March’s theme at Life in Pencil is Beginnings

Posted by Elizabeth

Last week, Maikael and I broke down and bought a new printer.  For the past 10 years we’ve struggled through life with an HP Inkjet, which never worked properly from day one.  It’s HP’s version of a picky eater who suffers from terrible indigestion:  it can only handle being fed a few pieces of paper at a time, and when its system becomes overloaded it belches out page upon page of gibberish.  The printer is senile and easily confused; Lord help you if you decide you want to cancel a print job once it’s been sent to the queue.  It is loud and slow and, quite frankly, we both hate it.

Now that we are having a baby, we have all sorts of excuses to buy new things.  Because our second bedroom is in the process of being converted from an office to a baby’s room, there is a major consolidation of space taking place in our household.  The writing desk nestled in the corner of our bedroom will now serve as the new “office,” and because it is in our bedroom I insisted it be a neat, orderly space whose every item plays double duty.  Therefore, I decided it was high time to ditch our antiquated printer and scanner and spring for a compact printer that also copies, faxes, and scans.

After conducting hours of research via Consumer Reports, Maikael selected a Canon for the job.  When it arrived in the mail, Maikael quickly installed the printer with little effort, and we marveled at its petite frame, digital display, quiet hum, WiFi capabilities, and its God-given ability to print on BOTH sides of the paper.   What did this little bundle of joy cost?  What did we have to sacrifice for such happiness?  $100.

As I giddily printed our tax return, Maikael asked, “Why do we wait so long to change?” It was an excellent question.  It’s one thing when it comes to big changes that require major investments in time, money, and emotional energy.  But what Maikael was really asking was, “Why do we wait so long to change something that’s so easy to change?”  For the cost of a nice dinner out, we could have had a printer years ago that would have made a little corner of our life better.  Instead, we suffered through 10 years of inconvenience – not enough to call it a crisis, but enough to be highly irritating a few times a week.  I’m not saying that material items buy us happiness, but there are certain small pleasures in life that seem worth the cost.  I happen to do a lot of scanning and printing, and I know this modest purchase will improve the flow of my life.  Anne recently shared with me that a $90 meat thermometer changed her life in the kitchen in a similar way.  It would be a silly purchase if you rarely cooked meat at home, but for someone like Anne who uses this tool at least weekly it has added enjoyment and taken stress out of her sacred time in the kitchen.

This printer seemed emblematic of how we often cope with starting something new in our lives. We struggle or make do in situations that are easily changed for far too long.  Why?  My guess is that, while these situations are not ideal, they function.  They don’t command our immediate attention, so it’s easy to pawn off dealing with them until a future date, when they can be ignored no longer.  We put off these small changes, forgetting that they can have a huge impact in the day to day flow of our lives.  In other words, it’s easy to focus on the big, boisterous beginnings at the exclusion of the small ones that just whisper to us.  Whether it’s investing in a better printer or getting rid of an old meat thermometer that sort-of-works, reducing these everyday annoyances have something significant to offer us as we endeavor to live our lives in the now.

What small beginnings are calling to you in your life right now? Is it a modest purchase?  A simple change of routine?  A new spin on something old?

What situations, items, routines, or relationships are you currently “making do” with? What things in your life are okay, but ultimately disrupt the flow of your everyday existence? 

What do you need to do to enact some of these small beginnings?  What’s standing in your way? Is it a matter of needing more time or more money (I find the roadblocks in my life are usually thrown up by one of these two culprits)?  Is it as simple as setting aside a few dollars every month in a savings fund for that modest purchase?  Or perhaps it’s simply taking the time to do the research and figure out what you really need?  Maybe it’s as easy as deciding to make it a priority this month?

March’s theme at Life in Pencil is Beginnings

Posted by Elizabeth

As I’ve mentioned before, Anne and I share a deep and abiding love of movies and books, not only for their entertainment value but for their teaching value.  There is nothing more satisfying than a story that captures the human experience and helps me to better understand myself and the world around me.  In fact, as Anne aptly pointed out a few months ago, sometimes fiction does an even better job than nonfiction in relaying the slings and arrows of personhood.   I have been dying to see Alice in Wonderland since I learned that Johnny Depp and Tim Burton were once again joining twisted forces, if nothing else than for what promised to be a stunning visual panorama.  What I didn’t expect was the variety of life in pencil lessons that Linda Woolverton’s excellent script offered up.

Life is a process of learning to become yourself

The film begins with a fanciful and unsure 19 year-old Alice about to become married off to a stodgy aristocrat.  After falling down the rabbit hole at her engagement party and landing in Wonderland, it soon becomes clear that her arrival is much-anticipated:  she’s been brought here to sleigh the Jabberwocky and end the Red Queen’s villainous rule.  But first, there is some question as to whether she’s the “right” Alice for the job.  To clear up any confusion, she’s brought to the wise and Buddha-like Blue Caterpillar.

Blue Caterpillar: Who are you?
Alice: I’m Alice.
Blue Caterpillar: You’re hardly Alice

As the film progresses, Alice – who at first is confident she’s not the “right” Alice – slowly becomes convinced that perhaps she is the right Alice.  When she meets the caterpillar again towards the end of the film, the Caterpillar asks her once again:

Blue Caterpillar: Who are you?
Alice: I’m not sure.
Blue Caterpillar: How can I help you, silly girl, if you don’t even know who you are?
Alice: You yourself said I’m hardly Alice.
Blue Caterpillar: I said you were ‘hardly Alice.’  You’re much more like Alice than you used to be.

The film is, at its heart, Alice’s journey of becoming Alice.  Through drinking potions and eating cakes she continually grows bigger and smaller until she finds just the right size for her, literally growing into her own skin.  The tentative Alice we meet at the beginning of the film slowly fades away as she gains confidence in herself and her unconventional choices, fully becoming the Alice that everyone in Wonderland has been waiting for.  I think each of us is on a similar journey, as we are faced daily with choices and decisions that bring us further away or into closer contact with our true selves.  Alice does what “feels right” – even if it defies logic – and it’s these decisions that help her to grow into who she is.  We face the same crossroads each day, and in moments of uncertainty and indecision – both big and small – perhaps the question we should ask ourselves is, “Is this bringing closer or further from the person I was born to be?”

Each of us is creating our own path.

