Posted by Anne

There are many reasons I love my husband.  He makes the Costco trips for starters.  I hate Costco.  But believe it or not, he does something even more important.  He keeps me moving.  And by keeping me moving, he keeps me grounded.

When life’s inherent ambiguity wears on me, I have the tendency to over-think our plans, and overplan our life.  And even overplan our plans?  It’s not helpful.  But that’s when the husband, like a superhero of mindfulness, intervenes.

He doesn’t even know he’s doing it.  It’s just that he can’t see the point in sitting around pondering when we could be doing. And just like that, he whisks me off to activities that force me to be mindful, present, and free of hyper-analysis.   And yes, we do sit still too, but there’s something about activity that magically frees my mind.  Since moving to the Northwest, a quick rundown of some of my favorite mindful moments, all at the suggestion of my fella…

Concerts…

Snowshoeing…

Getting a puppy…

New landscapes…

Fishing trips…

And hikes, upon hikes, upon hikes…

I think I’ll keep him.

Posted by Anne

What makes a relationship tick?  The recipe for romantic bliss is one of our country’s favorite topics, and it doesn’t take a PhD to agree on some basic elements like respect, emotional intimacy, and love.  But what else?  How do you infuse spice and energy into even the most comfortable of relationships?  Says one relationship theory…adrenaline. 

The theory—backed-up by research—is pretty simple:  say you’re in an adrenaline-spiking situation with a loved one.  The arousal we experience from that burst of adrenaline spills over, and we attribute some of that arousal to the person we’re with.  Thus, in the right circumstance, adrenaline begets romantic passion.  

This rickety bridge is as close as I get to an adrenaline rush...courtesy of trip to Chile last year.

The first time I read this particular theory, I panicked. You see, I’m not a fan of adrenaline.  I’m sure it’s very useful and all in life-threatening situations.  But on an everyday basis, I don’t go seeking ways to be in touch with said adrenaline.  Does this mean my marriage is doomed?  I don’t think so. 

In my view, the intimacy gained from a shared experience need not be risky.  Every time my husband and I approach a new experience, the outcome is unknown to us.  Life in Pencil is often required.  So even though our adventures aren’t particularly high-risk, they are still adventures.  We…

-Travel
-Hike
-Fish
-Camp
-Eat in funky small-town restaurants

And in recalling these experiences, I feel happy, tingly, and closer to my husband than ever. 

So if sky-diving, bungee-jumping, and rock climbing are your things, go for it.  My recipe for relationship bliss?  Simply sharing experiences for which I can’t predict an outcome.  Bonding through the shared experience of low-risk adventure. 

Do you bond with your significant other through experiences, or more routine pastimes?  Are you a fan of feeling that adrenaline rush, and if so, does it make you feel more amorous than usual?

Posted by Anne

Have you ever found yourself in a rut?  Personal or professional, we all experience phases when we feel stagnant, stuck, or just unable to break out of habits we wish we could leave behind.  We want to lose weight but can’t seem to kick those unhealthy snacking cycles.  We want to be more creative at work, but our job duties don’t leave room for new roles.  External forces recapitulate our ruts.  And so we need revision. 

At Life in Pencil, we often speak of “rewriting our plans”, or even rewriting aspects of our life.   But sometimes, it’s not as simple as wanting to change a part of your life.  Internal motivation is powerful, but if you’re anything like me, inertia puts up a good fight.     

During her recent visit, my Mom and I were talking about change—and how to bust out of unhealthy—or mundane—ruts.  And she (usually one to quote someone like Wendell Berry) instead quoted someone more my speed…Dr. Oz.  (Yeah, I kinda like that guy.)  According to Dr. Oz, you can’t just depend on your own willpower or motivation if you want to change.  You have to rearrange your external surroundings—your entire routine.  Thus, you avoid all those cues around you that affirm your inertia, and leave you solidly planted in that rut—whatever it may be. 

Oh, Dr. Oz.  You smartie-pants.  I think he’s right.  Sometimes we need that change of scenery or routine to truly alter our actions and jump-start us out of a bad habit.  When we change on the outside, we can often find within ourselves what we’ve been missing on the inside.   

