With a fresh year comes a fresh reading goal. This year, I want to focus on reading some of the hundreds of books on my shelves. I’m also participating in a couple of reading challenges. In today’s Friday Five, I bring you two of the challenges and some interesting lists.
The 2016 Book Riot Read Harder Challenge – this challenge is an excellent guide to exploring new genres. And bonus – last year’s finishers received a 30% discount on a purchase with Book Riot.
When asked what my favorite part of my body is, my typical response is “my feet.” I was admonished once when I said this, because the person didn’t know me very well and thought that I was just answering that way because I felt bad about the rest of my body. Never mind that 1) if she didn’t know me, why was she asking me such personal questions, and 2) was she implying that I should be ashamed of the rest of my body (?!), because rude. But I responded to what I hoped was the heart of her comment and said that no, I just really love my feet. I love the way they curl and stretch. I love that they support me – literally.
Also, my feet are super cute. I mean, Anne Klein gets part of the credit of the picture above, because that’s a badass shoe, but let’s be honest – most of the adorable in that picture is what’s inside the shoe.
(Also…I miss those pants. I wonder what happened to them?)
Lately (meaning, in the past year), though, my feet have been a source of both physical and emotional pain.
I don’t typically view getting older as a burden. When I turned 30, I didn’t joke that I was turning 29 again. When I turned 40, and people told the joke for me – “So 39, part 2? Har, har” (again…rude) – I corrected them with, “Oh, no. I am 40. I have earned every year, and I am proud of it.” And that’s generally true. My life does not look like what I thought it would look like at 40, but I have to take into account that it was a 20-year-old me making those plans, so…grain of salt. I might have been a smart 20, but I was still 20, and there’s only so much perspective one can shove into that short a time spent on the planet.
But my feet feel the burden.
I crawled out of bed this morning, and my feet told me how long they’ve been walking. I limped to the living room to stretch and get a towel out of the dryer (because I’m managing to get out of bed early enough to make coffee at home, but not quite early enough to complete a round of Pilates, but I want my body to get into the habit of going to the living room first. Baby steps.), and it took longer than it has before to get the kinks out of my feet. On the surface, this does not seem like a big deal.
But in my soul, it is a very big deal.
I’ve watched beloved older friends and family lose mobility. I’ve watched them slow down and not be able to do what they were able to do before. Even though I know this is the normal way that life goes, it feels like a betrayal.
I feel like their bodies have betrayed them. I feel like mine is starting to betray me. I’m mad about it. In every other area of my life, I am 20 years better than I was when I made those goals. It doesn’t seem fair that my body is not keeping up. I want it to be able to do the things it did 20 years ago, and I want it to do them just as quickly. I want to double-up on efforts to fight this inevitable decline. I want to bombard it with vitamin-rich foods and lots of activity (that’ll…teach…it? I’m not good at threats.). I am willing to work at it twice as hard as I used to have to work at it. I just want my body back.
That, however, is probably not the way things are going to go.
This morning reminded me that I need to learn to live in the body I have this decade, not the one I had in decades gone by. As much as I want to demand that it adjust to me, I need to adjust to it.
I find this necessity supremely annoying.
I probably can’t stop the aching altogether. But I can listen to it. And listening to it will be good for both body and soul.
“The truth is a vast thing. I see that now – just how much truth there is. Where would we even begin?”
Root – Person of Interest
My word for 2016 is “true,” and it is indeed a vast, vast thing. I made a list of 20 goals as part of Beth Morey’s Your Fearless Year 2016 mini-course, and every one of them falls under some aspect of uncovering, discovering, or staying true.
And ever since I said yes to this word, I’ve had this song running through my head:
But that will go away soon. I hope.
Honestly, the word is a little overwhelming. What in the world have I gotten myself into?!
This year, I resolve to be true…
…to my calling. I will endeavor to act out of conviction and purpose rather than out of what someone requests or thinks that I should do. For example, there is a fine line between being a true support/accomplice to those who are oppressed, and performing for ally cookies like a pampered dog. There were a couple of times early last year when I crossed that line. It was gross. I still feel dirty and appalled at my behavior. I am offended to discover that this self-involved motivation is part of my personality, and I want to avoid such mistakes this year.
You may be disappointed if you don’t see me saying or doing everything you think I ought to say or do. If you know me in person and thus have the benefit of seeing me in multiple venues, talk to me about it.
If you only know me online, I ask you to keep that in mind. What I say, share, and like here and on social media is true to who I am, but it only represents a small percentage of my time. It is not my whole person. It may be easy to assume that if you don’t see it, it’s not happening, but that assumption is usually inaccurate.
Of course, you are also welcome to ask/confront me about it, and I am happy to hear you out. But hearing you out does not automatically mean compliance. I hope that I will not merely pander to your wishes just to placate you and get a pat on the head. Because ick. Please expect better things of me.
