You may remember Michelle from the approximately 2,342 times I’ve mentioned her over the years, or at least from her cameo on Tuesday’s post:
Today is her birthday, and I’m so happy she was born.
We met on the MRMB (Michael Rosenbaum Message Board – ah, fandom), where I knew her as ravenluvslex (raven for short, which is still the name she’s listed under in my phone). I met Michelle when I still had my first blog on livejournal (RIP). We traveled to Kansas City together to meet up with other fans where no one turned out to be a serial killer and we sang happy birthday to Michael Rosenbaum’s face on a cake.
We also met back before I carried a phone that takes pictures everywhere I went, so most of my documentation of our early days is in writing or in a picture album somewhere. Or on videos taken by other fans that we don’t really need to see.
I still have a lot of pictures of her sticking out her tongue (see above and below).
(Aw, orange couch)
(aw, Bochy’s)
There are so many things I adore about Michelle.
She’s always up for a good time.
She lets us take group pictures of feet even though she hates them (feet, not group pictures, to be clear).
She loved going to the club as much as I did.
(It’s not blurry. It’s ARTSY.)
(We should go again sometime. I promise to only spend a minor portion of the evening crying about the old place.)
She gave Nelly Cat a great life.
(Aw, Nelly Cat. *pets*)
She helps me locate Billy Boyd when necessary (the world is just better knowing that somewhere, he is).
And sends me pictures of her face when I tell her I miss it (which is even better than Billy Boyd).
She also made this super cute kid:
I love Michelle’s passion, her compassion, her boldness, her humor, her honesty, and her insight. I love that we have just as much (or more) fun together binge-watching TV and sharing delicious snacks as we do going out.
Michelle/Raven/Rupert, I love you. So, so much. Happy birthday, friend.
I met Maggie when she was a student working in the building where I was a night desk clerk, where she fit in really well with our weird staff.
She endeared herself to me pretty quickly because:
She would work the night shift on the weekends, which were otherwise horribly difficult to schedule.
She often hung out at the front desk with me when I was working, but in an unobtrusive way. Just the right kind of company.
She was the mastermind behind the original Suzanne-a-thon, an all-night appreciation event, which I appreciated in return.
She liked and encouraged my choice of nicknames for her, which mostly consisted of words that begin with “Mag.” Magnanimous was the one I used most often.
Soon, she was promoted to night desk at another hall. We IM-ed all night during our shifts, and we sat by each other at Friday staff meetings, where she totally wore green.
Soon we became good friends, which doesn’t typically happen quickly for either of us, but we seemed to click.
We shared similar hobbies.
We went shopping together.
We often enjoyed brunch with messy coffee (hers) together.
We even saw the Smurf movie. I really, really have to love someone to watch the Smurf movie with them.
And she must really, really love me, because she got up at ridiculous hours and went outside to go running with me when I forgot my personality and decided I wanted to train for a marathon.
She liked (most of) my friends and got along well with (most of) them. One in particular:
Maggie and Michelle and I lived together for a while, and that was so much fun. Well, for most of us.
Then Maggie moved to Houston, but we still text and IM almost every day. The first time I visited, we had pie.
And, of course, brunch.
We don’t see each other very often, but when we do, we make the most of it with delicious food and (sometimes) matching pjs.
All this is to say that, although my view of Valentine’s typically mirrors the words of another Maggie, the day always makes me think of my favorite Maggie.
I often come to the new year feeling as if I haven’t quite finished exploring the word for the previous one. In a way, this makes sense. Growth is continual, lifelong, etc. I wanted my word for 2022 to acknowledge that. My first thought was “nourish.” I wanted to look forward and continue to grow in all the things I have learned these past few years. I want to continue to have experiences and read books that explore joy, but also that feature hope, wild, alive, lucky, fun, true, and other core values.
But LUSH encompasses my underlying goal better. There is an implied immoderate quality to this word. Not just growth but a lot of growth. An abundance of growth. A fullness. All the growth I can possibly squeeze into this little pocket of time and space. Maybe I should add “rest” to that list above so that I remember that it, too, is important. Overworked and stressed out does not fit in with a lush lifestyle. Healthy is a vital part of the definition.
