Shopping on my Kindle

 Over Labor Day weekend, I set out to catalog the content of my e-reader.

Little did I know how much there was to catalog.

I thought I'd do my usual Sunday Sampling, checking out the samples I'd downloaded to get a flavor of the book before hitting the "add to cart" button. This time, I tracked not just those samples, but also all the other books -- open and unopened, so to speak -- I came across along the way.

After cataloging almost 60 books in progress (37 non-fiction, 15 fiction and 7 books not meant to be read cover-to-cover, like daily devotionals and journaling prompts) and nearly as many unread samples, I gave up, overwhelmed. I was only about halfway through, and I'd lost my taste for buried treasure.

I knew I read multiple books at a time, but this was ridiculous.

I changed tack and started digging into things that looked interesting, hoping to make decisions about what to keep and what to delete. The samples were an easy target -- not only were they short, but I hadn't paid anything for them, making them easy to delete, as well as a great entry point into what I might actually want to read when I picked up my Kindle.

Good choice. After seeing how much was really there (okay, about half of what was really there),  I was able to be more ruthless about what stayed and what did not while remaining open to new gems -- samples that would make the cut and inspire me to make a purchase. 

And that's when it hit me. I wasn't just cataloging my Kindle. 

I was window-shopping.

That little bit of reframing suddenly made the task less onerous. What had begun as an administrative task turned into a shopping spree where I'd already paid for a big chunk of the merchandise. 

In the end, my bill was small, my credit card unscathed. I got rid of close to 20 samples, with only two of the other samples I read making the transition from sample to wish list. Later in the week, on Kindle double points day, I purchased one of those two books. 

Now, when I open my e-reader, the top of my home screen no longer contains miscellaneous samples or a mishmash of what I've dipped into most recently. While I didn't succeed in cataloging the contents of my e-reader, I accomplished the underlying goal -- finding something good to read amid the pile-up of maybes. 

Even better, given the unprobed depths of my Kindle library, I'm now certain that, when I finish need a good book, I know just where to go shopping, for free.

Kinda.

In the Driver's Seat

Meet Tilly :-)

 Guess who now owns her car! Well, the bank and I do. My lease came to an end and a decision needed to be made. Luckily, it was an easy decision since I like my car and, if you know me, you know when I like something, I hang on to it for a good long time, and cars are no exception.

To celebrate, I took myself out to dinner. There's a restaurant I like next to the dealership, and while we used to go there all the time, it's no longer a family favorite. So, since my husband was at the gym, it was a perfect time to treat myself.

When I was single and in my 20s, I did things like this a lot -- going out to dinner by myself, that is, not buying cars. I mean, why deprive myself of something I wanted, whether it was eating a meatball sub or watching the latest movie release, just because I was flying solo?

These days, "solo" is actually something I relish more than ever. I got used to it as a graduate student in my early 20s, learning not only to do things alone but to enjoy my own company as well. In my 30s, I gradually ceded my alone as marriage and motherhood framed my life. Quiet pursuits were no longer the norm and, to be honest, as much as I enjoyed my solo time, I also enjoyed being in the thick of things.

Now, as an empty-nester with a work schedule different from my husband's, I often have the house to myself, making solo time, once again, more the norm. During the day, my home serves as my office when I'm not teaching, not to mention my writing studio, organizing work-in-progress, and so many other things. I'm comfortable there, and that comfort has made risk-taking and solo pursuits much less frequent occurrences than they used to be. Now, I have to remind myself to step out of the comfortable day-to-day and dare to do things on my own that would perhaps be more comfortable if I had company or support. 

Like taking myself out to dinner.

How was it? Quiet, despite the rise and fall of conversations all around me. But mostly, it was delicious in every sense of the word. 

Shh. Don't tell my husband. 

Makeover

 Several months ago, I posted about looking for an age-appropriate makeup routine. One morning last week, as I was getting ready for work, I realized I'd settled into one.

No, it hasn't removed the wrinkles, created perfection, or turned back time even a little. And no, it most certainly does not make me look the least bit like my young adult students, many of whom embrace beauty routines that make them look as though they've leapt from the pages of a magazine or have arrived at class directly from shooting an Instagram Reel. Kudos to them, but honestly, I don't want to work that hard, or spend that much time (or money) getting ready every day.

And that realization was as much a part of my journey as figuring out what changes I needed to make. 

Along the way, I decided on a few other things, too. The makeup marketed to "mature women" and touted by celebrities? 

Not for me. I wanted clean and moderately priced. And products that didn’t require an arsenal of tools.

In the end, the changes I made were small ones. Swapping out a matte foundation for one that gave my face a little more glow to offset the wrinkles. Choosing a blush stick with a creamy base that added moisture instead of drawing attention to every crease. Spending the biggest chunk of my budget on the moisturizing products that go on first -- the ones that no one sees, but that give me a foundation for the foundation. 

The changes have been mostly minor, and I suspect I'm not finished experimenting yet. I am, however, clearer on my goals, as well as what I can fix and what I can't.