This all hits close to home for me, as I’ve been entering my own annual rut of sorts.  I have a name for this rut.  It’s called “summer”.  As much as I adore the lazy days and weekend indulgence of the season, I struggle during the week.  I feel sluggish and often find it difficult to stay motivated throughout the 8 to 5 schedule.  So this year, I tried something new.  I decided to ask for a change in my external circumstances.  I asked to work 4 (10-hour) days a week.  Knowing I have that extra day makes me savor my weekends all the more, and gives me a jolt of something to look forward to during the week.  I still have sluggish moments, but the grooves of my rut aren’t quite as deep these days.

So the next time you feel that old ennui or those nasty habits creeping in, ask how you can shake up your external routines and surroundings.  Try changing…

-Your after-work routine (go for a walk)

-Your morning routine (drink your coffee outside, instead of at the computer)

-Your closet (clean out the junk, so you can see the gems!)

-Your….(fill in the blank)

Have you ever kicked a bad habit, or pulled yourself out of a rut?  Did you do it on sheer willpower, or did you change your surroundings?

Posted by Anne

Is there any season that lends itself to Life in Pencil as well as summertime?  Methinks not.  The long days, brilliant sunshine, and lazy spirit of the season seem ripe for Life in Pencil moments.  For example…

Lazy rivers, and resting on the bank:

Al Fresco, all the time:

Incredible ingredients make for minimal culinary planning:

And tiny tastings to wash it all down:

Camping trips with lazy puppies:

Sitting on the back patio with not-so-lazy hydrangeas:

And on vacation…one very slow sunset that made me forget anything and everything on my schedule. 

Happy Friday, all.  And Happy Summer.

What images would appear in your summer photo album?

Posted by Anne

You’ve all seen the picture.  It was V-J Day in 1945, and one very exuberant sailor planted a kiss on one very cute nurse.  It’s probably one of the most well known photographs of WWII, captured in our collective memory (and college dorm rooms).  Clearly, I was not around for this moment in history, yet the photo never fails to evoke…something.  Joy?  Nostalgia?  Patriotism?  Yes, yes, and yes.  And also the beauty of spontaneity.  I view it as a definitively Life in Pencil moment–totally unpremeditated, totally sincere. 

The New York Times recently published this article about that iconic kiss, reporting that the woman who claimed to be the nurse had died at age 91.  I have to wonder–was her life full of these kinds of moments?  Probably not.  But it doesn’t really matter.  Because that one little Life in Pencil moment–captured for eternity–defined a larger moment in our national history.

Do something spontaneous this weekend. 

Have you ever done something really spontaneous that ended up defining your life in an important way?  What does that famous photo evoke for you?  What wild and spontaneous shenanigans will you pursue this weekend?:)

Posted by Elizabeth

On Fridays at Life in Pencil, Anne and I like to highlight the different ways that other people are living their lives in pencil.  This week I’d like to introduce you to Annie Lambla, AKA “The Yogurt Pedaler.” Annie and I met nearly two years ago in Goreme, Turkey, a small town nestled in the heart of the country’s Cappadocia region, where otherworldly rock formations twist skyward to create a dreamy moonscape.  Maikael and I arrived, dusty and exhausted, at The Fairy Chimney Inn just as the sun was peeking over the craggy hills, our bones having been rattled within an inch of their life after a long overnight bus trip.  Annie, a fresh-faced recent college graduate, arrived that same morning, eager to start a part-time volunteer job at the Inn, having fallen in love with Cappadocia on a trip earlier that year.  She loved Turkey so much, in fact, that she moved to Istanbul just after college graduation to teach English, and was capping off her year of adventure with a serving stint.

Ten years her senior, I remember being struck by how comfortable she seemed in her own skin, how she jumped head first into breakfast service moments after her arrival, confidently balancing plates on her palm while taking orders for eggs.  Annie, Maikael, and I spent a memorable day together during our all-too-brief stay, hitchhiking (her idea) to nearby Avanos, where Annie assuredly translated to the driver of the Mercedes who eventually picked us up and wanted to spend the rest of afternoon with us.  “I told him we had friends to meet in Avanos,” she said simply, having effortlessly managed what could have been an awkward interaction at best (or a crazed killer at worst).  And although she’d never been to the town, Annie acted as our cultural tour guide, snaking us through pottery shops where we threw misshapen bowls, ducking into an ancient ice cream parlor, and breezing through the local market.

