Book-By-Book, Part 2

 Last month, I kicked off a book-by-book feature with the story of my first two books, written primarily for school counselors. Keesha, described below, was originally in the cast of characters for Acting Assertively, but didn't make the final cut (read on for more details). Today, Keesha's story (Jersey Girls Don't Rule) and the final book in the MAC (Marita, Angel, Charli) series (Courting Peace) are on sale, so I thought it might be a good day to share part 2 of this feature.

Once upon a time, a school counselor wrote a book of scenarios for adults to use with children of divorce. Each scenario featured different characters and situations and each character had his or her own voice. Some were compliant; others were strident. Some were sad; others were defiant. Some spoke properly; others saw grammar as merely a guideline. 

As a result, some were more easily accepted into a book written to be used by school counselors who, after all, worked in schools where things like proper grammar and a lack of defiance were valued.

One of these characters, a girl named Keesha, had a good heart, but lacked not only the finer things in life, but also the polish that comes from having those things. This lack of polish led to her exit from the book.

But Keesha would not stop talking. She knew she'd found an audience in the author who had created her, and she insisted that the author make a place for her, ideally in a book of her own.

The author tried to honor Keesha's wishes, but other editors and agents were similarly put off by Keesha's voice, which frequently hid the tender heart that she went to a great deal of effort to keep a secret.

Or perhaps they didn't like the writing. Or there was another issue. In any event, Keesha remained homeless, at least in the publishing world, and eventually her voice grew faint, even to the author who had created her. 

Then Amazon, who had made a home for Marita and her friends, started a platform called Vella. Because Keesha was written more for children than adults, a serialized platform seemed like a good place for her to try out her voice, one chapter at a time. 

And, for a while, it was.

But eventually, Kindle closed down the Vella platform. Once again, Keesha was homeless.

And once again, she refused to be silenced. She's pretty determined that way.

So, on a January day, Keesha moved out of Vella and into a home of her own between the covers of an ebook. Her voice, still as strong as ever, could now be shared all at once, or a little at a time, depending on the preference of the reader.

But, because not everyone likes ebooks, Keesha insisted on another format as well. And so on Monday, January 20, Keesha's story will also be available in paperback.

Keesha is very happy with this ending, as is the author who created her. 

Keesha is also pushing for a sequel.

We'll see.

Whose Future is it Anyway?

 Last week, I had the opportunity to be an interviewer for my local high school’s mock interviews. Genius idea, by the way, and one I wish had been a part of my daughter‘s high school experience.

I live about a block from the high school so, despite the rain, I walked not just literally down the street, but also figuratively back in time. My daughter graduated from this same this high school, and I used to work for the district as well, albeit at one (and eventually two) of the elementary schools. 

I arrived 20 minutes early, which, if you know me, you know to be quite out of character. I was unsure of how much preparation I would need to do (none, as it turned out – the whole thing was a well-oiled machine) and I knew that the entry into the building had been upgraded so I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. Everything went quickly, though, and being ushered to my table in the gym brought back a variety of memories, most from my daughter's high school basketball games. But it definitely had the feel of stepping back into another life.

The students I interviewed – two sophomores, two juniors and one senior – were much bigger versions of the students I had worked with during my tenure in the district, and smaller versions of my current college students. Some were nervous, but all were prepared, and it was great fun to talk with all of them and to listen to their plans for the future. 

On the walk home, it occurred to me that my impending retirement will give me the opportunity to do things like this more often, something I found both comforting and exciting. Teaching only one class this semester has given me a taste of what a more flexible schedule with more actual free time looks like and feels like, and I've realized that, despite the fact that I vow and declare that white space days (those days with nothing on the calendar) are my favorites, I need some structure in my life as well. White space days are wonderful but that's because they're the exception. I'm fairly certain that making them the norm would get old much faster than I think. 

My retirement timetable is still in flux, but that date is no longer in the distant future. Consequently, I'm getting my ducks in a row -- applying for Medicare, considering supplemental health insurance choices and, just as important, supplemental activities. I think last week's experience with mock interviews was as informative for me as it was (I hope) for the students I met. I know they got me thinking about my own future -- an unexpected bonus -- and I sincerely hope more events like that one have a place on the agenda.

Unless I'm jetting around the world, of course. :-)

Photo courtesy of Pixabay

Taking Time

 Today's post is a re-run from two years ago and proof that I do, indeed, repeat the same mistakes. This past semester (the one that's currently drawing to a close), I taught only ONE class for the first time in a very long time. I also worried about not getting to used to it, just as I did when I wrote the post below two years ago, while simultaneously taking advantage of it by doing trips and taking actual days off. 