…to attainable expectations. I have noticed a pattern in which I will start out with completely rational goals. Then something triggers some type of excitement explosion, and suddenly my vision becomes completely irrational.
Part of me really likes this about myself. May I never become so dull and stodgy that even my wildest dreams fall completely within the realm of reason.
Another part of me needs me to calm the hell down and stop being so hard on myself.
A couple of months ago, I took my first Pure Barre class. I went into it eager but relaxed (well, as relaxed as I ever get about new social situations). I was just going to give it a try and see how far into the hour I got. I met some people, and Jessa, who had invited me, showed me around a little.
Then I walked into the class. I saw the barre and the mirrors and watched people stretching to limber up, and two of the gnomes who live in my head – Ms. Perfectionist and Ms. Competitive – perked up. Somehow, they must have convinced me that I was still 19 and a size six and dancing ten hours a week, because that’s the level of intensity at which I started the class.
Of course, about 10-15 minutes into the class, my body revolted and reminded me, “Nope – you’re forty. Here – have some dizziness and nausea!” I actually had to leave class for a while. I came back and finished, but I didn’t get out of it what I could have if I’d paced myself.
I want to have fewer of those experiences this year. I want to be better at setting goals that I can actually achieve. It’s not as if I’m giving anything up. After all, there’s no rule that says I can’t work back up to dancing ten hours a week if I decide that’s what I want. I just need a better assessment of how much work it will take.
…to my strengths. * sigh * This job of mine. Sure, the pay could be a lot better, and the job description could be better defined, but other than that, there’s nothing inherently wrong with it. It’s just not in my wheelhouse. I’m competent, but it’s not what I’m best at. It neither excites nor challenges me. I am nagged by this persistent sense that my talents and strengths would be better utilized elsewhere.
I want to find my elsewhere. Maybe it’s a different position in the same department. Maybe it’s in another department on campus. Maybe it’s not in higher education at all. But I want to find it. It’s hard to be truly myself when I spend 40 hours a week doing something that’s not.
…to my life in general. In Poemcrazy, Susan Goldsmith Wooldridge talks about looking for a place to live – “I look for places made of poetry for me, places alive with history, wildlife and mystery. Then I move in if I can.” Well, she can keep her wildlife, but otherwise, that quote is a punch in the gut. As many things as I like about my apartment and neighborhood (the multiculturalism, the…nope, that’s it), it’s never really felt like home, at least not in the way that other places have. I want to live somewhere I feel at home again. Of course, I have some ideas about how it will look – a place for a small garden, an area to sit outside with a glass of wine or cup of coffee, an extra room for books – but mostly I just want to walk in the door and sigh with relief instead of resignation.
That room of books needs to have room for some pretty serious writing to get done, too. My writing goals this year center around publication. Something’s getting published this year, even if I have to publish it myself.
…to delight. I will always be a student. I don’t ever want to stop learning new things and actively seeking out things that move me. I want to read 100 books. I might take a cooking class or tap lessons. I might even try PureBarre again, only with the appropriate respect for the work and my current body. I want to embrace music and dance and poetry – as practice, as art, as essentials.
A true life is one that is lived, not just endured.
Now it’s your turn. What are your goals for the year?
Happy new year, everyone! I will post my resolutions and goals early next week, but the planning phases began months ago. Here are some sites I’ve saved to help me out.
I’m obsessed with poetry these days, and I write better in general when I read and write poetry, so I’m going to do more of both those things this year. I love this post from Interesting Literature listing 10 Winter Poems.
Getting up earlier (on days when I have to be somewhere in the morning – not everyday. Let’s be reasonable) is something I desperately want to be good at. When I accidentally do it, the day goes so much better. Here is a little motivation on that front. I want to be insanely healthy!
I love anything that makes cleaning easier and less time-consuming. This list actually has tips I’d never heard of before.
And finally, this article from NPR addresses a problem that has wormed its way into my writing in the last few years. Pandering slows me down and makes my writing weaker. More on this next week.
In no particular order, here are the highlights of my December.
1. Advent –
Quite possibly my favorite season of the liturgical year. Or maybe it’s just the only one I’m good at. I understand what it’s like to wait. Oh, how I understand waiting and all the complications that go with it. I put journal prompts in the pockets of my Advent calendar, and I got to go to mid-week services this year, which at least made the waiting less lonely.
2. A lesson in carols –
Our choir prepared extra songs for one of the services. It reminded me of being part of Christmas cantatas when I was younger. I didn’t even know I had missed doing that until this month.
3. Person of Interest –
I LOVE THIS SHOW. I have watched through Season 4. If I cave and get cable, this show might be the reason.
4. Holiday snacks –
Another great thing about this time of year is the delicious snacking. I have had a ridiculous amount of sugar this month.