As we got to know Annie during the course of stay, usually over long afternoon talks in the inn’s sunny courtyard, I was impressed by what she had accomplished as a young adult just beginning to make her first tentative steps into the big bad world.  She had studied abroad in France and was planning on a return visit after her time in Turkey to intern with a dairy farm.  She was just as interested in anthropology as she was in architecture.  She had published academic papers and was considering graduate school.  I couldn’t help but think back to myself at 22, nervously navigating my way through life, second guessing every decision I made, wondering what I was interested in and where I belonged.  Needless to say, I was impressed by how Annie was truly embracing life, and couldn’t help but lament how I had frittered my 20s away.  Whereas I had been intent on furiously etching my half-baked plans in pen, Annie was happily making tentative pencil strokes and confidently wielding her eraser.  Although we were acquainted with each other only briefly, I knew in my soul that she was going to be a success, because she was already demonstrating the necessary skills to live a life in pencil:  curious, willing to forge her own path, unafraid to take risks, and able to move forward without a plan penned in permanent marker.

Since we parted paths, I’ve kept in touch with Annie through the magic of Facebook and email, and am always eager to learn what adventure she’s currently on.  In the intervening years there have been internships and jobs in Chicago, art exhibitions in Istanbul (she’s a terrific photographer), and plenty of foreign travel.  She has rewritten her life many, many times over the past two years, but her current undertaking intrigues me the most.

As The Yogurt Pedaler, Annie is launching a grassroots effort to connect yogurt-making to local dairy farms and their communities, getting people together on the street and in their kitchens.  Peddling through Illinois, Indiana, and Ohio by bicycle this August and September, Annie will pull a cart behind her bicycle, where she will meet with local dairy farmers, take their milk to nearby towns, schools, and summer camps, and teach people how to make yogurt.  As a self-described “urban anthropologist,” Annie says that The Yogurt Pedaler combines her “passion for bikes, hand-made food, and street life.”  Maybe it’s my love of local food culture (no pun intended), but this seems like such an exciting and innovative project, one I never would have had the guts to attempt in my early 20s.

If you’d like to read more about Annie and The Yogurt Pedaler project, I encourage you to visit her website.  She has a month to raise $1,800 to get her endeavor off the ground, so if you are a fellow yogurt enthusiast – or just someone who wants to help a bright, interesting, and interested young woman live out her dream (in pencil) – consider donating via the link on her website.  Nothing inspires me to live my life in pencil more than helping something else do the same.

Thanks, Annie, for being a great Life in Pencil Role Model, and good luck in your new job as The Yogurt Pedaler!

Life in Pencil has made a few appearances lately amongst our supportive blog community.  Gale at Ten Dollar Thoughts wrote a great piece about vacationing “in pencil,” and Lindsey at A Design So Fast reprised a post about her own birthing experience after reading my recent piece about Birth Plans, Life Plans.  Thanks, ladies!

Posted by Anne

The patch of flowers at the corner of Carl's yard.

We met Carl the day we moved into our home.  Carl is our next-door neighbor, and in a world where it’s becoming less and less common to truly know your neighbor, I love that Carl was—other than our landlady—the first soul we met in our town.  A few things you should know about Carl…

1. He loves his yard.  It always looks meticulous. 
2. He tends his flowers religiously—even though there aren’t very many. 
3. He always has visitors.  My guess is that they are usually family, but I can’t be sure.    

And one final note on Carl—and a significant one in my eyes.  Carl is old.  Now, it’s not uncommon to see people more than twice our age in our neighborhood.  We live in one of those neighborhoods—developed in the 1960’s—that’s chock full of ranch style houses and people who have lived here since the homes were built.  Most of our neighbors are retired—and we hardly see them. 

But Carl is different.  In the two years we’ve lived here, I’ve seen Carl frequently, and never without an oxygen tank strapped to his back.  It looks like one of those Camel-Back packs people wear on hikes and bike-rides.  When we stop to talk to Carl, I hardly notice anymore; it’s just normal to see that oxygen tube attached to his nose, and a smile on his face.  He does everything with that oxygen.  He stands, slightly hunched, and he weeds, waters, and prunes.  He never allows his constant need for, well, air to interfere with his routine. 

