Let me start this post by acknowledging that I haven’t published a single blog post since March. I inadvertently gave myself a bit of a time-out. I’ve been working things out in my head in regards to this writing-out-loud thing called blogging. As an anxious people-pleasing overthinker, I imagine this will continue until the end of time.
I started writing what follows a few weeks ago.
Fun, for me at the moment, is working through the alphabet one little-post-that-may-never-see-the-light-of-day at a time. A self-assigned creative writing exercise, inspired by the “A to Z” blogging challenge. I’m just going at my own pace like the squirtoise I am, and purposefully not overthinking. Just going with the very first word that comes into this brain of mine, starting with the letter “A”.
I am curious, blogger and writing friends, do you also create writing challenges for yourself? If so, please share them with me in the comments!
The one thing that has always compelled me to write is because I find it to be so much fun. Stringing words together that capture how I’m feeling and what I’m thinking about tickles me. It’s a challenge for my brain that lights me up from the inside. And the possibility that someone out there in the universe (or blogosphere at least) might relate to the things I’m saying through my writing fuels me.
In tandem with my A-Z writing game, I’m working out (still, after 7 years of blogging) how important this blog is to me. I think I’ve been giving it more of my mental energy than is wise. When I factor in working (albeit part time), nurturing my personal relationships, taking care of our house and yard, and working on myself (remember, “Growth” is my WOTY and I’m sticking with it), blogging is not my highest priority. Not like it should ever be.
Now, this isn’t me saying “I quit!” by any means. It’s me challenging the rules I have put on myself as an amatuer writer with a blog. Examples: must I publish something every single week? If so, why? So, I may or may not publish something next week.
I leave you with a song that means a lot to me. It has spoken to me since the first time I heard it. As a 57 year-old here on planet Earth in the year 2024 who is perpetually searching for ways to bloom and grow, I find it very inspiring. I hope you do too!
I’ve been feeling funky lately, particularly when it comes to this blog. I’ve got all of these tabs open in my brain with all the things I want to accomplish and I’ve been finding it hard to sit down and focus on this blog. To just write something already.
I’m at the point where it’s likely if I don’t write something now and put it out there into the universe I’ll slink back into myself and end up abandoning this blogging venture for a good long while.
It’s not that I’m not writing anything. It’s just that I’m not writing anything that is for public consumption. Is this an example of that? Could be.
Anyway, all is well and (my) life is good and all of that. Really.
It’s just that I’m in a weird transitional sort of period of time at the moment. It’s basically been spring all winter here in Minnesconsin. The water is open in our lake. But it’s supposed to feel like winter and it doesn’t. We even saw our first robin outside our big picture window the other day. Climate change is real, folks.
There’s also other real things happening out there in the world that trouble me. Things I pray about every day, like the wars happening in the Ukraine and the Middle East. People I once knew dying. People I don’t know at all dying for no good reason. The great inequities in this country, where the uber rich are allowed to not pay their fair share while the rest of the population works their fingers to the bone to barely make ends meet. And so much more.
I assure you that I believe there is hope that good and right, democracy and justice will prevail in the end.
It’s just the “getting there” part that has me feeling anxious.
I promise that my next blog post will be more free-wheeling and upbeat, as that is how I want to keep rolling. My optimistic nature is still underneath all this “yuck”.
For a hot minute, I was going to jump feet first into the WordPress “Bloganuary” challenge. It’d be fun, I thought. A good challenge to start the new year. Then, once I took a moment to consider the pressure I’d put myself under to write and publish a blog post every single day for a month, I decided against it. No sense in biting off more than I can reasonably chew.
Know thyself.
Then, after seeing other bloggers announcing their “Word of the Year”, I decided that is something I wanted to embrace. Especially if I chose the right word for me.
How about you all? Is there one word, or perhaps a phrase, that you have chosen as your guiding light for 2024?
My word of the year is “Growth”.
It’s really simple: what I want for myself in 2024 (and truly, beyond) is to grow. To improve. To be better and do better. This is all so that I can be a better human. A better friend. A better employee. A better steward of time and money. A better steward of my mind and body. A better mom and grandma. A better spouse. A better writer.
What I will need to remind myself on the regular as I move forward this year is that growth does not happen without some pain. I’m going to be taking more risks, and with risks there will be failures.
Plenty of people would be uncomfortable doing what I do, blogging. I’m still not completely comfortable with it myself, in spite of doing it more or less consistently since 2017. So, maybe I have a leg up in a sense, as I push through the discomfort post by post.