Next semester, I'll be back to my usual three classes, followed by only two classes in the spring. Who knows what the following fall will hold?

Every once in a while, I have a semester where I teach only two classes instead of three, and this semester is one of those semesters. In addition to having one less class, one of my classes is much smaller than usual, cutting the number of students I typically have in a semester almost in half. 

While teaching one less class is not a boon to my bank account, it provides me with the gift of time. For about the first third of the semester, I sternly reminded myself not to get used to this, as I'd return to a full course load in the fall. Enjoy it while it lasts, I told myself, but don't depend on it.

Then one morning, I realized how silly I was being. Holding my breath and tiptoeing through a lighter course load without enjoying its benefits was rather like telling myself I shouldn't enjoy a week at the beach because next week, I'll be home again and back to reality.

From then on, I began treating my days off more like the gifts they are. While I rarely take non-teaching days off completely, I do limit the amount of schoolwork I do on those days. My guideline for those days is personal and flexible: I do enough to keep myself from stressing over the work that needs to be done. The line between not enough and just enough is blurry (mostly because it's a moving target), but it's working for me.

After my realization, I began to really appreciate the benefits this gift of time has provided. My house feels less out of control because I have more time to keep after the day-to-day tasks that slide when my teaching schedule is more demanding. I have space for my writing, and space to do the creative part of course planning that so often gets pushed aside. I've created new assignments and lecture materials, revamped things that were stale (I hate it when I bore myself because it's a sure sign I'm boring my students as well), and had the luxury of adapting some of my materials to be a better fit for the students who are actually sitting in front of me. I've had time to read, connect with friends, and relax in the middle of a weekday -- all guilt-free.

The gift of time is something to treasure. We can be practical with it, tackling something that's long overdue, or we can splurge, reveling in the opportunity to do something we don't normally have time to do. Or maybe a little of both.

But the one thing we can't do is save it. The gift of time arrives when it arrives and departs on its own schedule as well. We can't bank it, and perhaps that should be reason enough to give ourselves license to be impractical with it when we're lucky enough to be its beneficiary.

What would you do with the gift of time?

Metacognition

Last month, I decided to engage in some reflection about my writing and writing habits. Each day, I jotted down a sentence or two about writing -- obstacles, feelings, thoughts, observations -- whatever came to mind. Some days, I reported on what I did (or didn't do); other days I just jotted down my thoughts or feelings about writing. 

It was cool and revelatory.

When you've been doing anything -- even something you really love -- for more than 30 years, it's inevitable that rough patches will pop up. Even though I still enjoy writing, I've been feeling disillusioned about the business of writing, and that has leached into my daily practice. Last month, I wanted to see if at the love was still there, what its traveling companions might be, and to better understand my writer self.

The journaling shed light on all three elements. The love for the writing itself is still there, but the frustration and disillusionment over what it takes to get work out into the world and how much mental and creative energy it requires is at an all-time high. I don't want to give up, but I'm also confused as to where the road goes from here. It feels as though wanting to get my work from my hard drive out into the world shouldn't be as hard as creating the product itself.

I may not have the path fully figured out, but this journaling practice definitely gave me some insights as I started to separate actual reasons from mere excuses (and a pity party here and there). Perhaps even better, I enjoyed this practice, making it something I want to continue.

And, as I've told many aspiring writers, any writing counts. Even if it's writing about writing.

Kind Enough?

 Last week, I was listening to a chapter in Tal ben-Shahar’s Choose the Life You Want  – one that focused on altruism. As is often the case when I ponder this topic, I felt guilty and somewhat inferior and I immediately started thinking of ways I can up my altruism game, so to speak.

Then I stopped short. Why was I beating myself up? In the chapter, the author was reflecting on a study where a researcher challenged participants to do five nice things in one day. Using this specific metric, I thought back over the previous few days and could immediately list at least five things I’d done, so I decided to go home and make a list.

The resulting list of items – mostly small acts, some a tad closer to medium, but nothing earth shattering – revealed actions that were so much a part of the fabric of my days that I no longer even counted them as acts of kindness. They fit the researchers’ specifications, though, reminding me that I had, indeed, engaged in kind acts.

Does this make me a saint? A martyr? 

No to both. It makes human.

Admittedly, some of the items – a number of them in fact– were win/win. Purchasing a piece of artwork from a student, for example, gave her her first sale, but I also got to acquire a thing of beauty that I could continue to enjoy every day.

So often, when I hear of heroic, selfless acts, guilt is one of my go-to emotions because I immediately think I’m not doing enough. I’m not curing cancer or contributing to world peace, after all, just maybe improving my little corner of the world.

