is supposed to get more so tonight, I gather. And yet the leaves are still clinging to the trees like fleas to a dog! They're ugly and brown and tired, and yet they still hang on. I guess we need a hard rain and more wind to help them let go.

I suppose we cling to old ways like that, hanging on until they're shriveled without a speck of moisture or life left. Takes a hard rain -- or the cheese moving -- to make us let go so that the new leaves can be nourished, and eventually bud and furl out in the spring. And that will come all too soon, I know, blowing in with the wind.

Once more I'm trying to stay in the moment and not obsess over what is undone or unwrapped or unpurchasd or yet to be sorted. It's a daily effort, isn't it.

Listen to music. Savor the moment. Enjoy the friendships. Stay in touch with family. The rest of it just isn't as important as all that. Cookies can be purchased. Gifts don't have to be extravagant, nor even perfect -- everyone I know enjoys the intangible gifts of the season more than the purchased ones anyway. Oh, I've got things I must do -- but I'm going to have fun along the way too.

Anxieties and deadlines

I woke with free-floating anxiety this morning, and several phone calls and e-mails later, I still have it, actually more of it.

There's not one thing I can do about any of it, either, except just move ahead with my deadlines, which are looming and need my attention -- all of it -- this afternoon.

I'm grateful to have good writing work to do, and stuff that's reasonably interesting and fun to do. I love the challenge of putting the right words with the task, and especially with one of them, it will require that I get out of MY head entirely and into another demographic altogether. That's fun.

Read a really good post by Dianne Sylvan: she says, in essence, that there is no "give" without "take." To make way for new, you give up something already there.

Our recent changes have required us to do that -- actually, every choice we make requires that you examine the new and the old, and choose which you want. When we made the decision to get out of real estate and go back into a "regular" job, we gave up -- or Tony did -- the ability to control his working hours. We gave up being able to work across the room from each other. We believe that what we gain -- not the least of which is health insurance that is less expensive than our previous option -- is worth it, at least for now.

In an e-mail the other day, a nugget of truth was surrounded by a bunch of other stuff. That nugget was "Don't spend major time with minor people."

That's not to belittle anyone as being minor; simply, we have a cast of characters in our individual lives who play major roles -- spouses, children, family members, close friends, boss. And then there are those acquaintances with whom we sit on a committee, the people we see when we're out and about in town but don't know very well, the neighbors three streets over and down the block who we wave to when they ride past. They don't know US; we don't know them.
In our lives, that acquaintance is minor.

Generally, it takes very little to disrupt what is an unusually tranquil existence out here, which means that a ripple can feel much larger than it really is. I think I'm feeling ripples from people who I care about, but ripples which really aren't mine to deal with -- I didn't cause 'em, have little influence over 'em, and while the outcome may affect me, most are not showstoppers. They're potholes, not collapsed bridges.
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Did you see the full moon the last couple of nights? The Celtic name is Dispute Moon; the Dakotah Sioux name is Moon when All Things Ripen. It feels ripe, it feels unsettled. I'm glad to be going into September and the countdown to the end of hot days. Yes, I know there's another month or more to go, but the end is in sight, and rain and cool will be here sooner than later. I'm done with summer. (I say that every year about this time.)

Is it going to be an early winter? The acorns are already falling in abundance and the deer are not gaunt this year. The trees have looked distressed for a while with the heat, and I can't think that there will be good color -- it's been so dry.

Did it sprinkle on you yesterday and today? I got a little in town, but not out here. And the humidity is not thrilling me either.

~~whine~~

Enjoy your long weekend if you get one.

Being in this moment

Deadlines loom everywhere, and I'm trying to very methodically chip away at them, one article or one task at a time. It's not working as well as I'd hoped...I feel like I'm behind the eight-ball with what I need to accomplish this next week, and I'm trying not to add anything else.

And yet I just spent 45 or so minutes swinging outside with Tony, enjoying a cool evening breeze (in July!!! in Red Bluff!!!) and watching the end of a lovely sunset. Weasley and Harry Potter both wanted on our laps and to be petted, which drove the indoor boys nuts, especially McMurphy. So we petted kitties -- a lovely way to spend a summer evening.

It's good to take time to appreciate where you are, what you have, who you are. It's good to give thanks for gifts of the earth and the spirit, and for new opportunities and beginnings. It's good to remember that despite our concerns (and frustrations) over the various life-issues that our children are going through, the Universe isn't done with them yet, and the choices they make are theirs, not ours, to live through.

Oh, we all make mistakes, don't we -- when we're young, when we're not so young -- and I sure hate to think of what would have happened to me if the Universe had been done with me at age 25 or 30! As we mature, I think our ability to look down the road at longer-range consequences improves, and then the challenge is not to get so bogged down in all the what-ifs that you can't make the choices!

I'm glad I'm not 25 or 30 anymore. I like where I am, mostly, and what I don't like I know how to improve (oh, will power, where DO you hide!)

Life can change forever in seconds, with an accident, an illness, a death, a birth, a word...I am reminded of that every day in some way, whether it is a phone call, an e-mail, a story in the paper, or simply remembering my own such life-changing seconds, many of them documented here.

It is a continuing challenge to cherish each moment, to be grateful for it, and to live in it. Each moment is all we really have. Watching the sunset and savoring the evening with my honey was the best thing I did today for me. May you savor your moments, too.

Contagious stress

Today was filled with many deadline-driven queries and tasks, and I found that my anxiety spiraled up with every new e-mail or phone call.

It wasn't so much stress and anxiety that I OWNED, but I could feel it very strongly coming to me from others who were pushing and pushing to complete tasks in order to meet a deadline. And I caught it, that anxious stress, and felt the push, the drive to finish just one more thing, send one more e-mail before I went to appointments that had been set up for a while, and then carried it with me for a little while.

Fortunately I realized what was happening, and made conscious choices not to allow problems that aren't mine to affect my own anxiety levels. The parts that I did have responsibility for had been done for some time, although there was some questions as to what would be needed.

At the end of the day, it didn't matter because an overlooked item took priority over the work I'd done. Ah ...

Stress is highly contagious. If you've ever worked for a company and gone through a layoff or RIF, you know what I mean: paranoia is rampant throughout the staff. Will I be next? How will I pay the mortgage? Why don't they want me? I got a good review -- but will I be safe?

*shudder*

And stress is baaaaddd for the bod, folks. It can exacerbate all sorts of problems you already may have a tendency towards, and it can truly be life threatening if it becomes chronic and unrelieved.

Today I consciously made myself slow down and breath deeply, calm my mind, and repeat my favorite mantras: I am powerless over people, places and things. ...serenity to accept the things I cannot change, change the things I can....the wisdom to know the difference....Do all you can, where you are, with what you've got.

Had I been able, I'd have listened to some music or an ocean waves recording, and maybe done some yoga stretches and more deep breathing. On the fly, I settled for the breath, and for the mantras. It worked, and it put me in a much more accepting frame of mind, rather than the accelerating accusatory mode like "What were you thinking to leave this to the last minute? Why should your lack of planning be my problem? Don't you know how to make that look decent with all your fancy=schmacy boasting?" You know how it goes, don't you.

Ooooo. Nasty thoughts.

In a week, it won't matter, not really. This day was not brain surgery. Nobody was going to die or get hurt. And that's what puts it into perspective, really.

Rule 1: Don't sweat the small stuff. Rule 2: Most of it is small stuff.

I am thankful for each day that I get to spend here, with my honey, in this beautiful place, living the life I do. I'm grateful for friends and family and love. I'm grateful for enough. Thanks be to the universe.