January is more than half over, or how to get past New Year Failures

As many people do at the beginning of the year, I reflected a bit on what I wanted to accomplish in 2020. I’ve been listening to Kate Hanley’s podcast and her New Year’s episodes offered such a different approach to goal setting as a year starts that I decided to try it.

One suggestion Hanley offered in an episode was to routinely check in with what plans you make on Jan. 1. That doesn’t seem like an extraordinary task, but it’s one that I haven’t really employed, well, ever. So I set an event in my calendar to check in every Sunday night. The first Sunday, I was proud of my dedication.

This Sunday, not so much. So I did something fairly revolutionary, and something I think Hanley would approve of (not that I need her approval, but you know what I mean): I reassessed.

I took a good 30 minutes and read everything I wrote those first days of January. I reflected as to whether they were truly sustainable actions. I felt pretty good about two actionable tasks, less good about the others. I thought, what do I really *need* in order to have a more peaceful life? Because at the end of the day, that’s what I want 2020 to be about.

I narrowed down to three things I need to do daily. But then I realized that keeping those three things in my phone or in my journal won’t help me when I come home from rehearsal, completely wiped out, or from school, completed brain dead.

So I did something uncharacteristic: I used fancy post-it notes that I reserve for other people, and used them for me. I put them in places I’ll see when I get home, and thanks to the fabulous Emily McDowell, I also get a nice little positive message at the top of each note.

So if, like me, you woke up this morning and realized that January is nearly over and you’ve already given up on something you set out to accomplish Jan. 1, let me offer this gentle advice: reassess. Don’t berate yourself, and don’t give up. Adjust. And if you can, make yourself concrete reminders, instead of leaving those plans languishing in your Notes app or a journal. Whether it’s Jan. 1 or 20 or the end of September, you can always reassess and adjust.

Punctuation matters…notice how the connotation changes based on the punctuation. #GrammarNerd

Hang in there…

If you or someone you know is in need of immediate mental health assistance, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255.

A year ago, I was quite sick. I didn’t want to admit to anyone how sick I was, including myself, and it wasn’t until I almost drove myself to the hospital that I realized how sick I was.

As I was stopped at a red light, deciding whether to turn left and drive home or go straight and drive to the hospital, I knew I needed more consistent care.

Every other time I’d gone to therapy, I realized, it was for an acute, immediate need. And once that need seemed to resolve, I’d shake hands with the therapist that helped me survive, and move on, never addressing the larger issues at play with my depression.

Somehow, (friends, family) I got through the one-two punch of holidays and the musical, and once the show closed, I set about finding a therapist that would treat me for the long haul.

Last night before I went to bed, I looked around my home. No dishes in the sink. No clutter on my dining room table. Blankets on my couches neatly draped. Laundry washed, dried, folded and put away.

I thought about this time last year, and while I was never living in squalor, I wasn’t taking care of a lot of small things that add up to making a big difference in my quality of life.

I hate doing almost all of those things.

So in the spirit of this post that has gone somewhat viral off and on for the past couple of years, I present you with:

A List Of Things I Hate Doing But Do Anyway Because They Help Keep Me Alive (not-comprehensive).

  1. Using a meditation app morning and night.
  2. Doing my dishes every evening.
  3. Creating daily to-do lists of 5-7 tasks, and completing all tasks.
  4. Planning all meals a month at a time.
  5. Meal prepping on Sundays.
  6. Budgeting once a week.
  7. Putting away my shoes every night.
  8. Only spend two nights a week at home.
  9. Forgiving myself for creating lists that aren’t in multiples of 5

Holidays are hard. Life is hard. And when I look back on the past decade, one triumph is our collective culture’s admission that talking about mental health helps to destigmatize it. It’s easy for me to write posts like this; it’s harder to click ‘publish.’

But I’m publishing anyway, because right now, at 8:05 p.m. on a Friday night five days before Christmas, I don’t feel like I want to die. Despite this year’s heartbreak, despite major personal shifts, despite not accomplishing everything I wanted to this year (and decade), I’m feeling okay.

But I know someone in this world might not be feeling okay. And I guess I hope that this, or some other brave writer’s work, finds its way to that someone, and that they hang on for one more second, one more minute, one more hour, until those time segments become days and weeks and years.

For a great podcast doing excellent work to destigmatize mental illness, check out The Hilarious World of Depression.

A Note about Heartbreak

I told a friend recently that writing and being vulnerable is sometimes like having food poisoning–you know that once you puke you’ll feel better, but you also don’t want to puke. So consider this post as me having a touch of food poisoning. But also, I’m hoping this might be a survival guide for someone else.

Anytime I have my heart broken, I turn to past relationships and try to figure out how long it took for me to no longer be sad, because I just want to stop being sad. But I never do find a conclusive time span, so this time, I tried something different.

I’ve always believed that my heart never fully repairs from being broken; that little shards of my heart will always belong to men I’ve loved. As a visual exercise inspired by Mari Andrew, I realized that’s not fully true. Behold: sketches of my heart from 1991-2019:

This one wasn’t in my book, FYI.
This one took a good three years to heal.
1998-2000 was ROUGH.
This guy.
Look at who isn’t here anymore…

Every time I drew a new version of my heart, I reflected on how much of my heart truly still belonged to these people. I was actually surprised by my 2019 heart–that really, of all my relationships, there’s only two that still hold space in my heart, and that somehow my heart regenerated over the scars of the other breaks.

The other piece that struck me was how much of my heart I still had to give after every heartbreak. When I’m in the middle of it, when I can’t see more than the next tissue before the next tear falls, when I feel actual real pain despite not having any visible bruises or scratches or breaks, I forget that there is still space in my heart to love the people who are still in my corner.

And boy, did those people show up last month.

It’s time for me to get up off the mat. I have big goals for September that I’ll write about another time, maybe. But for now, I’ll just leave this here, and maybe a heartbroken someone will stumble across this someday, and draw iterations of her heart, and realize she will heal and she still has plenty of love to give.

Ambition: A Poem

8:30 p.m. is the magic hour
My brain teleports to a parallel universe
Where I am not myself

In that universe,
I don’t watch TV
I don’t listen to podcasts
I don’t take naps
I don’t sleep much
I don’t play Frozen Free Fall
And I certainly don’t forget to write a poem every day in April.

In that universe,
I go to Jazzercise every day
I write a textbook
I master JavaScript
I complete Adobe certifications
I bake cookies for new families at church
I send birthday cards to 349 Facebook friends

By 9:30, plans are concrete
Lists are complete
“I can live in that universe,”
I lie to myself as I drift off to sleep

And maybe for an hour, maybe for a day
I visit that universe and I pave a few bricks
Of my good-intentioned road
But that universe is exhausting,
And post-visit, I must take a nap.

A Poem, Day 8

Today’s prompt was to take a buzzword from a profession and turn it into a metaphor, or flip the meaning, inspired by this beautiful poem from one of my favorites, Maggie Smith.

Student Engagement

The students stare into black mirrors
Reflecting photos, games, autoplayed clips
Engaged with empty electronic endeavors

I start the day’s lesson, remembering
The content must be engaging
I must be engaging
Assessments must be engaging

But lost in the engagement admonition
Is teaching them how to be engaged In life.

Engage, I want to tell them,
With nature
With people
With midnight conversations
With ideas and aspirations

What does student engagement look like?
It looks like a school raising money for flood victims
It looks like a senior befriending and comforting a freshman
It looks like a student holding open a door for a weary teacher

That’s the engagement I want to assess
Pass/Fail
With unlimited chances to learn