As much as there is a person we were born to be, each of us has free agency to create the path towards becoming that person.  Although the role Alice is to play in Wonderland has been prophesied, she creates her own way of going about the journey.  Helping her to deviate from the plan, the watchdog Bayard worriedly remarks to Alice, “I’ve ruined your destined path.”  “No you haven’t,” Alice confidently responds.  “I’m making my path.”    As we begin our journeys, it’s important to remember that there are many roads up the mountain, and we should choose the one that resonates most with us.  As the White Queen reminds Alice, “You can’t spend your life pleasing others.”

The life we’re meant to lead is waiting for us…when the time is right

We’ve all heard the quote “stop living the life you think you should lead and start living the life you were meant to lead” (or something like that).  I’ve always struggled with this credo, perhaps because I find it difficult to believe that it’s as simple as that.  Through the film, we discover that Wonderland has, quite literally, been waiting for Alice her entire life – she even went once, as a girl – but she hadn’t yet grown into herself enough to be able to live that life.  While our lives might be waiting for us, timing is everything.  As someone who is eager to begin new things, I often have to remind myself that perhaps I have some growing to do.  While I wait for new beginnings, I can make small steps towards preparing myself for the starting line, or simply focus on living the best life I have right now.

There are no beginnings and endings, only transformations

Towards the end of the film Alice observes the Blue Caterpillar weaving himself into a silky cocoon.  “You’re dying,” Alice says.  “No I’m not,” responds the Blue Caterpillar.  “I’m transforming.”  Each of us has the opportunity to transform every day, becoming more fully who we are.  We end each day a different person than we began, and each morning offers a chance for a new beginning.  But if life is nothing but a series of transformations, how do we embrace this inevitable series of changes while staying focused in the now?  Don’t the two seem contradictory?  Maybe, but I think some of life’s greatest transformations happen through living in the present.  Sometimes I think about the person I was at the beginning and end of my eight month round-the-world trip:  essentially the same, but different in so many ways.  Never have I lived more in the present moment, and in no period of my life have I transformed more.  Change means becoming a different person; transformation suggests morphing from one version of ourselves slowly over time.  We all have the opportunity to be Blue Caterpillars if we attend mindfully to the stuff of our everyday life.

We live in the now by attending to our real lives

At the end of the film, Alice is faced with the choice to stay in Wonderland or return home to London.  She states with confidence that she must return home, where there are “questions to be answered.”  For years Alice had lived in a suspended dream-state, enchanted with the dream of Wonderland which distracts her from fully living her life in the present.  While her adventures in Wonderland provide a welcome diversion, her real life is calling.

How many of us transport ourselves to other words through TV, internet, cell phones, and Blackberries, thus distracting us from the real lives right before our eyes?  Alternate worlds – be they video games or vacations – are fun for awhile.  But we’re avoiding the inevitable difficulties of our everyday lives that command our attention.  The only way out of Wonderland is through Wonderland, just like the only way out of our difficulties is by trudging through them.  I bet it’s not as daunting as sleighing the Jabberwocky.

Did you see Alice in Wonderland this weekend?  If so, what lessons did you take away from it?  Do you agree or disagree with the “lessons” I’ve cited?

March’s theme at Life in Pencil is Beginnings

Posted by Elizabeth

“Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could; some blunders and absurdities have crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day; you shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense. “   — Ralph Waldo Emerson

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about ruminating.  In fact, I guess you could say I’ve been ruminating about ruminating.  So what, exactly, is rumination?  According to Depression’s Upside, a recent article in The New York Times Magazine by Jonah Lehrer, rumination is derived from the Latin word for “chewed over,” describing the act of digestion and regurgitation that cows go through.  While it’s kind of a gross image, it’s really effective in describing the mental process that we go through when we process and then reprocess information over and over (and over) again in our tired brains.  In its exaggerated state it’s the thought process that underlies depression, as rumination tends to “lead people to fixate on their flaws and problems, thus extending their negative moods.”  Some of us are more prone to rumination than others – I happen to be an ace ruminator – but I think all of us ruminate from time to time.  So how does rumination both help us and hurt us in our quest to live our lives in the now and make fresh starts?

Rumination is generally unproductive. I am planning a trip to Italy next month.  After spending a number of days researching different lodging options, my heart leapt when I discovered a boutique hotel that looked like something out of Roman Holiday.  After happily confirming our reservation, I spent the next two days rehashing the options, even adding new properties into the mix, finally convincing myself that I had made a poor initial choice.  After much prodding from Maikael, I eventually accepted the decision I made and moved on with my life.  But those intervening days?  A complete waste of my time.  According to Lehrer’s article, “rumination hijacks the stream of consciousness, and we become fixated on the perceived problem.”  Research has continually shown that “rumination is a useless kind of pessimism, a perfect waste of mental energy.”  So why do we do it?

Sometimes rumination is a good thing. Lehrer’s article explores the notion that rumination might actually have utility in our lives.  While rumination is undeniably unpleasant, it’s often exhibited in response to a real problem, such as the loss of a job or end of a relationship (I admit: my lodging dilemma was not a real problem, even though I perceived it to be at the time).  Some prevailing science suggests that rumination might help us to learn from our past or prepare for our future.  Before meeting with the perinatologist a few weeks ago, I was in a major ruminative cycle, projecting all sort of worse case scenarios onto my mental screen.  Had something been wrong, perhaps I would have been a little better prepared to deal with the fallout.  According to Lehrer, rumination underlies the ability to stay intensely focused on a problem for long periods of time and analytically break down those problems into small parts.  When I face a complex life problem, turning it over and over again in my head, studying it from every angle possible before deciding on a path forward, rumination can be my friend.

Rumination is the opposite of living in the now. While the scientific jury is still out as to the function of ruminating, when it comes to living life in pencil, rumination seems to do more harm than good.  The problem with rumination is that we spend our time replaying the past or projecting our worries into the future, rather than living in the present.  When we ruminate, each moment becomes a reenactment of the past or a dress rehearsal for the (unknown) future, robbing us of our opportunity to start anew.  So how do we ruminate less and live more?  I think there’s a lot of wisdom contained in that Emerson quote.

