And Then Came January

 

photo credit

There is something about the gray, freezing days of January that make me feel stretched thin. It's hard to find my stride at this time of year. Last spring I was so done with online school, I felt desperate for summer because even with the pandemic, we still managed to visit family, barbecue, and swim. But by August I was ready for my kids to return to school in any way, shape, or form, and even though for us it was all online, I figured at least they'd have something to do that didn't require planning or creativity on my part. With fall came the holiday season and although that brought plenty of Corona-related disappointments, it was still festive. We still had cheese boards, Christmas movies, and entire afternoons spent on the couch underneath the soft gray throw blanket that the kids know I have dibs on. 

And then came January. These days I'm spending all of my time and energy looking forward to...I have absolutely no idea. 

If happiness is something we build, a creative act of faith that we do on purpose, then it follows that there are building blocks. The pandemic has helped me see how heavily I rely on travel, social events, and visits from extended family and friends to help support my happiness. Other building blocks that I rely on include personal goals and daily markers of productivity, nurturing relationships, and spiritual devotion. I've found that these are the easiest ways to increase personal happiness during a pandemic because they aren't as reliant on external forces. You can work, exercise, practice oil painting, pray, or bake scones every single day in your own home. You can make marked progress in lots of areas without seeing another soul. 

Since we're suddenly getting to the end of January and since I'm trying to remember what it is in my life that I have to look forward to, I spent some time last night looking over the parts and pieces of my own building blocks. What is missing? What needs reinforced? What are the things I can do to change the gray landscape? This kind of thinking may sound suspiciously close to New Year's Resolution-type goal setting. As in, "What can I do every single day to be better, stronger, happier, smarter, and generally more awesome?" But that way of living doesn't work for me anymore.

I was born a relentless goal setter. I didn't need my parents to tell me to get good grades or to chase down opportunities, I just had it inside of me, a little fire glowing. I'll admit there are many wonderful blessings that can come from having an innate get-up-and-go motor. But there are also some problems too. What I have discovered is that single minded goal achieving can sometimes create lop-sided humans. Single minded goal achieving can also set you up for a fairly steep fall when life circumstances prevent you from succeeding. In my early twenties, I set out to be extraordinary in every area. Because why not? This is my one life to live, and I decided I was going to go for it. So, I made lists. I was going to be productive, service-oriented, fit, well-rounded, well-read, and fun. I was going to have parties, visit family members, write letters, and organize my sock drawer by color. I set regular goals in every area of my life and opened my eyes each morning like I was experiencing an electric shock. Get up! Time to get going! 

Only life started to unfold (I had kids) and some of my best intentions started to derail (I couldn't seem to get one single thing done, ever). 

I don't think I'd truly experienced "failure" in my professional goals until I started having kids. For about eight years I set a daily goal to work on my book every afternoon for two regimented hours. Only the baby cried all night, the toddler threw up her lunch, and the house looked like a laundry basket exploded. When I took a part-time job writing for a local publication, and later, taught college writing classes, it wasn't much better. No amount of supplementary income or job fulfillment could shake the glazed exhaustion, or perpetual feeling of being overwhelmed. I no longer wanted to race around getting it all done. Who gives a rip about writing letters or jogging? I wanted to sleep. I wanted the grape jelly to not be on the living room carpet. 

With four children, that circus lasted for years and for me, pursuing personal goals became both unproductive and incredibly frustrating. Like running a marathon in a space suit. My heart was full, my ideas were clear, but I just couldn't move fast enough. The lists and the goal setting...all of my usual building blocks weren't working and without the black and white results, without the solid outcomes, I slowed from a run to a walk. And then I sat down on the curb. And as I watched other people, who seemed to sprint ahead in life, I couldn't understand what element I was missing? It didn't help that a well-meaning family member offered a misguided pep talk by saying, "Look Lauren. Some people are Martha Stewarts and can work all day and stay up all night, and be successful and productive. Just accept the fact that you aren't that person." That awesome advice, coupled with all my big feelings of inadequacy, certainly prompted me to peer down into the well. If I'm not that person, than what kind of person am I? What about the rest of us who cannot work all day and stay up all night? Where are the other humans?

Not every person will experience the same demoralizing dead end that New Year's Eve caliber goal setting came to represent in my life. Many of you have accomplished amazing things by patiently pursuing your goals. But over time I've come to appreciate that not all of us, in every phase of life, progress on a steady, linear trajectory. Your choices are not to sprint in a straight line at a dead run or give up. And let's not forget that Martha Stewart, for all her relentless talent, is a little cray cray. So, for those who can relate to my tail-chasing frustration, let me suggest another way. 

Rather than pursuing specific targets or outcomes on a regimented schedule, which things like kids and pandemics tend to upset, I've learned to organically give attention each day to where it is needed most. My building blocks don't require a checklist so much as a shift in mindset. This year, for 2021, my single goal is to be deliberate about how I spend each day, and to allow the freedom for each day to be different. This is an abrupt departure from my years of, "I'm going to exercise/write/read/clean/run errands on a rigid schedule. When the weather is beautiful, we go outside. When our close friends are sick, we make soup. When my son is having a hard day, we read Pigsticks and Harold. It's a more circular way of moving forward, with infinite flexibility, and yet I have found that I'm still working toward goals. My boxes are all getting ticked. I write, read, exercise, clean bathrooms, and spend time with my peeps. But the timing, activity, duration, and mood is no longer forced. I let the need define my day, rather than an unforgiving list. Today, I took a bubble bath at ten o'clock in the morning after walking the dog in the cold. Sometimes I call my sister Char at midnight because I'm wide awake, and I know she'll certainly still be awake.

Some days it feels good to pay all the bills and do all the laundry. Some days it's more about writing. Some days I'm focused on home cooked dinners, and sometimes it's all about spending quality time with my people. I've come to accept that my progress isn't going to be readily measurable like it has in other seasons of my life. I'm not training for a marathon each day, or reading fifty pages before I can go to sleep at night. So, for those of you who prefer fixed, scientifically measurable goals, this way of progressing will probably make you cringe. But what I have found is that I no longer feel anxious all day long because I feel compelled to be doing something else. Something more important. Something on the list. I'm free to read to my kids, try on shoes at Target, or spend an hour comforting a friend on the phone, and I go to bed that night secure in the knowledge that I spent my day in the best way possible. That it was a good day. 

There will always be an element of ritual in our daily life. We all shower, eat, sleep, work, and pick our kids up on a dependable schedule. There is something to say for the things we do every day, the things we cling to, and the habits that, over time, define us. But there is also something magical about letting it happen organically. Usually when I write I do it in my bedroom. Jeremy has taken over our home office, and if I sit in the kitchen, open and vulnerable to any passing child's whim, I'm just asking for drive by interruptions. But today the main floor was quiet, and I can see the snow drifts and the frozen trees from my kitchen table. January demands a lot of us. We're trying to reset, restart, and redefine even as we struggle to suspend the slower paced, less disciplined lifestyle that the holidays bring. Our strategies, or lack thereof, will differ wildly, but I like to think that we're all working to build something. Something happy. Whether in a straight line, or in a meandering, circular way, we're all getting up, moving forward, and getting along with it. And before you know it, January will be over.