“…covered with healthy green plants”
I am currently looking for a place in my apartment to put a huge Poinsettia that I bought in honor of my MeMaws for the Christmas season at church and gazing fondly at my faux Christmas tree. I don’t even want to think about what’s happening in the office with The Little Juniper That Could (but if I did want to think of it, I might confess that I fear its days are numbered. RIP, probably). On the porch outside, my briefly successful tomato plant has long given up the ghost (but that’s not my fault – that’s just on account-a it being not summer), but the flowers that died when I was caring for them have resurrected now that I’ve stopped doing anything, which seems unnecessarily petty of them.
When it comes to plants, I have great plans and motivation but little success. I’m going to take this part of the definition literally. My goal? Have a live, thriving plant in each room. Also, flowers on the table make me happy, so I’m going to make more of an effort to do that more often.
Don’t think I didn’t notice that they snuck in “healthy” again. I see what you did there, M-W.
“…having a pleasingly rich quality”
I love this turn of phrase. Yes, I would like this to describe my life. In many ways, it already does. But wouldn’t it be amazing if just about every aspect of my life had a pleasingly rich quality? I think so. Let’s delve deeper into how to make that happen this year.
“…lavishly productive: such as…”
…fertile. NOPE. Unless we’re talking about a fertile bank account. Or garden. Or birthing a book and an album. Otherwise? Nope, nope, nope.
…thriving. That would be lovely. Not just to make it through but to flourish.
…abundant/plentiful. Are we talking about books? Trips? Friends? Coffee? Peace? Love? Kindness? Cash? To all of the above I say yes.
…prosperous/profitable. I could definitely handle a little prosperity. Let me go submit some more applications and write some more articles. What I would really like? Get paid for the work I already do in my spare time (and that I actually enjoy) so that I can ultimately spend more time doing it and also still have a place to live. #CapitalismIsTrash
…savory/delicious. I’m not sure if this means enjoying more savory and delicious things or recognizing how savory and delicious I am. Either way, I’m on board.
…appealing to the senses. As a sensory sensitive person, this is a welcome goal. Too much of my time and energy are spent having my focus derailed by extraneous, irritating sounds or that smell that NO ONE ELSE CAN SMELL BUT IT’S THERE I’M NOT IMAGINING IT BECAUSE IMAGINARY THINGS DON’T MAKE ME SNEEZE. Finding ways to better navigate (escape?) consistently assaulting environments would be grand.
…exuberant/profuse. With vigor and vitality, and without restraint. There are some areas of my life that could definitely use this treatment.
…opulent/sumptuous. Oh, gosh I love these words. Also known as rich, luxurious, lavish. Splendid. And ostentatiously so. These words make me want to crawl right into a cozy bed with scandalously soft fabrics and pillows of the exact right firmness. Or a warm bubble bath with a glass of wine and some good cheese.
And finally, speaking of wine…
“…intoxicating liquor” or “…a habitual heavy drinker”
I mean, it’s not a goal, per se (although my limoncello, while mostly delicious, could use some tweaking). But if it happens, it happens. Here’s to enjoying life a little more and worrying about what all could go wrong a little less. Just as long as I remember to hydrate.
Another year wrapped up. If I had written this post a couple of days ago, it may have been a different, more hopeful post. But I put it off until tonight, so you get me at a discouraged point instead. My Southern upbringing wants me to offer an apology for this, but that doesn’t feel quite right. I am where I am, and that’s okay.
I wish I had a nice, tidy bow to tie everything up with, but the truth is that 2019 kicked my ass. I was going to figure out so many things and be in a better place, and I’m not sure that happened. Sure, I’ve learned some things and worked really hard and made some progress. But I still don’t know what I want to do. Even the things I thought might be interesting at the first of the year have lost some appeal. At this point, I’m just applying for jobs that pay more because if I’m going to do something boring that I have no passion for, at the very least it can be one job that pays all the bills and lets me plan for a good retirement to look forward to. And as for changing my luck in love? Ahahahaha. I’m more convinced than ever that some people just don’t get to be loved, and I’m probably one of them. Loving other people isn’t the hard part. It’s finding someone who loves me back that’s tricky. Do these people even exist? If so, where are they? I’m clearly haven’t thought to look there.
