One Thing At A Time

If I learned anything from practicing Buddhism, it's to slow down and focus, to really know that I'm doing something, rather than letting my mind wander as I work. I'm not perfect at it, not even good at it, really, but this purging and organizing exercise gives me plenty of opportunities to practice.

It's especially important for me to focus during this process because my normal cleaning endeavors may begin with cleaning the kitchen, but it will end with half of the bedroom closet dragged out and I've run out of energy before any of it is finished, resulting in chaos and massive amounts of frustration. So I choose one task and remind myself every minute or so - whenever the impulse hits to get something else done real quick - to stick to one task and finish it.

I've been taking a lot of inspiration from the KonMari technique of discarding. One important piece of advice is to go through items by use rather than by room. Today I chose to deal with my beauty products, make up, and hair supplies. Not the cleaning supplies, not the medical supplies, not the towels. Not the shower stuff. I had to limit myself so I could be thorough. Unlike the KonMari method, in which you gather all of the items in the category from all over the house to one central location and go through it all at once, I did it all in the bathroom. One bag designated for donation, another for trash, and a handful of different small boxes for organizing, I dragged everything out onto the floor and the counter.

I had a vision in my head of what I wanted. Nothing on the counter top except the toothbrushes in their pretty holder, and my little basket with my perfumes. Everything else put away. And while I had a design that I would pare my make up down to one day/night look, I couldn't do it. But I did get rid of all of the mineral make up that irritated my skin, and a bunch of stuff that I inherited from my mom. All of my make up brushes are in a canvas case, my make up arranged in a couple of little boxes and it all fits with plenty of room to spare in my travel case that fits just right in the cabinet. I even took out all of the wonky bobby pins and got all of my hair accessories in a little travel bag that also fits in the cabinet. Got rid of a bunch of lotions from Victoria's Secret that smelled better in the store. Got rid of one of the two flat-irons (though I straighten my hair maybe once a year). Nothing on the counter top except what I wanted. MUCH easier to clean!

Once I was done with that, I had to quelch the urge to push on through the cleaning supplies or the medical supplies. I had this feeling that if I didn't finish the whole bathroom that I hadn't accomplished anything. Truth was, I had used up my spoons for the day and I needed to rest before I pushed myself into a crash. I could tackle the other stuff later. I was one task closer to having a home that didn't frustrated me at every turn.

It's a long process, taking each area in turn according to energy level, but it's worth it, and the goal has become ample incentive. And I'm still developing habits as I go. 

Mayhem and Developing Habits

The closet is *still* not finished, and our stuff is still all over the place. We're waiting for maintenance to replace the long overhead shelves. I've put the large plastic tubs away after going through their contents.

I've been trying to follow the KonMari method, and I'm astonished at how much I was hanging on to because I felt I had to. I've also started reconsidering how my (very tiny) kitchen is organized. It's like looking at my apartment for the first time, to be honest, considering what works and what doesn't. Getting rid of unneeded stuff opens up space and possibilities.

During all of this mayhem, I've tried to develop habits I've wanted for a while. Despite a couple of years of staunch refusal, I have made a family binder. It's not completed yet, but I've been using the daily and sections. Since things are still in turmoil, I can't do all of the daily cleaning tasks, but I've kept up with the kitchen and bathroom, which is better than I was doing before! I wash dishes immediately after I'm finished with them, and make sure the dishes are all done and the stove top is cleaned before I go to bed. My husband has gotten into the habit of washing his dishes as well. I've only had to use the dish washer twice in the past couple of weeks! I don't have to make a massive effort to clean the kitchen before I make dinner. I have a weekly cleaning routine planned out that should keep the house manageable, which is important when I can't predict what my energy or pain level will be from one day to the next.

Part of the KonMari method is putting things back where they belong. Though we're still getting things done, I haven't found a home for everything yet, but I have designated certain places like my side table as specifically uncluttered areas and I keep it uncluttered. Even that isn't perfect yet, but it's a beacon of hope that everything will be clean soon!

Clearing Out Stuff

Dave and I came home from a month's rotation in Temple to discover our closet covered in mold. Water from a roof leak behind the wall had puddled in our closet's carpet. So we hauled everything out of the closet, threw away a lot, and we're now in the process of washing all of the clothes while maintenance finishes repairs.