“Finish each day and be done with it.” I have a tendency to let the problems of the day leak over into the next.  Sometimes my dreams are plagued with bits and pieces of my ruminations, spilling forth the vestiges of my unfinished business and loose ends.  When I was little, my mom bought me a set of Guatemalan Worry Dolls, tiny woven figurines that nestled snugly in a little oval box.  The idea was to “assign” a specific worry to each doll before bedtime, letting them “hold” the worry until the morning.  Although I don’t use my worry dolls anymore, I sleep best when I truly get ready for bed (we’re not just talking teeth brushing here, people).  Taking my time to review the day on paper – be it through an email to a friend, a note in my journal, or simply scanning my day planner – helps me to put the day to rest and prepare for the next one.  (Anne’s gratitude journal could also come in handy here.)  I also benefit from make a conscious choice as to what problems are worth picking up tomorrow, and which ones I can let die with the day.  What doesn’t help is talking about my worries from the day as I lay in bed readying myself for sleep; for me, it lacks the “containment” of the other methods.

“Tomorrow is a new day; you shall begin it serenely.” I don’t do a great job of easing myself into the day, and mornings are a hectic time for most of us.  Within the first five minutes of rising I turn on my cell phone, dash to my day planner to see what’s on the agenda for the day, and snap on the computer to check my email to see what crises have materialized or interesting news has transpired in the past eight hours.  It recently struck me that this is a particularly ugly way to prepare myself for a new day.  Those first moments of the day are precious, before the outside world has encroached.  Instead of throwing myself into activity, I could have a cup of tea, jot down creative ideas that have emerged overnight, do a few yoga stretches, talk with Maikael, or even make the bed.  Choosing just one of these activities that lasted no more than 10 minutes would be better than how I currently start my day, serving to help me ease into things rather than pick up right where I left off.  And maybe then I’d worry a little less about the problems of yesterday.

Do you tend to ruminate or not?  Do you have particular things that you ruminate about?  Do you agree or disagree that rumination has utility?  What strategies have you found helpful in allowing you to leave one day behind and start a new one afresh?

March’s theme at Life in Pencil is Beginnings.

Posted by Elizabeth

Last Friday I finally got around to doing some much-needed pruning in my yard.   I clipped back the sage bush, a tangled mat of crisp vines supported by a thick carpet of decaying leaves.  I tore at shards of dried iris leaves with my bare hands, strips of coarse raffia removed to reveal tiny green shoots of new growth below.  New life was emerging, unseen and untouched until I folded back the blanket of winter.  March is an elusive month, filled with tentative beginnings. Daffodils and crocus – the front-line soldiers sent out before the rest of the troops – hesitantly shoulder their way out of the hard earth, peeking their fresh heads out for a look around, then seeming to retreat.  One moment the cold wind is howling at our doorstep, and the next the sun is peeping through a curtain of grey.  March is an identity crisis, unable to decide whether it’s time to continue hibernating or come out of our holes.

These days, my life seems reflective of this shift of seasons.  Last week spring fever was in full swing, the promise of new beginnings swirling around me like a happy whirlwind.    The energy and excitement of new writing projects, social engagements, an upcoming trip to Europe, and impending motherhood – all emerging on the horizon – was enough to carry me full-throttle into a new season.  I crossed off items on my to-do list, many of which had languished for months, in an inky flourish, cheerily wondering to myself, “Why did it take me so long to get to this?”  I wrote.  I made reservations.  I researched.  I returned phone calls.  I got a lot done, and as I result I felt happy, alive, and energized.

I planned for an equally productive week, enthusiastically sketching an exceedingly long to-do list on Sunday evening.  But yesterday morning I woke up groggy and out-of-sorts, immediately feeling the shift of energy that had taken place overnight.  I scanned my to-do list, the items of which now seemed daunting and unachievable.  I moped around the kitchen for awhile, then killed time checking my email, feeling that familiar sensation creep in around me.  Now what?

Humans are just like the seasons.  There is no clear breaking point between winter and spring, but a number of weeks on either side of March 20th where the seasons “slosh” back and forth, an ongoing arm-wrestling match until spring finally wins out – and such is the case with new beginnings in our own lives.  There is an uncomfortable push-pull that takes place before new life firmly takes root.  We tend to revel in those spring-like moments of action, clarity, purpose, and productivity, but fight those inevitable small slides back into winter, often characterized by inaction, confusion, and low energy; in other words, mental hibernation.  If we endeavor to live our lives in the present moment, though, we need to learn to accept whatever the day (and the season) brings us – even if it’s not what we would have chosen for ourselves.

As I thought about how I’d like my day to unfold, accepting the parameters that had been given to me, I knew I had a decision to make:  I could retreat back into full winter hibernation mode or step tentatively back into spring.  Here’s what I considered:

1. I needed to embrace the “sloshing point.” Year ago, I took a series of classes at an organization in Seattle called Centerpoint, which teaches clients how to better manage their careers and their lives through periods of change.  At Centerpoint I learned to think about my life as seasons of the year, and the inevitable “sloshing” that happens between stages and seasons.  Even though the sun was shining, yesterday felt more like winter than spring:  so be it.
2. I need to realize that activity has to be balanced with periods of non-doing. Last fall I wrote about the importance of plateaus, those inevitable periods of inactivity that pop up in our lives.  While plateaus can last weeks or months, sometimes I think we experience mini-plateaus that last just a day or two.  After a week of total productivity, I needed to give myself permission to take a mini-break.  In fact, this dip in energy was probably just a natural balancing-out.  New beginnings require both activity and non-doing.
3. I need to set small(er) goals for this week. This week isn’t last week, and my metric for what I accomplished yesterday need not dictate my level of productivity today.  Although I’m not ready for full-fledged spring, at times like these it’s easy for me to slide back into full hibernation, which usually leads me to falling even deeper into winter.  Instead, I decided to take a smaller step into spring, setting more manageable goals for where I’m at today.  Will I get as much done as I did last week?  Probably not, but I’ll get something done, and won’t feel like a slug.  At Centerpoint, I learned to ask myself, “What do I have energy for today?”
4. I don’t need to chastise myself for a waning enthusiasm for these new beginnings. We naturally praise ourselves for being active and productive – as products of the Western world, it’s hard-wired into us.  But last week, I didn’t read, or think, or do any of the contemplative activities that make my periods of activity possible.  So rather than berating myself for not moving in a steady “onward and upward” pattern, I will recognizing that every new period of beginning involves a few steps back.