I’m not going to go into specifics here and now, but general areas of personal growth in 2024 for me include, but are not limited to: blogging/writing, personal finances, relationships, work, and creative expression beyond writing.
The specifics will be written in the brand spanking new journal I recently brought. The idea is that at the beginning of each month, I will write down the objectives for that month and how I’m going to achieve them. I’ve started with small ones in January, with the intention of building good habits that I can carry into the next month so I have momentum for the objectives I establish for personal growth in February. And so on for each month of the year.
May my enthusiasm for growth not wane as I move forward in this new year.
I published a blog post almost 5 years ago in which I wrote about happiness being having something to look forward to.
The reason I’m revisiting this concept now is because it still feels relevant to me. I also believe it could help you.
Here’s a simple exercise I invite you to do right now. Or, if your time is limited today, maybe it’s something you could ponder for a bit and circle back to later.
Take a pen and paper and write down the following question: what am I looking forward to?
I caution you to not overthink this question. Ironic, coming from me, as I have a tendency to overthink things, sometimes to the extreme. Sometimes to the point where I have to pivot in my mind and shake things off. Turn my attention to something completely different or just journal like a madwoman to release the anxiety.
Anyway, the point is to keep it simple. Use the K.I.S.S. (Keep it Simple, Sister-or Sailor, or Son, or Silly-whatever works for you).
Simple like the image that inspired me to write the original post.
“Looking forward” in our minds, I think, releases endorphins and puts us in a frame of mind of excited anticipation. It can help us to get on with it and do what it is we need to do to prepare for the event, whatever it may be. It gets us to look up, towards the future, and not down, where the past is collecting dust.
A crucial part to having something to look forward to, cultivating the positive feelings that it engenders, is planning. It’s taking charge of what we want to do and coming up with a plan to make it happen.
As Dr. Alex Lickerman says in a Psychology Today article I read, “when I’ve looked for the difference between my happy days and my unhappy days, I’ve noticed that the former are frequently filled with thoughts about something I look forward to, while the latter are practically empty of them”.
Think about that for a minute. Can you relate?
Dr. Lickerman further states in this article “anticipatory pleasure is so important to my sense of well-being, in fact, that I now plan my life in such a way that I almost always have something to look forward to”.
As a planner and an optimist, this statement from Dr. Lickerman reflects how I’ve been living my life.
Here’s what I’m looking forward to in this moment: Taking myself out tomorrow for a little shopping in the sweet little town 15 minutes away from me. The temps have gone up, much of the snow has melted, and I feel joyful at the thought of driving the country roads to get there with my music cranked up and finding some treasures to zhuzh up my outdoor (and possibly indoor) space.
Here’s a song to get you motivated, if you need to find something to look forward to in the days ahead. Because “yesterday’s gone”.
After much deliberation, I have decided not to participate in this year’s April A-Z blogging challenge.
How about the rest of you, my blogger friends? Are you participating?
I realize I may regret it, especially once I start reading all the creative posts from others that come out of it.
But the thing is, I cannot commit. I’m seeing that right now, getting stuff done has got to be a bigger priority than a fun blogging challenge.
I just am not in a position to give it my all. And I’ve got shit to do.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t play around a bit with the alphabet, following my creative whims.
That is why you are reading this post from me today about accountability.
It’s a big, important word, right?
It’s so satisfying to see others who have done wrong being held accountable for their dirty deeds, isn’t it? Like what is just now beginning to happen to our former president.
In “Atlas of the Heart”, Brene Brown describes that feeling of satisfaction when someone gets what’s coming to them, as “schadenfreude”. It’s defined by her as “pleasure of joy derived from someone else’s suffering or misfortune”.
It’s not necessarily satisfying though to hold ourselves accountable, or God Forbid, to be held accountable in other people’s view. It’s hard. It’s fucking uncomfortable. You might worry that you are over-promising (which I would have been doing if I declared I was participating in the A to Z challenge). You might struggle with determining what it is exactly that you personally need to be accountable for. You might be overwhelmed by it. You may let yourself and others down in the process.
Like I said, it’s a big word. Maybe I should have gone with my second choice: “A is for Asinine”. That certainly would have been easier.
I think the word “accountability” goes hand in hand with the word “character”. It’s all about holding ourselves as well as others to a certain standard of decency. It means holding others responsible for ethical missteps, and holding ourselves personally responsible for ours.