When I see him outside with his flowers, I like to imagine all kinds of lives for Carl—before I moved here, and well before the oxygen.  In one daydream, he’s a highly decorated and retired hero from the Navy, and met his wife in a whirlwind WWII-era romance.  In another scenario he was a daredevil outdoorsman, drawn to the Northwest for the rugged Cascade mountain range and the wild rivers.  I imagine these lives for him because I assume his persistence—his refusal to let that dang oxygen tank keep him from his flowers—must mean he’s always been active…a “doer”.  I assume he made hay while the sun shined.  But that is my assumption.  And this past weekend, I considered a different story for Carl. 

On Saturday morning, as I turned the corner to my street after a brief but energizing run, I saw Carl.  Not alone, but with a young boy…maybe 6 or 7.  Pretty typical—like I said, Carl always has visitors.  Carl sauntered along (oxygen in tow), pointing out plants and flowers to the little boy, who trailed along behind holding a stick and playfully waving it back and forth like a sword. They had nowhere to be, except with one another.  They had nothing to observe, except the springtime blooms.

And this very ordinary scene caused me to construct one more scenario for Carl’s life.  Maybe his life has been the picture of ordinary.  Maybe he worked hard at the same job for 40 years.  Maybe he read bedtime stories to his children, and the Sunday paper over coffee with his wife.  Maybe he makes great pancakes, and loves folk music.  There is beauty in a life like that, and importance too.  Maybe “making the most out of life” isn’t dependent on daring feats or distant journeys.  Maybe it’s just being there for the ones you love, and living life gracefully.

At Life in Pencil, we often talk about rewriting your life, and living it with openness to reinvention and change.  But that doesn’t require massive reinvention, big stories, or rewriting your life in any dramatic fashion.  All it takes is an attention to the things that matter to you, regardless of your place in life.  I like to believe Carl lived his life in pencil.  And if he didn’t before, he sure looks to be doing it now…with his flowers and his family, and with that oxygen strapped to his back.   

Do you know someone older than you who refuses to let their age hold them back?  Can anyone think of another exciting life for Carl?  How do you think you’ll handle your own aging process someday…in pencil? 

Posted by Elizabeth

Each of us, whether we realize it or not, plays prescribed roles in our own lives.  Sometimes we choose these roles for ourselves; other times we unwittingly adopt them or someone assigns them to us.  But nowhere is this phenomenon truer than in partnerships.  There is the person who does the yardwork, the barbecuing, tends the finances, buys the gifts, writes the thank-you notes, takes out the trash, washes the cast-iron skillet (yes, in our relationship, there is a designated person to do this task), makes unpleasant phone calls to insurance companies, and manages the social calendar.  Oftentimes these roles are circumscribed so early in a relationship that no one considers ever rewriting them, even when they fail to function as they once did.

During the course of our trip, I stumbled upon an interesting realization:  aside from the day-to-day roles that Maikael and I play, each of us has roles that we adopt when we travel.  I’m not sure if this is true in most partnerships, but Maikael and I have traveled enough together that we’ve worn a groove in our travel routines.  These roles didn’t develop overnight.  There was a lot of fumbling around as we figured out where each of us fit best.  In other words, there was a lot of rewriting along the way.  Here’s what I’ve observed:

Money: While I manage the “travel fund” portion of our savings, Maikael is the keeper of the money when we’re actually on the road.  All ATM withdrawals happen from his card, and credit card purchases are made on his MasterCard (namely because it is no-fee on international charges).  Once money is withdrawn, it’s divided between the two of us to minimize an “all the eggs in one basket” scenario should a wallet be lost or stolen.  However, Maikael is ultimately responsible for keeping track of our cash flow.  While he keeps an eye on the bills, I am (happily!) the keeper of the coins.

Documents: I keep copies of all of our important documents – including confirmations of hotels, transportation, tours – in a plastic accordion file.  This role brings me a lot of joy.  During our round-the-world trip I insisted that Maikael keep his own accordion file; this did not bring him a lot of joy, so I took over this organizational role on subsequent trips, which makes both of us happier and gives me greater peace of mind.  I always guard our passports, except on travel days when we’re each responsible for our own.

Reservations: I am the maker of all reservations.  Plain and simple.