5. A finals week without finals –
Finals week was pretty much just another week at work. It was a little busier with people handing in their keys before they left for the break, but no classes meant no grading, no constant barrage of emails from students who waited until the last possible moment to care about their grades, and no voice messages from the department secretary telling me that a student called because I hadn’t answered their email (that they sent an hour ago) and could I please call them back. It was such a peaceful week. I could get used to that.
My friend Steph got married! I am so happy for her and thrilled that I could be there for her special day.
8. Spending time with family –
Growing up, the picture you see above never would have happened at my parents’ house. Animals belonged outside, and if you wanted to play with them, you would just have to go outside, too. Now, Lola has her own special spots in the house where she likes to sit. Dad’s lap is one such spot.
I went shopping with Tammy yesterday and found all sorts of treasures (Christmas tree – $20!). Then we spent the evening watching Once Upon a Time. We’re almost through season three. I cannot handle how much I like this show.
9. Two weeks of vacation
I’ve had a restful (well…more restful. My neighborhood is loud and obnoxious) two weeks. Monday, I go back to work and have a little over a week to ease back into being there before the residents return.
10. Not putting up a Christmas tree –
Apparently, I used all my decorating energy on the Advent calendar, because I could not get motivated to put up a Christmas tree this year. About a week before Christmas, I finally admitted that it wasn’t going to happen. The candy canes on the curtain rods would just have to do.
This was a year of abundant expectations followed by abundant distractions. Looking back, there’s no way I could have planned the year I had, but I am satisfied with it in general.
From a numbers standpoint, I didn’t come close to meeting my reading and writing goals. I barely read half the number of books I intended to read, and I didn’t finish either of my works in progress. As usual, the extent to which I read was directly proportional to the extent to which I wrote. That’s something to work on next year.
However, I diversified my reading list quite a bit, which was the reading goal that I considered the most important. And although I didn’t set out to do so, I can see a marked improvement in my ability to make and attain reasonable small-range goals with my writing, which will help with the long-range goals eventually, so I’m happy about that.
My word for the year was fun. I learned five things about myself and fun this year.
Fun is not something I can force. At the beginning of the year, I spent a lot of energy making lists about what I thought fun should look like, and apparently I forgot that I have a full-time job and that I am not independently wealthy, because the things on those lists definitely reached beyond my time and funding resources. Frustrated that I couldn’t make my lists happen by sheer force of will but unwilling to be thwarted, I became determined to find the fun in everything I did, no matter how mundane it seemed on the surface.
Y’all. Some things are boring, and they don’t magically become less boring just because I try to make them fun. In fact, trying to do so is the exact opposite of fun; it takes dull to a whole new level. Just as there are always going to be fools who don’t love me regardless of how utterly delightful I am, there are going to be things in life I need to do that aren’t going to be the best thing ever. And that’s okay. Not every experience has to be a barrel of monkeys.
I don’t understand spontaneity. For me, it is a stealer of joy. I have the soul of a planner, and I embrace it. I revel in the anticipation of upcoming events. Even if it’s something as simple as a whole glorious Saturday spent at home, knowing that it’s coming makes my whole week better.
But then the call comes. 9:00 a.m., Saturday morning. “Hey, what are you up to? Want to get breakfast?”
Yes. Yes, I do. Breakfast is – hands down – the best food outing, and you are my beloved friend. Delicious meal + spending time with you = a double dose of my favorite things. Of course I want to get breakfast with you.
The problem is that, knowing I had the whole day to do it, I put off doing laundry until I had no clean clothes left, and I just finished hand-washing all my bras, because I didn’t have plans to go anywhere. So I will show up for breakfast in clothes from the least smelly pile, looking like a toddler dressed me and wearing the old jogging bra that is a size too small. And that last mound of laundry will stare at me, judging me, throughout the next week, because a sudden outing means that I no longer have time to finish it all.
Had you called on Thursday and made plans for Saturday brunch, I would not be in this predicament. I would have happily done a couple of loads of laundry Friday night, giddy with excitement about seeing you the next morning. I could have worn normal things to have breakfast with you and still finished all the work I wanted to finish.
I could have had it all.
Spontaneity not only robs me of the joy of looking forward to having plans with my friends, but also robs me of time needed to accomplish what I meant to do instead. I don’t understand what’s appealing about that, and a year of trying to understand has not cleared it up.
I don’t think I’m in the minority on this subject. Many of my friends who claim to love being spontaneous do not actually behave accordingly. I call bullshit.
Early in the year, I made an effort to adjust to them. Just because I don’t like spontaneity doesn’t make them wrong. They can like what they like. And it didn’t seem fair to expect them to always do things my way. So for a couple of months, I intentionally pared down my schedule to the basics. I left as many weeknights free as possible, and I was able to free up almost all the weekends. If no one called me to do something during my free time, I picked something to do and texted someone to invite them. Worst case scenario – I would have a reading night if nothing came up.