One thing that I am currently holding myself accountable for is my garage sale project. Thankfully, I got myself some reinforcements with this (reinforcements would certainly be my “R is for” post if I did the challenge this year) project. I learned last weekend that my next door neighbor just retired. And she’s eager to find things to do with her time, even asking me if it’s “ok” if she helps with it.
So, “doing” is the bigger priority for me now.
Excuse me while I take the rest of the day to resume my journey of going through more of my worldly possessions to determine what’s going up for sale next month.
In my online search for writing fodder, I learned that today is “National Mom and Pops Business Owners Day”.
Have you ever heard of this before? I’m guessing not. I hadn’t either.
Finding out about this national day made me think of my own “mom and pop”. I know I’ve mentioned in past blog posts that my parents, Bonnie and Babe, were small business owners for many years. A women’s clothing store, to be exact.
Prior to my parents ownership of the business, it had been known as “Kay’s Clothes Bar”, on account of the building’s history of housing, you guessed it, a bar.
The name, of course, was changed once my parents took it over.
A keepsake
How the store became theirs is remarkable.
When my mom, at 42, was gabbing with her girlfriends one day in 1979, one of them posed the question “if you could own your own business, what would it be?” Bonnie responded with “I would own Kay’s Clothes Bar”.
That was on a Thursday.
While out and about on that following Saturday morning, my dad called my mom and asked if she was serious about wanting to have a clothing store, and she said yes, she was indeed. Dad had learned that morning that “Kay’s” was up for sale.
So together they forged ahead with becoming small business owners. Dad was on strike from his job at the mining company at the time, so this venture was a huge leap of faith.
Me, at 16, posing in the store
Though Dad had a great mathematical mind, he hadn’t gone to college (neither did Mom). Fortunately that mattered not, because his pragmatism, work ethic, and desire to keep Mom happy worked in concert with his accounting skills to see them through 15 years of being successful small business owners.
One thing that Mom took pride in was her ability to remain current. I think she was a young soul, really, because of her committed interest in staying on top of things. On top of fashion trends, on top of the news of the day, on top of whatever was going on in our little town. She didn’t miss a thing.
She was a social being who was happiest among others. She loved visiting with her customers, creating beautiful displays to “wow” them, and sharing her fashion expertise.
I very much relate to these aspects of Bonnie. So much so that as I sit here writing this post, I’ve been periodically glancing out the window at our “man cave”, (the name will be changing to something that’s not a cliche), thinking up ways to decorate and furnish it as it is to be (at least in part) a fun gathering spot for neighborhood parties and family get-togethers.
Yet lately I’ve started day dreaming about what kind of business I could run in this space. You see, I’m slowly but surely honing in on what it is I’m going to do, work-wise. And there’s so much potential, right here. I could section off a portion of the building for an office for myself to pursue paid creative writing projects or open it up as a non-profit food pantry. Or do something altogether different with this space.
At the risk of sounding like a total flake here, I believe that while I fancy the notion of operating my own small business, I can’t say definitively that working for someone else is out of the question for me. For the right job, the one in which I can use the skills I possess to help others, I would consider being someone’s employee again.
Of course, that would be the easy choice. Much less risky.
It makes me wonder, what would Bonnie and Babe think?
So, I’ve given myself a project this spring. I’m having a garage sale. Over the last several weeks, I’ve been methodically going through all of our stuff and determining what we no longer need. I’ve been going on Pinterest for ideas on how to put on the best garage sale possible.
I figure this is a good way for me to practice having a small business. It also gives me something to focus on as the time I have to spend watching our grandson lessens.
But back to Bonnie and Babe.
I don’t think I realized until the last few years just how much my parents teamwork and individual contributions as small business owners shaped who I am as an adult. How I think, what I dream about, and how I want to live in community with others.
My hard-working parents had so many adventures together in mid-life on account of being small business owners. Financially, they were successful at it, putting me through college and funding their vacations both inside and outside the U.S.
But perhaps even more importantly, they enjoyed running the store together. They took pride in it. They developed meaningful friendships they may not have otherwise developed. They made a positive impact on our community.
Back when I was going through pictures, just prior to moving back to Wisconsin from Colorado last year, I came upon a treasure. It was a clipping from our hometown newspaper of an article about my parents as they were fixing to close up shop and retire.
Retirement came a few years earlier than they had planned, as a dispute with the owner of the building over the lease had developed. They came to the conclusion that it was time to close up shop as a result.
However, Bonnie and Babe retained their great attitudes, with Bonnie commenting to the reporter in the article “As unfortunate as this is, it’s not a tragedy; no one’s dying, we still have each other”. To which Babe responded “if this is as tough as it gets, we’ve got it made”.