Maps & Directions: Before we leave home, I print out maps and directions from Google Maps, which I carefully place in my accordion file.  However, once we’re at our destination, it is Maikael’s job to interpret said maps.  Because Maikael’s map-reading skills are superior to mine (he has much better spatial-relation abilities), it’s his job to figure out a course through a city on a local map.  I used to second-guess his skills and try to play the role of co-pilot, but I soon discovered that it’s easier to simply surrender control to him in this particular arena.  I am a terrible navigator.

Eating: I always choose the restaurants we’ll eat in, namely because I care more than Maikael does when it comes to food.  Rather than pretending to weigh in on the matter, he now simply asks, “Where are we eating dinner tonight?”

Initiating Conversations: When it comes to approaching strangers to ask a question or procure information, I used to make Maikael do all the talking — especially when it involved a transaction in a foreign language.  This role has seen major revision.  I’ve finally reached the point where it doesn’t make me feel nervous or intimidated anymore, so this is a role that we happily share in equal measure.

The happ(ier) couple!

As I look at the division of these roles, I see them not as an extension of gender types (men handle the money, women handle organization) so much as our personalities.  I’m better at keeping track of details, and Maikael is better at orienteering.  The roles we’ve chosen capitalize on our inherent strengths and skills, and our travels seem to go more smoothly when we own these roles.  Another thing I noticed is that we’ve rewritten our travel roles more than our everyday ones.  There is something about travel, I guess, that feels more fluid and open to revision.  Travel is a chance for us to be someone other than who we are at home. While I maintain the social calendar at home and am often responsible for bringing new people into our fold, Maikael is the one who is likely to net us a new friend on the road.  I think our everyday selves could learn a thing or two from our travel selves – maybe it’s time to start some rewriting?

What roles do you play in your everyday life?  When you travel?  Do those roles change on the road?  What roles in your life would you like to give up, take on, or simply rewrite?

Posted by Elizabeth

When Maikael and I visited the Istria region of Croatia, a verdant peninsula known for its sweeping vistas and long culinary tradition (some describe it as Tuscany 50 years ago), we decided to go truffle hunting.  I can’t declare myself to be any sort of truffle connoisseur, but I had read that Croatia is one of a handful of countries who can lay claim to being truffle territory, a precious fungus known for its rich taste that grows below the surface of the soil, making them difficult to forage.  It’s no wonder truffles – the most prized being the white variety – sell on the market for upward of $3,500 per pound!  After spending the morning truffle hunting, it was clear why these remarkable fungi are so prized – and how the experience is chock-full of life in pencil lessons.

You only need a little of a very good thing. Before the truffle hunt began, we had a chance to sample typical Istrian delicacies laced with truffles, including spreads, oils, cheeses, sausages, and a delicious frittata dusted with truffle shavings.  The taste is earthy and decadent, their aroma a whiff of the forest it grew in.  The thing about truffles is a small amount packs a big punch – and isn’t that true with the best things in life?  Our lives need not be a nonstop parade of spectacular or extraordinary experiences, but one small but special encounter a day goes a long way towards our overall contentment.

Everybody needs a guide. Because truffles grow below the surface of the ground, highly-trained dogs – not pigs, as is commonly believed – are used to sniff out the elusive fungus.  Dogs are trained from two months of age, and only a handful of them will go on to become full-fledged truffle hunters.  The canines are valuable – a well-trained dog can fetch as much as $13,000 – and when a major truffle is found, both the owner and the dog get credit.  Quite simply, the task couldn’t be completed without the dog.  As we go through our own “hunt” in life, we could all benefit from the help of a guide – be it a professional helper or a good friend – someone with finely-tuned senses to help us navigate the world and seek out hidden prospects.  We can’t maximize our opportunities if we always go it alone.