How about you? What do you find helpful when you’re “sloshing” between seasons – especially between the “winter” and “spring” of your life?  How do new beginnings show themselves in your own life?  How do you “stay in the moment” when the excitement of new beginnings is on the horizon but not quite here yet?

Posted by Elizabeth

Yesterday Anne wrote about her comfortable clutter, and what satisfaction it brings to her life.  I, on the other hand, lead a rather cutter-free existence, undoubtedly the result of growing up in a house that was stacked to the rafters with back issues of National Geographic and sagging boxes of stuff.  There was a hospital bed that my dad bought at an auction that took up permanent residence in our garage.  We even had a spare bedroom we affectionately referred to as “The Junk Room,” a space crammed to the gills with old bed frames, discarded furniture, defunct appliances, unloved art work, and enough clothing to outfit a Salvation Army.  If you were looking for a missing object, a Halloween costume, or considering buying something new, my mother would often ask, “Have you looked in The Junk Room yet?”

Because of these experiences, I have all but banished clutter from my household (thank god I didn’t marry a pack rat), and nothing gives me greater delight than my regular pilgrimages to Goodwill.  When Gretchen Rubin admonished me to go clean out my closet, I had to all but restrain myself from making a trip to The Container Store.  Being surrounded by clutter, I feel that typical sense of chaos and disarray, not the warm, cozy feeling that Anne reports.  It dawned on me that everybody’s idea of peace, tranquility, and being in the present looks different. And yet, our ideas of what bring us peace are so culturally prescribed that we might not even be aware of it.  Earth tones.  Spa-like bathrooms.  Those plug-in fountains that people like to put in their offices.  Bamboo.  Asian symbols.  Flowers.  Massages.  Reading a book by the fire.  Taking a quiet walk in nature.  Yoga.  Meditation.  Clean lines.  The ocean.

I could go on, but my point is, as you read this list, there were undoubtedly some words that evoked peaceful images, and others that sounded downright awful.  I know plenty of people who find massages utterly stressful experiences, and others who feel complete tranquility living amongst a bright, bold color palette.  My friend, Emily, recently wrote about the meditative powers of completing a jigsaw puzzle, which she finds to be a particularly peaceful experience.  My mother-in-law finds a great deal of peace in being thrown in amongst a frenetic crowd of shoppers.  Who, along the way, deigned what a peaceful experience is supposed to look like?

On Wednesday night, as Maikael and I discussed our day at the dinner table, he said he wanted more time “to just think.”  What I really think he was saying is that he’s looking for more peace in his life.  “But what does that look like to you?” I asked.  “Is that sitting in a room by yourself, alone with your thoughts, or spending Sunday morning reading The New York Times?”  After thinking (quietly, I might add) for a few moments, he concluded that he does his best thinking when he’s hiking in nature, or in the midst of our disastrous delightful DIY bathroom remodel project.  “Nobody bothers me when I’m doing either of those things,” he said with finality.  In other words, in Maikael’s world, peace = a lack of people.

All of this got me to thinking about what brings me peace.  When are the moments when my mind quiets and wanders, when I feel simultaneously relaxed and alive?  (This is my definition of peace, but I recognize it might not be yours.)  Baking.  Cooking something complicated.  Any type of spa service except for a body wrap.  Swimming in the ocean.  Engaging in a stimulating conversation with a friend.  Going to tea.  My bi-weekly Zumba class.  Browsing through second-hand stores.  Wandering through farmer’s markets.  Looking at folk art.  Learning something new.  Enjoying a truly great meal.  Vibrant colors.  Listening to my iPod while on gym equipment.  Reading a book when I have an embarrassment of time.  Trying new foods in different cultures.  Writing to help, to teach, to enlighten, to educate others.  Taking a bath.

Clearly, very few of these match any sort of traditional definition about peace and tranquility.  In fact, as I studied this list, I noticed that many of these activities are not solitary but social, as energizing as they are relaxing.  But when you are engaged in an activity which feels peaceful to you, you cannot help but be engaged in the present moment.

How do you find peace in this chaotic world?  If you’re not sure, here are some hints to get you started:

1. Define your definition of peace. What does peace “look like” to you?  Do you associate being “at peace” with being alone or being in the company of others?  Is it energizing or relaxing?
2. Discover what brings YOU peace.   What sorts of activities help you feel connected to your definition of peace?  Are they active or passive?
3. Embrace your clutter.  Don’t let home design shows or popular culture tell you what peace and tranquility should look like.  What feels peaceful in your physical environment?  In what ways, big or small, can you work to recreate your unique aesthetic in your home?
4. Make peace affordable. I love massages, but I can’t afford one every week.  While it’s important to indulge in a particularly peaceful activity every so often, it’s more important to find inexpensive or free pockets of peace in your everyday life.
5. Make peace a priority. Once you’ve determined what feels peaceful, determine how you can add more peaceful activities to your life.  Weekend getaways and vacations are great, but how can you add small doses of peace to your daily routine?  Peaceful activities needn’t be splashy, and you’re likely to find that these daily doses will make a more lasting impact than those occasional retreats.

Posted by Elizabeth

I’ll never forget the year I graduated from college, when well-meaning people began peppering me with the inevitable question that strikes fear in the heart of every senior.  “What are you going to do when you graduate?”  The fact was, other than a vague notion that I might move to New York and try to be an actor – with no concrete plan as to how to achieve that goal — I was clueless.  Much like Anne, my life had always fallen along neat timelines, and while my peers would have undoubtedly described me as “goal-oriented” — a phrase I’ve always despised — the fact was that, other than an ability to put one foot in front of the other, I didn’t have any goals.  I suddenly realized that the only item on life’s to-do list was “graduate from college,” which I was about to cross off.  Now what?