Cheers to all of you small business owners out there on this national day. May your customers be loyal, may you stay the course, and may you flourish!
I’m pokey. I take forever to get things done. To get my ass in gear.
I know I am not the only one.
My chronic tardiness annoys the hell out of people, especially the Hubs, who is very punctual.
Bless his heart, he’s put up with this for over 33 years.
Virtually anyone who knows me IRL will say that having a relationship with me, the kind where you go places in public together, requires patience.
I’ve become more self-aware in the last year, however, which is why I aim to be purposefully patient when I’m interacting with others. Whether it’s my immediate family, the neighbor I just met in my driveway, or my favorite female friends, I try to pay it back.
Yet, my frequent tardiness causes unnecessary stress. I don’t like feeling like I’m disappointing people. But know this: I’m continually running late not because I don’t value your presence and don’t have a feeling of adrenaline running through me in anticipation of whatever we’re doing together.
I like to think those who know me best sense this vibe coming out of me every which way in these moments and choose to love me anyway.
I believe my chronic tardiness is how I’m wired.
Bear with me here.
I was born late. About 6 or 7 years late, I’d say, based on what my Mom told me often when she was still alive.
I was the baby my parents hoped and tried for, after my sister was born. I just took my sweet time getting here. I was born just a bit over 8 years after her.
It stands to reason that my late arrival into this world has at least something to do with my chronic lateness. It’s a theory anyway. Not an excuse, mind you, but an explanation.
I kid you not: I recently perused my old high school yearbook. On one page, there was what can only be referred to as a rambling mess of inside jokes written by, I imagine, a small group of nerdy yearbook kids. At the end of this “piece” is written “and Rhonda K is still eating lunch”.
That, of course, was me they were referring to.
I read an article on NPR earlier this year about chronic lateness. I found it really interesting, and you may as well. Click here for the link.
According to the article, time is a social construct. How cultures view time varies, though essentially one’s view is either “event” based or “clock” based. I clearly fall more into the “event based” camp. If I tell you I’m going to meet up with you today at 11 a.m., I will meet up with you. I’m never one of those “no show” people. Yet, perhaps largely because I am an American living in the U.S., I understand and appreciate those in the “clock based” crowd.
Would you consider yourself “clock” based or “event” based when it comes to time? And what do you make of it?
While you consider those questions, I hope you take the time to enjoy this “timely” cover of a fantastic pop song by Chicago, “Does Anybody Really Know What Time it Is?”
It’s now 2/28/23 and I’m realizing this is a post I could publish now. It captured a specific moment in time for me. I wrote it and never published it. I was newly unemployed and planning our move back home.
In other words, I’ve been taking some time today to review all my draft folders. I’m cleaning this digital joint up.
Originally written by me on 4/22/22 and seeing the light just today, these were the 8 things I noticed then:
I noticed that my grandson has a beautiful singing voice. Song choice was a sweet surprise: “Close to You” by the Carpenters.
Spending time on Twitter can be quite fun. Different but in a good way, from Facebook. Too bad it’s getting overtaken by an oligarch.
That my daughter parents differently (and in a lot of important ways, better) than me when she and her sibling were young.
My house is in disarray.
That we have (had) far too many photos. Sure, there were plenty of precious ones I had to keep (to eventually scan so everything that isn’t in a frame is digitized). But these were photos taken back in the day when you had to put actual film in a camera. And you had no way to see them until you had them developed. In a lab. And half the time there were months between shots so when you dropped off your film, you thought there’d be a chance that there’d be some good ones in there. So you’d want to keep one for yourself and share with someone else, so you checked the box to have 2 copies of each picture. Then you’d get them back like 10 days later only to find out a mere 6 out of the 24 pictures on the film were sort of decent but the rest would be blurry shots of the sky with a smidge of your brother’s eyebrow in the corner.
I naturally want to go to sleep for the night later and get up later now that I’m not working.
I only have three good bras. That is it. And they are all the same style and size. Just different colors.
Almost every show that I absolutely loved but had long ass breaks since the last season due to Covid-19, are all coming back with new seasons right now. Simultaneously. When, ironically, I’m unable to binge any of them at the moment. I’ve got too many other things to do with the big move to Wisconsin coming in less than 3 weeks.
Thank you friends, for reading my share here today. We’ll see if I find any more.
Now, back to editing……
But just one last thing.
An example of a pic taken in the 80’s that we had to pay for someone to develop and wait for days to get from the pharmacy.