As I was deciding on what to try, I also started paying closer attention to the skin of women my age and older -- both real people and celebrities. And you know what? They have wrinkles, too. Creases and crinkles that come to life when they smile. Things I never noticed until I started looking for them. 

Despite swapping out a few old products for some new ones, my desired end result hasn’t changed. I want a little-fuss, little-bother routine that makes me look my best without taking too much time. I have never been someone who likes to spend hours getting ready and, as it turns out, my current crop of wrinkles and creases has not changed that one iota.

This beauty thing is a fine line, so to speak. It's easy to get lost in what we've lost -- a youthful, crease-free face -- and much harder to accept that the changes really are just surface level. For those who want to turn back time, many options exist. But I've learned that, no matter how much I cringe at photos taken of me in a certain light or at a certain angle, I don't want to go to too much trouble. Whether that's laziness, fear, pride, or some degree of self-acceptance, I'm not sure. 

I just know I'm only willing to devote so much energy to a battle I cannot possibly win. At some point, it's time to accept the face I have, maybe even embrace its flaws as a reflection of the life I’ve enjoyed. 

And that’s not something that comes in any bottle or tube. 

P. S. Sorry about the lack of color today. No matter what I tried, I could not get a photo to upload.

Again??

 It's the second week of the semester and I've already confused my students with errors in my online posts. Though I tell myself that my public mistakes give them permission to make mistakes, I'm not a big fan of public mistakes. I apologize, I move on, I attempt to do better but, as this post from 13 years ago proves, this dilemma is not news, nor can I chalk it up to age. In fact, it's uncanny how accurate this post, written in September 2013, is on this particular day in 2026.

Sometimes, I'm the last one to know that I'm pushing my limits. Sure, I know I'm feeling overwhelmed and details are getting overlooked -- or perhaps they're staring at me, waiting for me to take action. So, I make lists. I check things off. It looks as though I'm making progress.

Appearances can be deceiving.

For the past few days, signs that I'm not as together as I think I am have been arising in small ways. And then yesterday, I hit the wall. I was much too tired for midafternoon on a Tuesday, and so I decided to be honest with myself and regroup. I took a nap, declared that dinner would be takeout, and got a second wind.

As it turns out, I still wasn't quite as efficient as I thought I was.

I'd sent out an email early in the day -- a meeting reminder I (try to) send out every month. Late yesterday afternoon (post-nap), one of the group members let me know she didn't think it had gone to everyone, so I forwarded it to the remaining members with an apology.

At least that's what I thought I did.

One of the members wrote me back, seemingly in a state of total confusion, unsure of what the details of the email meant. I wrote back. He did, too.

Then this morning, I checked email again. He was still completely confused.

With good reason. I'd sent the email to the wrong person. Right first name, wrong last name.

Sigh.

So, I admitted my mistake, issued another apology and tried not to feel too much like an idiot as I sent an email to the right person.

The thing is, if someone else had done this, I probably would have brushed it off with a laugh. But when I do it, I waste a ridiculous amount of energy chastising myself, certain that others will think less of me.

Perfectionism and pride are dangerous things -- and I'm learning that they often travel hand-in-hand. Who am I to think that I'm so perfect that I can't make a mistake? And why does my pride take such a hit when I inevitably do?

In theory, I understand that mistakes are a part of life, and I know I've learned from my own. But while I accept this rationally -- and even teach this to others -- my emotional acceptance of it is sometimes a long way off.

I can laugh off the email mishap, although I feel awful for my friend whose anxiety I raised with nonsensical (to him) details. But when I make a mistake in an arena where I'm supposed to be the one who knows what she's doing -- as a teacher, or as a parent -- those are the ones that haunt me.

http://www.timothybyford.com/blog_Mistakes_5071

I have long believed that in these situations, admitting imperfection, apologizing where necessary and righting the wrong is the best course of action -- and all we can really do. But while the requisite action seems simple enough, the emotional fallout of being hit with my own mistakes and owning up to them is much less simple.

Because, you see, we're not in charge of other people's reactions. And beneath the pride and perfectionism lies an unspoken fear that this mistake, this minor disruption in the scheme of things, will cause a cosmic shift in another person's level of respect. And there's not a thing we can do about it.

I can issue all sorts of platitudes about how that doesn't matter, how true friends will understand and laugh with us, not at us, and how all we can do is what we can do. And those things are all true. But none of them is a salve for the lingering sick feeling in the pit of my stomach over a mistake that can't be undone.

Mistakes are a fact of life, and life sometimes overwhelms us. And, like pride and perfectionism, life and mistakes go hand-in-hand, making it impossible to eradicate one from the other. So I guess my only choice is to move on, knowing mistakes much bigger than my email mishap inevitably lie ahead.

Not Going the Extra Mile

 Lately, I’ve been noticing that I care a lot less about going the extra mile in some areas of my life -- not the important ones -- just things I used to care about a lot more than I do now. I was a little worried about this drop in motivation, concerned it might signify something more – counselors have to analyze, after all. Why did I suddenly just not want to put in the effort?

Then, it occurred to me one morning as I was folding towels and I noticed that I no longer care whether the tags were on the inside or the outside of the fold that maybe, just maybe I was beginning to practice what I've been preaching. 