Since that uncertain spring ten years ago, my life has taken me down roads I never could have imagined for myself.  I owe part of the adventure to the fact that I’ve never clutched the traditional to-do list, with predetermined milestones to meet at specified times.  In fact, I don’t know if I ever had a life’s to-do list so much as a life’s to-don’t list. I was never interested in setting goals to get married, have children, buy a house, and establish a successful career. (While most of these things have inadvertently happened to me – isn’t that always the way? – they certainly didn’t fall along any self-imposed timelines or according to a plan, perhaps because you’re supposed to place your intention on what you do want rather than what you don’t want, lest the universe get confused and mix the whole thing up.)  While I was comfortable expressing what I didn’t want for my life, I struggled to place any goals on that to-do list.  Looking back, though, it’s clear that I was living my life according to a to-do list; in fact, it happens to be a version of the same one I clutch in my hands today.  It looks something like this:

1. Find spiritual enlightenment
2. Solidify my identity
3. Lead an interesting and exciting life full of mystery and adventure
4. Pursue a career that is the deepest reflection of my soul
5. Figure out my purpose on this earth

Yesterday, Anne and many of you readers expressed frustration at not knowing what to do or how to proceed now that you’ve checked off the major items on your to-do list.  But what do you do when you will never experience the satisfaction of crossing any of the items off your to-do list?  It took me a lot of years to understand that I did have goals – they just happened to be lifelong projects that are so esoteric and abstract that I will never have a chance to complete any of them.  If I could boil down this list into one goal, it would read, “Learn to be human.”  Because each of these goals is some version of learning to be a fuller, more complete being, a task that won’t be completed until the day I die.  Fantastic, huh?

Although Anne and I maintain different sorts of lists, I, too, struggle with the same feeling of foolishly waiting to arrive at “that place;” the location where the puzzle pieces finally fall perfectly into position and I am fully transformed.  I read somewhere once that you should only set goals that are achievable, attainable, and quantifiable; that large goals should be broken down into smaller “action items.”  While this isn’t really my style, I concede that having such mammoth, nebulous items on my life to-do list isn’t really helping me towards my ultimate goal of learning to live contentedly in the now as a fuller human being.  In other words, to live my life in pencil.

Over the coming weeks, I’m going to take a closer look at what’s on my list, examine how these items got there in the first place, and determine if they even belong there.  Along the way I hope to change my relationship to the list, and maybe rewrite it all together.  If nothing else, I plan on making these five items a little more tangible and understandable – not just for me, but for you, dear reader.  It may seem a little silly – even antithetical — to create a list for something as tenuous as living in the now.  But we’ve got to start somewhere on our journey, right?  My hope is that we can teach each other not just the why but the how of living in the now (wow, that could be the slogan:  “The How of the Now”).

Do you maintain a to-do or a to-don’t list?  Are you interested in reexamining or rewriting your life’s to do (or to-don’t) list?  If so, in what way?  What ideas do you have for me as I set about creating more specific goals to live my life in the now?  What topics are YOU interested in surrounding this idea of living in the now?

In other news, my meeting with the specialist went great!  Thank you all for your encouraging words and concern.  As of now (and is there anything beyond what we have right now?), everything looks to be developing normally and healthy with The Blob.  Although, it looks much less like The Blob now.  Check out this latest sonogram!

Posted by Elizabeth

Sometime last summer, I made the first mention in these pages that I was thinking I might be ready to have a baby, a tentative whisper into the crashing world of the blogosphere.  And at that time some wise reader told me that not only would having a baby bring change into my life, but that the ability to live one’s life “in pencil” was the biggest prerequisite for having said baby.  These words were very reassuring to me.  As the resident change-a-holic around here, I thought, “I love change.  I understand change.  I embrace change.  And the ambiguity that “life in pencil” presents?  Easy breezy!”  But as my first trimester draws to a close this week I realize, in a stark and scary way, that my understanding of what it means to live one’s life in pencil is woefully incomplete.

During the first appointment with my nurse midwife an eternity six weeks ago, I was asked to fill out a family health history.  Aside from some cancer and heart disease – standard American fare – my background is pretty run-of-the mill.  No chronic diseases or major health issues here!  When I got to the part of the form that inquired about any infant deaths, I had to pause and think.  My dad had a brother who died when he was young from a defect related to malformed lungs, and Maikael’s dad had a son who also died, days old, due to a congenital problem.  These are parts of our family health history that we rarely give much thought to – so much so that we even debated whether it was worth marking on the form – so imagine my surprise when my midwife followed up with a phone call the next day to gather more details about these situations.  At the mention of “genetic counselor,” “perinatologist,” and “just to be sure,” every fiber of my being immediately went on red alert – and I don’t think the alarm bells have turned off since.

Despite my midwife’s repeated assurances that the chances of something being wrong are “remote,” it’s all but impossible to focus on the “what if” scenarios that dance across my mind (if not in the foreground, certainly in the background).  I find them to be particularly acute while dreaming, when my rational mind, who has such catchy phrases as “I’m sure it’s fine” at its disposal during daylight hours, is rendered helpless when the lights go out.  It’s then when nighttime visions of a fully formed fetus, with features as delicate as a seahorse but cast in frightening miniature, quite literally falls out of me without warning.   These are awful dreams that shake me from my slumber in a sweaty twist of sheets in the middle of the night.  It’s these moments where I realize that motherhood is uncertainty incarnate, that the best efforts to explain or pacify are for naught, and that I have no choice but to throw up my hands and say, “We’ll just have to see.”  I know that I am not unique or special.  Just as every life contains a cross to bear, so is every pregnancy touched by something beyond our control.  But it’s how we treat these uncertainties that reveal how well we’re able to live our life in pencil.

This morning Maikael and I are off to the perinatologist for a detailed ultrasound, which feels less like a meeting with a medical professional than an appointment with fate.  Hope will be divined not through the stars but through grainy images that I cannot interpret.  I am both relieved and petrified that this interminable period of waiting is drawing to a close, ready and not-ready to hear the conclusion.  The chances are good that my midwife is right, that I’ve spent the past six weeks worrying over nothing.  But what if she’s wrong?  What if there are no answers, but simply more “I don’t knows,” more “we’ll just have to wait and sees,” more “just to be sures?”  What if? It’s these “what ifs” that show me just how much I have yet to learn about facing the unknown.

Do you agree with my assessment that “motherhood is uncertainty incarnate?”  What situations have you faced in your own life that caused you to realize that you have much to learn about facing the unknown?

In other news, I’m pleased to announce that “Dear You,” my letter to this unborn baby who has already incited such worry in my life, won Momalom’s Love It Up Challenge!  We here at Life in Pencil are honored to have been considered in the company of so many great writers and entries.  Thanks, Sarah and Jen, for this award!