I'd been wanting to go through that closet, anyway.

Ever since childhood when I first moved from Michigan to Texas, I've learned to welcome opportunities to donate or throw things away. I've moved over a dozen times, and every time I wonder where all this stuff came from. And I have no idea how much I've left behind in dumpsters and in Goodwill stores. But when I have to pack it, I begin to wonder if I really need it. Instead of waiting for a big move, though, I've started purging at various times whenever the opportunity arises.

My husband is wary of these purges. They usually mean I'm going to cause chaos that he has to assist in cleaning up. I try not to involve his possessions, and so far he hasn't given me a reason to. Usually when I start this process, he gets inspired as well.

The last time we moved, it was sudden and in difficult circumstances. Our apartment building had caught on fire and while our apartment didn't burn, it did get a ton of water. Renter's insurance paid for a packing crew, which was wonderful. And at that point I was grateful for whatever wasn't waterlogged. The unpacking process has been mostly an exploration of what survived. But even after losing so much, I still feel like we have too much stuff. Next year Dave and I might be moving, depending on where his residency is, and I'd like to start that next phase of our life without needing a huge moving truck, especially if it's all going to stay in boxes even after we get there.

Like anyone looking for tips in this area, I stumbled on Marie Kondo's book The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up. I devoured it in a couple of days. It might not work for everyone, and I don't agree with everything she suggests, but it has made a huge difference in how I approach my possessions. Instead of finding ways to organize everything, determine what brings you joy and discard the rest. It's pretty simple. It doesn't really apply to things you need, but you'd be surprised at how little you need.

The biggest hurdle I face is the sentimental factor. The best example I have for this is my box of photos. It wasn't a huge box, about the size of a shoe box. I kept pictures from childhood, middle school, high school, college, post-college, my wedding, everything. But most of them were terrible. Bleary, dark, nondescript. Or they were multiples, remains of the years when double prints were the norm no matter what. It felt a little ruthless, but I weeded out probably two thirds of my photos. Everything that remained was special to me. I got rid of pics from my years with old boyfriends, pics of those old boyfriends, everything. I'd held on to those pictures for all this time because I felt I had to, as though the memories would fade if I didn't keep every bad picture. But I don't need to remember everything. I won't be quizzed on any of it. And what memories I have of the events are better than the pictures, anyway.

I've been taking that same ruthlessness to other sentimental items. I kept a lot of my mom's things after she died, trying to cling to her memory, but her style and mine are not compatible. That collection has dwindled over the past few years, and I find that I'm slowly dropping baggage with her memory as I go.

My goal over the next 6 months is to cut our collection of stuff down to essentials. There's little that we've accumulated in our marriage so far that I absolutely cannot imagine having forever. Most of it is yard sale thrift store hand me downs. And it's just stuff we will have to pack and pay to move later. Might as well purge it all now to make room for life after school.

Journey

I am a spiritual mess. Throughout my life I've grappled with matters of faith, looking at any number of different perspectives because none of them made complete sense to me. Doctrine would clash with my experiences. Or people would turn me off. Despite the mantra to love the sinner and hate the sin, I sometimes can't separate the person from the behavior. I can only imagine what people can't separate from me.

Someone once told me that if I say I am a member of a particular denomination or faith, I have to believe everything it stands for. This person had a Master of Divinity degree, so I figured he knew what he was talking about, but I didn't agree with him. A lot of the things that separate denominations are details that really make no appreciable difference. Certainly not enough to make one church more "true" than another. But it got me thinking. I didn't agree with a lot that was taught at the church I attended at that time, and I was already questioning the fundamentals of Christianity in the first place. Instead of choking on these questions, I would follow them to their ends.

So for almost a decade, I've been on an internal journey, a solitary quest to determine what I personally believe separate from what religions tell me. I would question everything, explore other paths. And while it was liberating, I became very cynical. I hated going to church on the rare occasions I did attend. I mentally tore apart every message I heard, became angry every time I heard something I disagreed with, and felt like a blinking neon hypocrite for even being there in the first place. I developed a raging case of anxiety. During this time, I lost both of my grandmothers, my mother, and my mother-in-law. My much-beloved cat disappeared. I lived through any number of dark nights of the soul, staring into myself and despairing. This last year I wondered if I would fight if my life was threatened. I envied people in movies who died. Not that I haven't had spans of happiness, but they were tainted and difficult to maintain. My health problems seem to overpower me.