I did meet my original goal of reading 100 books, so I have that going for me.
Actually, that’s not all I have to show for the year. It may have run me over, but I fought back. Relentlessly. I kept going out with people and letting myself feel things despite the 100% failure rate of all my dating/interest efforts. I applied for a better job within my department even though it has demonstrated time and again how little it values what I bring to the table (and continued to demonstrate this by not even extending me an interview). I have embraced the role of the greater fool who keeps showing up and doing all the things, hoping against hope that someday I will be able to say that all this effort has not been in vain.
Someday.
I still have hope. So I’m going to go to sleep (eventually – I had a lot of coffee today) and wake up and start again…again. Maybe I’ll find what I’m hoping for soon.
Who’s super excited about my Costco haul? *crickets* Just me? Yeah.
So listen.
I’ve hit a bit of a wall with this series. That’s how these things go sometimes. And instead of just quitting, as I’m prone to do, I’m going to adapt. This year, I have learned that a big part of what we often think of as luck is really just knowing when to be flexible and when to stick to a plan.
I am great at the latter. Until it’s not so great anymore. I need more work with the flexibility part. So I’m gonna work on it this month.
I’m throwing out my weekly plan.
If you could see my face right now you’d know how much relief I feel just typing that.
Blogging is a good place for me to flex my flexibility muscles. I post sporadically because overall, I’m not really trying to accomplish anything with a deadline here. When those of us in my online writing group discuss blogging and why we do it, my answer is usually something like, “It gives me a chance to make sure I’m separating my voice and what I’m thinking from the voices of the characters I’m writing.”
It’s also something a former therapist recommended as potentially helpful, particularly on days when face-to-face socializing isn’t something that seems possible. It’s a hybrid. I can say what I want and get occasional feedback, but I can also leave the moment I need to do so. I can reach out but from behind a protective barrier.
So I’m still going to write about making my own luck, but I’m going to wing it. Because sometimes, that’s when luck shows up.
It’s hard to feel lucky when my food choices only make me feel like napping. Making good choices that fuel my body and that I actually enjoy eating is an important component of my overall well being.
One thing I’m pretty successful at doing is bringing food to work with me most days. I have my meal planning system to thank for this. Even when I don’t do it exactly as I mapped it out in another 31 days series three years ago, I still use most of the tools I have put in place to make sure that I am eating well.
One of the main points of my meal planning series was that a system that does not fit practically into your own life is not going to work, no matter how beautifully it works for anyone else. Many of us have at least a minor chasm between our ideal and our real. So there are opportunities to tweak it. As for me and my house, we employ a lot of shortcuts:
While I believe in my heart that dried beans, soaked and slow cooked to perfection, are far superior, I also believe in keeping canned beans for days when I have no slow-cooked beans but want to add them to a meal.
While I understand that chicken is not hard to make, I also understand that a rotisserie chicken from the deli or even canned chicken is even easier.
While I get the concept of buying a larger size for economy’s sake, I only buy milk in pints, because I only occasionally use it in sauces, and the larger size is in no way economical if I have to pour most of it down the drain after it’s gone sour.
I also know that my life is busy. Ultimately, I might feel luckier/more at peace if I had more time to breathe and slow cook those beans or a whole weekend afternoon to meal prep for the week. That’s the ideal. But the reality is that right now I have two jobs and a fairly active social life, and I like all of it (or at least I like the payoff of doing all of it), so I’m not really looking to ditch large portions of my schedule at this moment. So I also need quick options that I can assemble from start to finish in 20 minutes or less so that I don’t drive through Taco Cabana every night:
Fruit, cheese, crackers, raw veggies, and maybe salami or prosciutto for an impromptu antipasti plate
Eggs for a quick frittata or a protein addition on top of rice, pasta, or potatoes
A selection of frozen vegetables – no chopping, quick steam
Frozen meal-in-a-bag (Bertolli’s is my favorite)
What are some of the ways you get the fuel you need to make it through your day?