You have to know what you’re looking for. It’s amazing to watch a truffle hunting dog at work.  He sniffs his way through the underbrush, tunneling through mounds of dried leaves with his snout:  he knows what he’s looking for.  The search would be impossible otherwise.  When his keen sense of smell picks up the scent of a truffle he begins digging furiously, his owner quickly following in suit.  “If I don’t get there in time,” said Ramila, our guide, “he’ll eat the truffle.”  After the dog has dug a few inches into the soil, Ramila begins carefully clearing away the dirt with a blunt-nosed spade.  “There it is!” she cries.  “Do you see it?”  I see nothing but a blanket of coal-colored dirt until she nicks a corner, revealing alabaster skin.  If she didn’t know what she was looking for it would be easy to miss the truffle altogether, which could quickly be mistaken for a clump of dirt.  How many of us go searching for something in our lives without knowing what it is, only to return from the hunt empty-handed and disappointed?

Things aren’t always as they appear. Black truffles masquerade as the dirt surrounding them.  And sometimes, what looks like a simple nugget is a giant truffle waiting to be extracted from the earth.  Ramila’s seventeen year-old son told us about his biggest find, guiding us through a photo gallery in their home which chronicled the hunt.  “At first I thought it was just a tiny truffle, but it was turned in its side like this,” he said, demonstrating with his hands.  After some careful and persistent digging, he revealed a truffle big enough to cup in two palms, earning him nearly $1,000 of pocket money.  It’s easy to discard something that looks meaningless at first glance, especially early in the search process.  We’d be wise to move slowly and reserve judgment until we’ve had a chance to adequately assess the situation.

“Fairest gems lie deep.” Truffle hunting is labor-intensive work.  There are only certain growing seasons, trained dogs are required for a successful hunt, and a keen eye is needed to identify the real deal.  Such is true in life.  The most valuable assets can’t often be seen.  They hide below the surface, waiting for use to ferret them out.  They must be toiled over and worked through.  Nothing worth having comes easy.

There are no sure things. During hunting season, Ramila told us, the dogs are sent out two or three times a day to go hunting.  Sometimes they come back with scads of truffles; other times nothing.  During our hour-long hunt, Ramila and her most-prized dog unearthed only four small truffles.  Her assessment?  “Not too bad.”  A level of comfort with uncertainty is a prerequisite to a successful hunt, as an hour of work could have yielded nothing – or a major haul.  You never know setting out on the hunt – in truffles or in life – what you’re going to find, so an attitude of optimism, open-mindedness, and reserved judgment is required.  And patience.  Lots and lots of patience.

Posted by Elizabeth

The outdoor portion of Zanarini's -- not the same as the experience at the stand-up bar.

We sidled up to the sleek bar at Zanarini, handed over our order – two cappuccinos – printed on a crisp white receipt, and let the magic begin.  Throngs of Italians crowded in around us, slugging espresso from tiny white cups in the standing position and briskly munching on perfectly flaky pastry crowned with almonds, dusted with sugar, and stuffed with velvety cream.  A team of attendants dressed in impeccable navy suits manned the bar, quickly taking orders, swishing rags across the counter at even the threat of a spill, and removing plates the second the last bite had been taken.  The master of ceremonies, deep in concentration, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, took his command at the back of the bar, juggling countless coffee orders at once behind the gleaming machine.  Soon a perfectly coiffed attendant placed our cappuccinos before us, a perfect cap of foam crowning the whole affair, alongside two small glasses of water.  The whole operation was a powerhouse of efficiency in a country that is otherwise marked by leisurely meals, the midday la pausa, and a general lack of urgency.

I watched this performance with fascination every morning during our stay in Bologna, struck by the life in pencil lessons endemic to the experience.  Not everything in life needs to be leisurely to be enjoyed; there is time and place for everything.  A good cup of coffee and excellent pastry could cure the ills of the world.  But the most important lesson came from those stylish coffee bar attendants who treated their job not as a job but a profession. Whatever your job is, do it well, give it attention, and treat it with respect. From their tailored suits to their constant attentiveness, the message they communicated was, “I care.”  And it wasn’t just the coffee attendants.  In restaurants I witnessed skilled waiters attend to their work as a craft, their passion for their product evident.  In shops I watched well-dressed professionals attend to their customers with genuine knowledge and conscientiousness, taking care of every last detail.  Living in a culture where service positions are largely – and sadly – regarded as an unskilled segment of the labor force, I wondered what a different world it would be if we all treated our work like the Italian coffee attendants do, approached with dignity.  Because it’s is not the work we do but the spirit in which we approach it that matters.

In what ways could you “rewrite” your relationship to your own work – however you define your work – to treat it with greater care and respect?