The reserves of hope have almost run dry.

An important part of me refuses to give up, though, because it feels like defeat. I want(ed) so badly to prove to myself and others that I don't need Christianity to define me or determine my beliefs. That I could make it on my own.

Except I've realized that I can't.

I thought, for this whole time, that if I returned, I would have to accept everything that infuriated me. The details. The purpose for suspending in the first place was to leave the details behind and discover what I really believed. That was the important part. So when I return, it's with considerably less baggage. After talking to people in various faiths and paths, I've realized that I can't accept everything. I can't even faithfully follow a recipe! I always change something. There are some things I learned in my journey that I plan to keep, lessons from Buddhism and Paganism that resonated so deeply that I can't discard them. Because that's where I am.

I still have a lot of issues. I can't hear worship music or anything that sounds like it without cynicism and pain because it feels so hollow to me after years of worship sessions wondering why I couldn't feel it like everyone else seemed to. I wish someone had told me in college that most of the people at those sessions were just as frustrated as I was, and just as afraid of what it meant. In the end, it meant only that that particular form of worship didn't close the circuit for you. Nothing more. Because I would often feel that sincere rush when I sang a song on my own, without all of the amps and guitars and drums and expectations.

A couple weeks ago, I was watching The Walking Dead. Michonne made a point, that the group had been "out there" for too long, trying to survive on their own. They needed a safe place and time to rest, to be human for a while before "out there" stripped them of what humanity they had left. That's what I'm feeling right now. I need somewhere to rest before I lose myself.

Bucket Lists

I read Leo Babauta's Zen Habits post about why to not have a bucket list (or, rather, what kind of bucket list is preferable), and I began thinking about the bucket list I've shuffled around in my head for years. I'm not a particularly motivated person when it comes to fulfilling this list, and most of the items seem so far-fetched that I wouldn't be surprised if I never did them, no matter how much fun I think they would be.

Some have been crossed off the list already. Saw a Broadway musical on Broadway in 12th grade. I've seen both The Phantom of the Opera and Les Miserables on stage. I've been in a band singing lead. I won National Novel Writing Month in 2013. I've traveled long-distance on a train a few times and LOVED it. I taught in a college setting for a few months.

Some items are in the works. I got my masters degree and am just waiting to learn where Dave and I will be for residency to start my PhD and eventually teach university classes. I've also got a novel series in the works and am in the major overhaul phase of editing the first book.

Most of my list is dedicated to travel, and we're just too poor to do any of that at the moment. I've seen the Atlantic Ocean from New York City, but I've not been to Boston. I want to take a West Coast driving or train tour (which will be more fun now that we have friends in California and Oregon). I want to take Dave to Mackinac Island. Go hiking on the Appalachian Trail. See the northern lights. I want to go to England, Scotland, Ireland. France and Germany. Poland. India. Japan. Jamaica. I'd like to visit my cousins in Zambia.

I'd like to get the hell out of Texas for a while.

But what about the big ticket items like sky diving and bungee jumping? Why do those two wind up on so many lists for people who honestly are too scared to do them? They're on my list, but I am honestly more afraid of large parties than I am of jumping off a bridge if that makes any sense. More afraid of speaking in a foreign language to native speakers. So, does that rule out three quarters of my travel items? Maybe, but likely not.

I like making a bucket list because it helps me figure out my priorities. Yes, the idea of strapping a glorified rubber band to my feet and leaping over the side of a bridge makes me question my sanity. It's counter-instinctive. But my desire for flight is stronger than my fear, so I will likely do it. After a very thorough inspection of the harness and the line. I'm not stupid. And my desire to travel is stronger than my fear of fluxing up a conjugation. So making this list helps me find balances to my fears, reasons to act that are stronger than anxiety. Otherwise, I might become a slave to my fears and become a raging agoraphobic.