Posted by Elizabeth

I’m planning an April trip to Europe, which will involve two and a half weeks sampling the cuisine of Italy, staying on a family farm in Slovenia, and island-hopping through Croatia.   This trip was rather spur of the moment – when I found out I was pregnant, I insisted we take a final trip as a childless couple, and I knew exactly where I wanted to go.  After cashing in all of the miles we earned on our round-the-world trip last year, netting us two round-trip tickets to Rome, the planning began in earnest.  Soon I found myself doing what I do best:  pouring over Lonely Planet guidebooks, calling friends who had traveled in this part of the world, deciphering Italian train schedules (impossible), comparing ferry routes, checking the weather, and memorizing the food section of the Italian phrasebook.  The irony is that I embarked on all of this planning knowing full well that the best experiences of this trip will be those I never plan.

How do I know this?  First, because I’ve had the good fortune of traveling a fair amount, this is always the case (except, of course, when you show up without reservations in Lovina, Bali, during the Ramadan holiday, where the entire population of Muslim Indonesia is vacationing).  And second, because I agree with a recent article I read on maximizing happy coincidences while traveling, which states that “accidents — good and bad — happen when we’re away. More so, maybe, because there’s a certain randomness about travel — a sense that the unexpected can happen.”  The article argues that it’s easy to focus on the bad accidents – getting fined for not understanding how a foreign toll road works, getting scammed for five Euros, misunderstanding movie schedules, shadowy rodents running through train cars in India (all of which have happened to me, by the way).  But the flip side is that, for every bad accident, there is usually a good one, and these are what make travel – and life itself – fun and interesting.  And it’s this duality that explains the reason I love – and loathe – traveling.  I am an accidental tourist in sheep’s clothing, a planner by nature who loves the idea of traveling spontaneously, but who fights it tooth and nail.  So how can we maximize happy coincidences – both in travel and in everyday life? According to the article there are four ways to do this — and I bet our bright readers can find even more.

The fabulous mansion in Buenos Aires, before it was not-so-fabulous.

First, realize that “sometimes, bad accidents can lead to good things.”  While traveling in Buenos Aires, we had the good fortune of staying in a gorgeous old mansion in the heart of the city, which catered to long-term travelers.  Sure, the accommodations were a little rustic, but we loved the vibe of this place so much that we arranged to stay an extended period after a brief jaunt to Uruguay.  The night before we departed for Uruguay, the owner informed us that he had made a mistake with the reservation, and that our room wouldn’t be available upon our return.  (Insert “not my problem” shoulder shrug here.)  Being the peak of high season, we unsuccessfully scrambled to find other accommodations at the 11^th hour (literally), finally resigning ourselves to dealing with it when we returned.  The problem was, we had just bought a boatload of leather goods hours earlier, which we had planned to stash in the mansion while we were in Uruguay.  Desperate, we called a friend of my mother-in-law, who had told us to call him if we needed help.  Not only did he store my boots and purses while we were away, he also offered us to stay at his gorgeous high-rise apartment in the heart of the swanky Recoleta neighborhood upon our return, where we had access to real air conditioning and a bathtub.  In this case, a bad accident lead to a very good thing.

A very memorable afternoon.

The article also advises to “be open to new experiences.”  This, in my mind, is one of the cardinal rules of travel (and life).  On our trip we traveled into the heart of Portugal’s Duoro Valley, the seat of the country’s port wine production.  We nosed our rental car down dusty lanes in search of the area’s new museum, only to find it closed when we arrived.  Disappointed, we began our long drive back to town when Maikael spotted a car parked outside a neighboring property that hadn’t been there when we arrived.  “I’m going to see if they know anything about the museum,” said Maikael, hopping out the car as I slumped in the front seat.  After a few minutes, I glanced in the rear view mirror to see Maikael standing next to a weathered old man, a silly grin slapped on his face, beckoning me with swooping arm motions.  While the old man – who owned the surrounding vineyard – called his neighbor to open the museum, he invited us to wait with him and his friends.  For the next hour we propped ourselves on ancient farm equipment and shared glasses of syrupy moscatel wine, talking life in our passable Sportugese.  What could have been a forgettable experience was one of the most memorable afternoons of our entire trip…one that never would have transpired had we been unwilling to take the leap out of our car and into a new experience.

Worth the diversion.

Adjust your perspective. Sometimes, the direst situations end up being fortuitous, if we can just look at the world through a different lens.  After hearing horror stories about traveling in India I wasn’t sure I wanted to go anymore, even though we had planned to spend three weeks traversing the northern part of the country.  Looking for alternative plans, we discovered that Bhutan – a country I had recently become enchanted with – was only a short plane ride from Delhi, where our ticket had already routed us (and when in life is Bhutan ever going to be a short plane ride from anywhere?).  After making some last-minute adjustments to our itinerary, we cut our time in India in half and planned a side trip to Bhutan, a highlight of our entire eight-month journey.  Looking back, I can’t imagine that trip without Bhutan, and our willingness to change plans midstream and craft a bad situation into a good one made it possible.

Timing is everything. Is there any greater truism?  One scorching August day, we found ourselves in need of transportation from Pamukkale to Goreme, Turkey, a long, dusty ride that required a few bus transfers and an expensive ticket at the height of tourist season.  As we investigated different bus companies around town, the schedules were quickly filling (or so they told us) and the ticket prices were rising with the mercury outside.   We were getting desperate when we stumbled into a tourist agency that, upon telling them the date and time we were interested in departing, exclaimed, “You’re in luck!  We have a bus that needs to be returned to Goreme that evening.  It will travel direct to the town, no stops, and the tickets are half price.”  It seemed too good to be true, but after discussing our options and gaining some assurances, we bought the tickets.  Sure, this happy coincidence could have easily turned into a bad accident, but as promised, because we were in the right place at the right time – and willing to take a calculated leap of faith – we scored cheap tickets on a direct bus that was roomier than any of the other companies’.