In my 31 Days outline, I have this day marked as “Domestic,” which makes me laugh, because I am no one to be giving domestic advice. I mean, I was raised to know a lot of things about how to keep a household running really well (seriously – you could eat off my mom’s floors when we were growing up), so I can share that. But in the interest of honesty? Half my kitchen is on my dining table right now. I’ve been going through cabinets and getting rid of things, and it has been s.l.o.w. Also, I haven’t swept in three weeks. A dust bunny in front of my TV mocks me every time I sit down, and I do not care. So if you came here for tips on keeping a house perfect, you are going to be disappointed.
What I can give you this week is how I run my home so that it supports my life. Because that’s the important thing, right?
(some days I’m glad my mother does not have the internet)
Specifically, this week will be mostly about how I stay reasonably well fed and keep my home neat enough that I can find things. I occasionally even create little spots that make home seem more inviting or cozy. When I do these three things, other areas in my life seem to fall into place more easily.
If you are reading this and have gotten this far in life, you probably have these skills down to some extent. If you are like me, though, there are weeks that are better than others. Maybe you’ll find something here that can help, or maybe you have something to offer to help. Either way, we’re going to explore how a life of luck can start at home.
A somewhat jarring but often necessary start to the workday
Being on time is problematic. I’m good at time management once I’m at a place but getting there in a timely fashion is always a challenge – a challenge I usually don’t win. This is confusing to people who experience me as focused and efficient – it doesn’t seem to fit. Their reasoning is understandable. But getting there and being there are two different animals
Especially in the morning. No matter how early I set my alarm (which I usually don’t need to actually wake up the first time because I wake up before it goes off) or how many alarms I set (see above), the actual act of getting out of bed is hardly ever as easy as I expect it to be. Mornings when this early wake-up is 5 minutes are good, though. I can usually get through my morning routine generally as planned and make it out the door at a reasonable time.
The wake-up is a wild animal, though. Easily spooked and quick to lash out if it perceives threat, either real or imaginary.
If I wake up more than 15 minutes early, it’s usually in a panic. My brain somehow knows that time is wrong and immediately registers consciousness as a defense mechanism. It takes a while just to escape being practically immobilized by my consuming concern about what Very Important Thing I must be forgetting. So I either have a panic attack or shut down and fall back to sleep (which really? Just a lazy panic attack. It doesn’t always look the same), and it takes a few very annoying alarms to jolt me to action.
At this current moment, I recognize, as I’m sitting safely and cozily in my favorite coffee shop in the daylight as a light rain falls outside, that I’m never actually forgetting a very important thing. But my brain seldom seems to grasp that in the morning. It can’t. Anxiety won’t let it. Anxiety’s job is to keep me ever vigilant about the myriad of ways I could (and probably am going to) ruin everything. Anxiety is a liar but it sounds so reasonable when it speaks that it’s hard to remember what it really is. And it knows I’m not a morning person, so that’s when it likes to attack.
Anxiety is an asshole. And it’s the very worst kind of asshole – the kind that tells you that the horrible things it says are for your own good or because it knows what’s best for you. But it doesn’t know what’s best for me. It’s lying.
In the evening, anxiety is more social. I’m not just failing at my to-do list. I’m also a failure at relationships. Why else would everyone leave? If I dare to declare to anxiety that their choices are not about me at all, anxiety is quick to reply, “But wouldn’t they be – at least a little bit – if you were worth considering?” This anxiety is the meanest liar of all.
So social occasions, especially ones that are relatively new to me or are unique, standalone events, almost always start with convincing myself that it matters to anyone there whether or not I show up. Does my presence actually add anything to the situation? I honestly don’t know. This is one of the reasons it’s best if I go to events with another person. If someone is depending on me to accompany them, it’s so much easier to roll my eyes at anxiety and dismiss its taunts.
I have a few friends who recognize the times I show up late after I’ve gone a few rounds with anxiety. I may look calm but I am often still buzzing right below the surface. I’m always exhausted but I won. I may be compensating with cheerleader mode where I flit through and get right to my seat or desk or say something that I hope doesn’t sound super rehearsed (it is).
On particularly bad days, the residual tunnel vision may still be in place, making eye contact and small talk excruciating. The gift these friends give me is a few moments. Just enough of a pause to give my eyes time to drag up to theirs where I can see that they’re not mad or disappointed. They really are happy to see me. This feels good, and I’m grateful for it.
It makes me feel lucky.
I’m writing about making my own luck for 31 days. See the master list here.