I know people who are determined to run a marathon (or three). I admire their tenacity and their athletic prowess. Marathons are out of my range. It's something that I just know. I hate running. Love hiking, hate running. There's no way "Run the Boston Marathon" is going to end up on my list. But those same marathon runners might feel the same about writing a novel (or three). What is NOT on the list tells as much about the person as what is.

So bucket lists can be an aid to mindfulness, a way to determine what is stronger than your fears. And a bucket list doesn't need to be filled with high adventure. It can include some of the more simple goals like watching more sunsets.

Personally, I have no crushing desire to scratch everything off my list. If I don't get to see the Taj Mahal in my lifetime, I might in the next. As long as I know I've faced down a few of my fears, I'll be satisfied.

Foster Kittens

Our neighborhood cat had her kittens earlier this week - three of them. Since she's not officially owned by anyone, a neighbor and I have taken over and we are working with the Humane Society to find a foster home for mama and kittens, though we don't know when a foster home will become available. So until then, I am the foster. Bella and her kittens arrived this afternoon, and they all have been safely housed in a towel-lined box in the living room. From what I can see, as they are only a couple of days old, two appear to be solid black and one is a tortie. Bella is grey.

My husband was a little wary of the whole plan at first, but once he saw them, his heart melted. Bella spent many days in our apartment while she was pregnant, so our cats know her. And I think my joy is so overpowering that Dave can't complain. And if this run goes well enough, I might sign up to be a foster with the Humane Society.

Right now, they are nearly silent except for the occasional plaintive squeak. When I hold them, they mew for a moment, then settle down and cuddle against my chest. I read that kittens should be handled often so they grow accustomed to human contact. I can't argue with that! Only, right now they are so difficult to tell apart that I sometimes pick up the same kitten twice. I'm resisting the urge to name them, since I know already I will have a hard time letting them go.

Passion

This is not a life. It's a form of survival. It's counterfeit, and it's killing me.

Sitting in this frigid little office at this desk, I realized that one major reason I'm so unhappy is that I'm trying to fit into a form of life that I don't understand. And, ultimately, I'm ignoring what makes me happy so I have enough energy to be someone I'm not so I can have a life that others tell me is fulfilling.

I don't belong in a business office behind a desk. I'd rather be in front of a classroom, but I don't have the health to do that anymore. There's only so much I can do, and if I'm going to spend hours a day sitting in front of a computer, I'd rather do so knowing that it's going to make my life better in a fundamental way, not because I might get paid for it. And when you work commission, there's a chance you won't get paid.

I've thought for years that my job defined me. And when I was a teacher, it did. I identified as a teacher, my whole being leaned in that direction. But since I've been out of the classroom, I've lost that identity. I'm not a teacher anymore. But I'm not a resume writer. I'm just...here. Filling a space until I figure out what I want to be when I grow up. And I spend a lot of energy doing that and trying to keep up with the housework. No wonder I can't write my stories. I've spent everything I had just getting to the point when I have the time to write.

But I should be writing. Not writing resumes, writing stories. I have novels in the works, stories I've started and abandoned because I'm afraid of that kind of life. Afraid of being the starving artist. But it's getting to the point that I'm more afraid of surviving another year.

Something very frightening happened to me a few months ago. I don't want to go into details, but I realized that I didn't have anything personal to look forward to. Things seemed meaningless. Life like that becomes a constant drudgery, but I couldn't see a way out of it. Going back to work didn't help matters - I was just reminded quite painfully of my limitations.

So today I thought about that situation months ago - and found a possible solution. Stop surviving. If this is surviving, what is living? If I could be doing whatever I wanted to find fulfillment, what would that life be like? Traveling and writing. I can't do much traveling at the moment, but I can write. I can stop allocating the dredges of my time to my writing and make writing my priority.

Not an simple task, though. People tend to look at writing like a pleasant little hobby that one can pick up or set aside at a moment's notice. And all that time spent at home could (should?) be better spent on housework. Except writing is a talent like any other that requires practice and dedication and discipline to make it good. A schedule, a deadline, and a fear of missing that deadline worse than the fear of failure. A driving need to get this story out of your head before it consumes you.

This is what I need to live. A passion.