Does it really matter where the tags are on the folded towels? Does anyone (besides me) really care? They get unfolded so they can be used, and I'm sure the cabinet shelves really have no interest in where the tags are located. 

In that moment, I realized that what I’ve really been doing is embracing the concept of "good enough," something I've been talking to my college freshmen about for more than a decade. In some of the low-stakes areas of my life, I've rejected maximizing (making sure all the towels are folded with the tags inside) for satisficing (making sure all the towels are folded). 

Though I've had moments where I aspired to be Suzy Homemaker, it was always a temporary goal. I want my house to look nice, but I truly don't want to expend the effort to make it a showplace, nor do I really want to live in a showplace. Having abandoned that pursuit almost entirely, I'm discovering there are many tasks that simply need to be completed, and not necessarily completed to the highest possible standards.

A few years ago, for example, I lost about 35 pounds. Excited by the prospect of a new wardrobe, I put a lot more effort into putting outfits together. Five years later, weight still shed, I find myself perfectly content to leave the house in an outfit I would have consider unfinished -- or even sloppy -- a few years ago. I still put effort into getting ready for work and the occasional evening out but, day to day on my days off, I'm perfectly content to revert to my COVID comfort wardrobe. Leggings and sweats and shorts and tee shirts (and even pajama pants) are perfectly suitable for a day at home.

I'm a huge fan of @justbeingmelani's "We Do Not Care Club" on Instagram, leaving me to wonder how much of this is age, how much is adopting her philosophy, and how much is just being Lisa.

And you know what? Figuring it out is too much trouble. Though I can pull out the maximizing vibes when an occasion warrants something more than good enough, I'd rather satisfice my way through the day-to-day and save my time and energy for the things that really matter.

And most of those things are a lot more fun than folding towels.

Towel image by cnyizhao via Pixabay

When You Least Expect It

 Writing has been a struggle for me lately -- something that's not news if you're a regular reader of this blog. So, when we went on vacation, I packed a notebook, hoping to kick off a habit of writing for ten minutes a day. It was vacation. Surely I'd be inspired?

More like tired. I opened the notebook once. That was it. And the entry was pretty unimpressive. I had little interest in journaling about the day and my mind was a complete blank when it came to "real" writing.

I have never allowed myself to accept the concept of writer's block. Instead, I've believed that when you get stuck, you power through. Though I'm not without sympathy for those who are afflicted, I just never allowed myself to use the label, fearful that something as substantial as a block could become a permanent fixture in my writing life. Sit, I told myself. Write something. ANYTHING. Eventually words will flow.

On our last night in Canada, I packed my notebook in my suitcase -- the one that would stay in the car while we were at our daughter's apartment for one night before returning home. That night, exhausted by all the travel, I spent much too much time on my devices, playing games and checking social media. Finally, disgusted with myself, I set the devices aside.

And an idea popped into my head. And then another. All I had at my disposal was a pack of Post-its. So, I pulled out my ultra-thin black Sharpie marker and started squeezing words onto yellow squares of paper, inhaling the aroma of my chosen writing implement. 

Sometimes, you have to tiptoe past the muse and hope she catches up with you. After that, it's just a matter of finding a blank page and something to write with.

So, that's it? Problem solved? Hardly. But every word on the page is a victory. 

Mom's Magic Ring

 Before my mom passed away, she entrusted me with her wedding ring. It's beautiful -- a resetting of her original diamond with the addition of several others -- and I wear it often.

I especially (and intentionally) wear it when I'm going somewhere I think she'd like to go or visiting someplace she's never been. Most recently, she accompanied my family on our vacation to Niagra Falls and Toronto. On the evening we returned, my husband, my daughter and I were gathered at my daughter's apartment, and I wondered aloud what Mom would have thought of the trip. We were all tired and a bit unimaginative at the time, and didn't come up with much of anything in the way of a reply. As I continued to turn the question over in my mind, however, I came to a few conclusions.

I think Mom would have found the whole idea of an Air BNB a bit strange. Staying in someone else's house? Someone you don't even know? Why would anyone want to do that?

She would almost definitely have not participated in the Journey Behind the Falls at Niagra Falls, especially if she could see it on video for free and not get her hair wet in the process. And, while I think she'd have enjoyed browsing in the gift shop, I'm certain she'd have spent much less money than we did.

An inveterate crossword puzzle fan, I think she'd have liked the bilingual signs in Toronto and would have filed away a few words for future puzzle endeavors.

She would definitely have preferred the nighttime bus tour to the daytime walking tour. But, as someone who used to walk to work in all kinds of weather, she'd have loved the concept of the Path. I don't think I'd have gotten her on the subway, though. 

And St. Lawrence Market? Like her daughter, she'd have headed straight for the bakery.

It's fun to imagine taking Mom along with me on my journeys and adventures, such as they are, but it's even nicer to simply imagine having her there with me through the magical ring she entrusted me with. Someday, I hope she'll let me know what she thought of the journeys.

Photo credit: Wikipedia