So it’s not really Friday. I get that. But it’s the post that was meant for Friday, so here we are. One goal of a 31-day series is to get back in the habit of writing every day (or, rather, writing something other than for work). It’s a process.
To finish out the week of talking about tools I use to help me keep my life on track, I want to mention apps that I use to keep up with goal progression. I love making resolutions, but for most of my life, I would make them and then promptly forget about them. I think a lot of people have that experience. When I started tracking my goals, though, I had more success. Here are five of my favorite ways to track my goals:
Club Pilates app – I know. Again I’m talking about it. I just love it. And now that I have a new phone that actually supports the app, I can track a lot of my health goals as well as schedule and keep track of my classes. Every smartphone comes with a health app, though, so even if you don’t go to Club Pilates, you can still have an easy way to track just about any health goal you have.
Goodreads – I started with a goal of 100 books for the year. Then I extended it to 120. No matter how small or big your reading goal, though, you can track it with Goodreads. I also get a lot of recommendations from friends on this site/app.
Spreadsheet – Looking at a long-term goal can be daunting. It’s important to break down resolutions into smaller goals. To this end, I keep a monthly spreadsheet that tracks daily progress toward goals. I broke my five resolutions into ten smaller goals, and I set a monthly goal for each. Then I tally each day that I reach part of the goal. For those of you who like to bullet journal, this can be not only helpful but cathartic.
Fetch – I’m not sure how long Fetch has been around, but I love it. If you can’t tell, point systems really work for me. For the last few years, I have wanted to cook more at home and make better food choices. But if I don’t have groceries at my house, it’s not happening. Fetch rewards me for buying groceries. I’ve been using it for three weeks and just like magic, I have food in my house. I’m also more than 75% toward my first $10 reward. I do enjoy free things, and free things that help me meet my goals? Double bonus.
Art journal – Different people use art journaling for different reasons. When one of your goals is to pursue creative expression more often, however, it can be a way of showing the progress of that goal. My art journal is a collection of collages, found and blackout poetry, stained-glass-style doodles, and song lyrics I want to set to a melody at some point (yes! I’m excited about it, too.). I have a pretty broad range for what I consider creative pursuits, but I track most of them by art journaling about them.
Do you make goals? If so, how do you keep track of your progress?
I don’t make good choices if my phone is near, so I have an old school alarm clock.
I am not a morning person. I don’t fall asleep easily before 1:00 a.m., no matter how busy the day has been. This means I don’t wake up super early. I don’t seem to need as much sleep as other people do (I do pretty well on 6 hours a night), but I’m not sure if this is really a thing (requiring less sleep than other humans) or if I’m secretly exhausted and just don’t know any better.
Unfortunately, I have a job that requires me to be awake and at least a little productive by 8:30 a.m., so I’ve had to learn to fake it as a person who functions in the morning at least enough to show up to said job fully dressed and vertical.
The best way to fake it is to have a morning ritual that prepares me physically and mentally for the day.
There are a lot of suggestions on the intrawebs for making mornings go more smoothly. There’s even one that suggests that such suggestions can bring me joy. That seems a lofty goal for an a.m. time that starts with a number smaller than 11, but I appreciate the optimism.
My weekday morning ritual is designed to get me moving, motivated, and out the door. I start with about 10 minutes of stretching. I try to clear my mind of anything but how the muscles feel and how I’m breathing during this time. At this point, I am usually still in bed, so I look for a reason to get up. I try to think of the thing I’m most looking forward to that day. Once I’m up, I can get ready pretty quickly. I shower in the mornings, even if I showered the night before, because it wakes me up. I fill up my water bottle and grab my lunch before I leave.
How quickly I get out the door in the mornings is partially dependent on the success of my bedtime routine. It takes longer to grab a lunch, for example, that I have not yet packaged into portable containers. Showers are quicker if I washed my hair the night before. If the last load of laundry is still in the dryer, I will have to wait until it tumbles a bit to knock the wrinkles out of that skirt I inevitably need in order to get dressed.
Having patterns and routines helps me manage a busy schedule. It also provides a safe shore to swim toward if I wake up badly or if I can’t seem to get to sleep on time.
What do you need to get your day started or wind down?
M. Suzanne Terry 