Yep, that’s me. Circa 1985 in my MN state university dorm room.
You know, sometimes I feel like I could lose my mind. There’s just so much going on in this head of mine. I can sense the tears but they rarely come out.
Whew.
I don’t think I’m depressed per se. I’m just mixed up. Feeling like I’m wandering and unable to sort out where I’m going. Very much like I’m caught up in the space I’m in, yet certain that there’s something new on the horizon waiting for me to jump into it.
I think there’s something to a new concept I read about this morning online: purpose anxiety. Or maybe it’s a diagnosis. I think I have it. I think this “gap year” I’m in is similar to the other one that I had in that I get to a point where I’ve got too much time on my hands. Yet I feel like I’m not accomplishing anything of value. Like I ought to be using my time more wisely.
Meloncholy resonates with me today. I googled the word to gain a better understanding of it’s meaning and came upon this definition by Emily Brady at the University of Michigan (link here)”melancholy is something we desire from time to time, for it provides an opportunity for indulgent self-reflection. We enjoy this time out for reflection, but the pleasure is also connected to recollecting that which we long for, which this reflective element can be even exhilirating or uplifting.”
It’s also full on winter here in Minnesconsin, which is something I haven’t experienced in the last 7 years. There’s snow everywhere you look and it’s so cold out there. It pushes me to hibernate.
Some of the parts about hibernating I actually like. Such as watching t.v. on my couch, especially if Radar chooses to be my cuddle buddy. Reading; though most of the reading I do these days is other people’s blog posts or NPR. I’ve been re-reading “Atlas of the Heart”, by Brene Brown, which I need to get back to as it’s been a few days. It’s such an important book to me. One I treasure. One of the few books I’ve read that has actually altered my perspective and, I think, improved the way I relate to others. It’s a keeper.
Yes, I recently published a blog post in which I listed all of the things I do just for fun. That feels a little ironic to me as I pour myself out here and now. Yet I stand by that post. I am of the mind that having fun, along with having something to look forward to, is very underrated in American culture.
That said, and I say this with the intention of pushing myself forward, I’m going to take the time to lay out some things I can do, actions I can take to just get on with it. To push through this little slump I’m in. I know it’s temporary.
I’m a WIP (Work in Progress), you’re a WIP, we’re all WIPs, right?
Something recently dawned on me: overthinking leads to indecisiveness which causes stagnancy.
That is why, today, less than 24 hours after starting this particular piece, you are getting a blog post from me about socks.
I’ve got too much going on in my day to day life now which hampers my ability to sit down and actually focus on writing a blog post. It’s all good, really. Or, most of it is. And I’m certain more of it will be. Time, patience, faith, and love for my family will get me through.
Anyway. About the damn socks.
I am a fan of them. In non-summer months of course.
I once had a business idea solely based on my appreciation of fuzzy socks (at least that’s what I call them, I’m sure there are other names for them). It was this: buy them in bulk. Bedazzle them. Find someone who can cross-stitch some bawdy catch-phrases onto them. Sell them on Etsy, at craft fairs. Probably not “Shark Tank” worthy but at the very least a fun art project, right?
I’ve sometimes wondered about those sock stores found in shopping malls. Do they make money at all? Maybe they’re owned and operated by obscenely wealthy trust fund babies who are obsessed with socks, so it doesn’t matter much if they are profitable. Who exactly buys their socks there on the regular? The potential answers to these questions intrigue me.
My youngest kid once had the following take on socks: “I don’t want to wear them, they are not the comfortable ones!” So, does that mean perhaps there is such a thing as uncomfortable socks? That people pay money for? Are they made with sandpaper? Tell me more, kid!
Wait a second.
Actually, I do own one pair of uncomfortable socks.
In my defense, they were free. I spotted them at work, when they were donated to the thrift store when I ran the food pantry there. Getting free stuff every so often was a sweet little perk at that job.
Despite my generous girth, I’ve got small feet (size 6). Yet, I could barely get these godforsaken socks over my feet and calves. The black stitching under the french fries is weirdly tight. They feel like compression socks, which I thankfully don’t need at this time. So, yes, kids, uncomfortable socks do exist after all.
If any of you are able to give me a viable explanation of why wearing mis-matched socks has become a thing in American society, that’d be great. Is it mere laziness, like it was when my kids did it as teenagers? Or is it a fashion statement that just flew under my radar?
There’s a surpising amount of songs about socks out there (yes that’s the kind of shit I google) but this one is special. Enjoy, my fellow sock fans!
Pollyanna's Path 