Us and our Croatian friends at Sintra

Of course there are lots of other happy coincidences I could share with you, from the amazing steakhouse we discovered in Buenos Aires vis a vis NPR’s Bob Mondello, to the unforgettable hotel we stumbled upon in Ubud, Bali, because we waited until the last minute and it was the only reservation request that anybody responded to.  But I’ll leave you with a final example of a happy coincidence.  While staying at a hostel in Lisbon, Portugal, we found ourselves in the lobby one evening, trying to decode the mysteries of the Portuguese train schedule that was mounted to the wall.  As our fingers etched the route from Lisbon to Sintra, a nearby historic town, another couple approached from the back, commenting that they were planning on taking the same trip the next morning.  After chatting for a few minutes and sizing one another up, we quickly decided to travel together the next day, and what I remember from that experience is not the gorgeous Moorish town but spending a wonderful day together with a fantastic couple from Croatia.  Anton, the husband, had been to Sintra before and expertly played tour guide.  We laughed and joked and shared stories from our countries over a rustic Portuguese lunch.  And when we go to Croatia in April, we will visit our “happy coincidence” friends on their tiny island of Krk.

Am I going to stop planning? Probably not.  But if I can plan with the expectation that I’ll throw those plans out the moment something better comes along, I’ll be the better for it.

Are you an “accidental tourist” (or not)?  What are some of the happiest coincidences you can recall while traveling?  What are other ways that we can maximize “happy coincidences” – both in travel and in life?

Posted by Elizabeth

Today I was supposed to lay forth the ground rules for the Technoless Challenge. I say “supposed to” because, to be honest, my heart just isn’t into it.  I realized somewhere in the last week that, when I set my mind to breaking a bad habit, I usually emerge the victor.  Remember the challenge I issued to myself last October, to break through my fitness plateau?  Once I made up my mind that it was a priority, I proceeded to hit my target weight in three months (and then I got pregnant).  And that’s how I break bad habits:  I make it a priority.  This whole Technoless Challenge is really just a reflection of the fact that I’ve never made an earnest effort to reduce my social email and networking site time.  For me, the solution is simple:  I’m going to make an effort by setting some self-imposed time limits while reducing the temptation (laptop sitting on coffee table all day = too tempting).  Period.  So for those of you who were gearing up to take the challenge with me, please accept my deepest apologies.  What can I say?  Things change.

The truth is, after the elation of spreading my good news on Friday, and a sorta disastrous Valentine’s Day, I find myself bathing in the emotional afterglow of a strange weekend.  Unlike Anne’s “Valentine’s-neutral” approach (she is so even-keeled), I have always found myself living life hanging from the highest rafters or dragging through the lowest valleys.  “Equilibrium” has never been my strong suit.  That’s why I was so proud of myself when Maikael and I decided to approach this year’s Valentine’s Day with a “no-big-deal, whatever-happens-happens” attitude.  To clarify, Valentine’s Day is not usually met with a great deal of pomp and circumstance in our household.  We usually exchange cards and go out to a nice dinner, and that’s about it.  However, we’ve been out a lot lately, and we are currently in the throes of a DIY bathroom renovation project that is taking twice as long to complete as we had originally bargained for (why does everyone delude themselves into believing that their project will be different?).  Given these circumstances, this Valentine’s Day would be met with even greater asceticism than usual.  And I was okay with that. At least, I thought was okay with that.

A good start.

On Friday night the UPS man dropped a package at my front doorstep; when I opened it, I was met with an asymmetrical, eggplant heart stuffed with truffles from the very fancy-pants Vosges chocolatier.  The weekend was off to a good start!  On Saturday we enthusiastically picked up the special-order window for our bathroom – the one we’ve been talking about installing for five years – which wasn’t what we’d envisioned.  Then, we cut a gigantic hole through the side of our house, which was higher than we’d thought it would be.  Amidst the sawing and banging I couldn’t take my customary afternoon nap – this pregnancy has left me dead-tired — so I made dinner instead, a Mexican feast, Maikael’s favorite.  The pork and potato tacos, simmering in a fiery red guajillo chile-spiked sauce, smelled delicious.  But apparently this baby does not like spicy food, and I spent the rest of the evening belching like a frat boy and trying to enjoy whatever crap we were watching as we flipped through TV channels.

Pretending to take a "shower" in our new stall. Still smiling at this point.

Sunday wasn’t much better.  After continuing to struggle with the window, we finally installed it.  Twice.  I was looking forward – with unusual enthusiasm – to watching Enchanted on USA at 6:30 that evening, but tuned in to find the credits rolling.  This was after I lost out on an eBay auction for a lamp that I had my heart set on, even though I said I didn’t have my heart set on it, in the final seconds.  And then came the leftover tacos!  Oh, and a dry cupcake for dessert.  By the time we sat down to watch Inglorious Basterds, my stomach was roaring and I wanted nothing more than to go to bed.  Which is why I thought it would be the perfect time to hop on the Internet and purchase our tickets for next weekend’s Taste of Albuquerque!  Let’s just say neither I nor the Junior League of Albuquerque is long on technology, and when you throw these two things together, utter confusion ensues.  And rather than simply hanging it up for the night, I pushed forward out of pure determination, beseeching Maikael for his sage advice as to how to make the website work.  Maikael, clearly exhausted after having spent 48 hours struggling with a bathroom window, may have snapped something about “don’t drag me into your projects.”  And then I may have snapped something about “you’re one to talk, I can’t even take a nap with all that banging.”  And then he may have said something about “spending every weekend on this project so that we can have a nice bathroom.”  And I may have said something about “what, and carrying your unborn child isn’t work?”  Or something like that.  I can’t remember the exact words, but rest assured, it was very dramatic. In any event, Valentine’s Day ended with me retreating to the bedroom and reading a chapter from Lorrie Moore’s A Gate at the Stairs.  Last week’s resolution at The Happiness Project was to “fight fair,” and this week’s is “don’t expect praise or appreciation,” and I’m sorry to say I failed miserably at both.  We never even got a chance to exchange cards.

As I replay these events, it’s obvious that nothing altogether wonderful or awful happened this weekend.  In a funny way, it ended up being the “Valentine-neutral” holiday that Anne described yesterday.  At the end of the day, lost eBay auctions, missed naps, and indigestion are trifles.  So why, in the heat of the moment, did it all feel so doomsday?  Obviously, there was some undercurrent of expectation that I had created for this 48 hour period, whether I was aware of it or not.  If I really examine the mental images I’ve been carrying around, they are stuffed with expectation.  I thought we’d share a lingering dinner at home – one that wasn’t punctuated with low-energy conversation after a day of hard work or capped off with monster digestion problems.   I thought there would be less doing and more talking.  More smiles and less sighs.