The results? If I had followed these guidelines for six months instead of only two, I would have reached my reading goal this year.
I didn’t see any of my friends more often than I usually do. In fact, I spent a lot more money at coffee shops than normal, because when I stopped making real plans, I hardly ever saw anyone. I would go to the square just to be around people, which is out of character for me. It takes an extreme amount of solitude for me to get tired of it.
I have more fun when I make plans, and I don’t think that’s rare. I think most people feel more valued when their friends go to the trouble to set time aside for them.
I have a harder time having fun when I’m alone in public. The only exception is spending the occasional afternoon reading at the coffee shop or wine bar, although I won’t actually be alone there for long. Strangers love to talk to me when I’m reading. They just can’t help themselves.
When I go to a movie, I want to go with a friend. If I’m going to sit still in the same place for that long, I want someone I know sitting beside me. I don’t always need to talk about the movie afterward, but I want to have the option to do so.
If I’m shopping for clothes, shoes, or books, I want someone I know to be in the store so that we can engage in immediate celebration when I find something I love. I have zero interest in delaying that particular gratification.
Grocery stores stress me out, but if go shopping with someone, my anxiety level is significantly lower. I sometimes don’t even have to remind myself not to hyperventilate.
Going to a party by myself? NOPE.
One concern I had at the first of the year was that I had become more reclusive, as evidenced by my spending more nights at home by myself. As I began to make more of an effort to go out, I discovered that it wasn’t my disposition that changed; it was my company. The people I used to go out with when they, too, were single are now spending their evenings at home with their families (which is healthy – I don’t begrudge them that). If I really want to go out more often, I just need to find more people.
Not teaching this semester has been fun. Really fun. I thought I would miss it, but I haven’t missed it at all. I miss the paycheck but not the job. And now that I’ve joined the church choir and have taken up TV nights with Tammy, I’m not sure where I’d even find the time. I don’t feel that fond nostalgia you get when you are at peace with moving on but still enjoy the memories. The memory enjoyment phase may be on its way, but it hasn’t shown up yet.
This sheds a curious light on my plans to get a PhD. That’s a lot of money to spend on a degree if I would be earning it just to have it. I know that the value of an education extends far beyond getting a job, but there are less expensive ways to further my education. And if I am changing careers – if I really am done with teaching – and the new career doesn’t require the diploma, I’m not sure how badly I want it anymore. I also feel a little panicky at the thought of deciding to let it go, so I’m not ready yet. But letting it go for good is now a maybe that I haven’t considered before.
It’s gutsy to take on Queen’s Somebody to Love. But Jordan Smith did it. And WOW. Adam Levine is just about ready to pee himself, and I can’t blame him.
As is the way of Advent, I’ve done some slowing down.
I’ve finished the semester and have helped with room checks; today is actually my last day at work for two and a half weeks!
I’ve finished the introductory revision course with Joan Dempsey. If you have a manuscript that you need to revise, and you don’t know where to start, she is the person to help you. Her next course – Revise with Confidence – starts on January 26, 2016, and $99 is a steal of a price.
Now I’m soaking in Beth Morey’s Poetry Is course (which you can still sign up for!). I like it because you work at your own pace. That’s good, since I signed up three weeks ago and haven’t even finished Week 1. But Week 1 is found poetry, so I might be dragging my heels a little, because I love it.
The picture above was my first poem that I art-journaled for the course.
How could it be?
To know without kiss of spoil
To receive you whole among us.
That pretty much sums up Advent to me. Wonder, expecting, knowing, receiving.
For our country – our current leaders and leaders-to-be – to seek justice and mercy and freedom and to lead us into being the country we once meant to be.
Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayer.
For honorable discourse and the ability to discern when to listen in order to understand and not just argue, when to speak clearly and with informed conviction, and when to flip tables because racism and social depravity and oppression are not things to be polite about.
Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayer.
For the voices of wisdom that are speaking to rise up and be heard above the noises of sound bites and bumper sticker theology and political identity. Let the chaff be blown away by the blustery wind of its own lungs.
Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayer.
How long will it be until we learn the consequences of “inasmuch as you have done it unto the least of these, you have done it unto me?” When will we have to answer for clinging to privileges and luxuries and discounts gleaned from the lashes on the backs of people created in your image? When we cheer for degradation, exclusion, and war crimes to be committed against ones you love, do those cheers ring “crucify” to your ears?
Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayer.
Is it too late to do better? Do we even dare ask you to come? Do we have any right to expect you anymore?
This was a year of abundant expectations followed by abundant distractions. Looking back, there’s no way I could have planned the year I had, but I am satisfied with it in general.
M. Suzanne Terry 