We are always creating expectations for ourselves, even when we think we’re not.  We talk a lot about the pitfalls of setting high expectations, but it’s just as easy to create low expectations that are equally impossible to achieve.  Saying we’re trying to keep things “low-key” or “easy-going” is in and of itself an expectation, and given the constraints of our construction project, it was unreasonable to expect that there would be anything “low key” about this weekend.  The fact is, even though I knew the reality of this two-day period going in, even when I said I didn’t have expectations, I did.  We didn’t fail; my expectations did.

Rest assured that Maikael and I mended our fences and eventually exchanged our cards.  The construction project will continue chugging forward next weekend.  And that box of chocolates will be gone before you know it.

Did anyone else have sort of a miserable Valentine’s Day?  Any horror stories to share, from the recent or not-so-recent past?  Do you suffer from setting unreasonable expectations, either too high or too low?  Anybody else out there suffer from spicy food intolerance during pregnancy (a REALLY tough thing living in New Mexico, let me tell you)?

Posted by Elizabeth

Dear You,

How are you?  Can you hear me alright?  I know my voice probably sounds a little muffled, but I have some important words I want to share with you; words that I hope you’ll always remember.

It’s hard to believe that, just mere weeks ago, you were but a glimmer in my consciousness.  But even in that short amount of time you’ve already changed my life.  It’s hard to believe that I was so ambivalent about your existence for nearly 32 years, and that in 12 short weeks you’ve wiped away the slate of doubts.  Before you came along, I wondered what you’d take away from my comfortable life, if the trade off could possibly be worth it.  But I took the plunge, the ultimate leap of faith, reasoning that I had accomplished the big things I wanted to in my life.  I earned my graduate degree, and traveled around the world, and have had plenty of fun and adventure along the way.  It dawned on me one day last fall that you wouldn’t be keeping me from doing anything I couldn’t do with you in tow.  Although having you was never a foregone conclusion — many will undoubtedly be shocked by the news of your arrival — now that it’s happening I can’t imagine it being any other way.  I’ve surprised myself by how quickly I’ve embraced this change, how excited I am for your arrival.  Even though I wasn’t completely sure when I made that great dive down the rabbit hole, I guess I really was ready for you.

Sometimes I lie in bed and wonder what you look like, what you are like.  Are you a boy or a girl (we already have a name picked for you if you’re a girl, but if you’re a boy we’ve got some work to do)?  Do you have your dad’s brown eyes or my blue eyes?  Do you have my thin lips or your dad’s full ones?  My little nose or your dad’s proud one?  Do you lean towards math and science, like him, or English and the arts, like me?  Do you hate olives and seafood and pickles as much as I do?  Do you share your dad’s penchant for spicy foods (after eating that roasted pepper pasta dish a few weeks ago, I don’t think so)?  Are you even-keeled and quiet like your dad, or fiery and impatient like me?  Most likely, you are some of these things…and none of these things.  You are your own person.

We have a lot to learn about one another, and before we get too far, here’s what you should know about me and the life you’re about to be born into.  I love change, a good life project, being goofy, and telling stories, so I think you’ll like me when you’re little.  As you climb into your teen years, though, I suspect your dad might be better at this parenting thing.  I’m more of a morning person than your dad, so go easy on him in that department:  I’ll be up at the crack of dawn with you, but if you’re looking for a night owl, he’s your man.  I tend to worry a lot; in fact, I’ve already done my fair share of worrying about you.  I even worry about worrying about you too much.  It’s just that I don’t want you to grow up to be anxious and neurotic like I am.  When you get older, I know you will roll your eyes and tell me to stop worrying so much.  And I’ll try; I really will.  But just know I worry because I love you.

I love to spend time in the kitchen, and already have dreams of us cooking alongside one another, so I hope you like that, too.  Your dad and I both love to read The New York Times on Sunday mornings, but I have a sneaking suspicion that those days are about to come to a close for awhile (although, if you, too, are a fan, let me know and I won’t cancel the subscription).  We enjoy eating out, and if you’re good, I promise we’ll take you out a lot.  Oh, and we love to travel, and plan to take you everywhere with us.  In fact, you’ve already been to Mexico (weren’t those carnitas from the market fabulous?), and before you’re born you’ll add three more stamps to your passport.

I know it won’t always be easy.  I know our life is in for a monumental change, and that you’ll be at the center of the whirlwind.  I know there will be times when you’ll drive me crazy, when I’ll plead with you to stop crying, when I’ll wonder why you did this or didn’t do that.  I know you’ll probably feel equally frustrated with me, too, wondering why I simply can’t understand.  But through it all, I know that we’ll love each other.

When it’s finally time for you to be born, will you make me a promise?  Will you try to work with me?  Know that I’ll be doing my best, but I’ll need your help, too.  In return, I promise that I’ll do my best to help you to grow into the person you were born to be, not the person I’d like you to be.  Because maybe you’ll prefer playing soccer to being my sous chef.  I’d like to believe that I’ll be always be an open and accepting mother, no matter the circumstance, but the reality is that at times this will hard for me.  In fact, it might be the hardest lesson I have yet to learn in life.

Baby, your dad and I can’t wait to meet you on August 31^st (give or take a few days).  We’ve got a lot to do to get ready for you – turns out, you need a lot of stuff – but we’ll be prepared.  Or, at least as prepared as we can be.    Until then, keep growing healthy and strong, and I’ll do my part to make sure you have everything you need to do just that.  Even though we’ve never met, I already love you.

Love,

Your Mom

PS: Thanks for not making me sick.  I really appreciate it.  I’m sure you’ll think of some way that I can repay you in the near future.

Although I hate to insult the intelligence of our bright readership, in the off chance that you didn’t catch on, The Waiting Game is over!  For those of you who suspected this (and I know there are many of you in this category), I am happy to confirm that I am indeed pregnant, due August 31.  Do you know what a hard secret this has been to keep from you all?  I have been busting at the seams to share the good news with you!  While I’ll strive not to bore you with the details, I hope this new life adventure can provide excellent fodder and many life lessons for all of us who are better trying to live our lives “in pencil.”

Oh, and for those of you who are curious, pictured above is my first ultrasound, taken at about 8 weeks.  Apparently, I am giving birth to The Blob.

This post was written as part of Momalom’s Love It Up Challenge, where bloggers are encouraged to write a “love letter” to someone or something.  I thought this was the perfect way to share the news with you all (and, I hope, will be a happy memento for the baby book).