And once I moved past the guilt, I realized that this isn’t such a bad thing. There’s much to be said, after all, for the small kindnesses we give without so much as a second thought. A smile. A hug parentheses (for those so inclined). Our time.

People from Phoebe and Joey on Friends to psychologists and philosophers have famously argued over whether or not there’s such a thing as a truly selfless act. And the data from the study described in ben-Shahar’s book only confounds this issue. Those who completed the task assigned by the researchers and did good felt good – and not just in the moment. Those simple acts, even the small ones, resulted in the kind actors feeling good for as long as a week after the act had been completed.

Some days, my kindness quota will be small. I’m tired, not feeling well, stressed, overwhelmed – you name it. But I think that, if I choose to go through life with eyes open to the opportunity to do good and be kind, and take advantage of those opportunities on a regular basis, I can ditch the guilt. While the world may advertise and celebrate huge altruistic acts (often justifiably so), it runs on the mundane, small kindnesses we offer each other daily. 

Every interaction we have is an opportunity to brighten someone else’s day and every choice we make can potentially make the world a little better – or worse – in some small way. Finding a balance between taking care of ourselves, so we have the energy to do good and be kind, and carrying out those random acts of kindness is, for me, the altruistic sweet spot.

Image by Alana Jordan from Pixabay

Friday Feature: More on that Age-Appropriate Makeover

 Blush sticks are everywhere! Maybe they have been for a while and I just haven't noticed -- we've already established that my interest in makeup waxes and wanes. As I've begun moving forward with my age-appropriate makeover, blush has been a recent focus.

For me, those blush sticks arrived just in time -- and not just because I found them right after I started writing about said makeover. The fine lines that snuck up on me (kicking off the desire for a makeover) were trapping my faithful powder blush, sending me in search of something a little more forgiving. I tried a drugstore-brand blush that came in a tube, then moved to Mary Kay gel blush, which seemed to have better intensity and staying power. For me, though, the too much/too little line that came with squeezing the never-quite-right amount out of the tube made my application inconsistent at best and ended up wasting a lot of product as well.

Then, I got a sample of the cream blush from Thrive Causemetics. The trial size didn't come in a stick, but rather a palette and I was in love (and online ordering the full-size product) in a flash. The blush stick also comes with a flat brush on the other end of the stick, allowing me to blend the product without getting it all over my fingers and/or wasting it, making it more likely that I'll land on the right side of the too much/too little line.

I went a little overboard with new products, so I'm going to give my wallet a rest and stick to experimenting with what I already have for a while. I am getting a clearer picture of what I like, what I don't, and what I feel confident using. Next steps?

Using that blush brush as a jumping off point for playing with new ways to apply the products that have made the cut. Best of all, I have a supply so I don't need to buy anything new. 

Stay tuned.

Rethinking the Shoulds

 One day last week, I was gathering up my things, getting ready to go to an appointment, and chiding myself over things I hadn’t gotten around to doing. Midway through "should-ing" myself – you know, I should have done this and I should have done that – I stopped. 

What had I done?

I'd listened to my body when it told me I needed more sleep. I'd started out my morning slowly, in a way that made me ready to take on the day. I'd helped my dad work out an issue with a frequently used app on his phone. I'd made a dent in my to-be graded list -- completing everything I'd put on the list for that day, as a matter of fact. I'd written a blog post. 

And yet my focus was on tasks I'd left undone -- tasks which, quite frankly, hadn’t been on the list to begin with. Despite the fact that everything I'd done had been a good use of my time, not to mention in line with what I'd set out to do that day (for the most part), I was still chiding myself. 

Beating myself up for what I didn't do is a bad habit of mine. (Just me?) Fortunately, on that particular day, I managed to catch myself in time to step back and really think about how I'd spent my time.

And only in looking back over the day did I realize it had been a balanced day. I'd taken care of myself. I'd helped out a family member. I'd managed work responsibilities, and I'd even gotten some writing in  -- all before I left for my appointment. 

Sure, there was more to do. But there will always be more to do. And deluding ourselves into thinking that our to-do lists aren't on infinite scroll will only make us unhappy because it leads to the unrealistic belief that we really can do it all.

Spoiler alert: we can't. At least not in one day, or all at once.

The truth was, I'd been able to write that blog post because I'd kept my tasks bite-sized enough that I wasn't mentally exhausted. And mental exhaustion is a surefire road block to creativity.

We are more than our to-do lists. And it’s high time we learned to press “mute” on our “should” buttons and be satisfied with what we do accomplish. And maybe, just maybe, that will leave us with the energy we need to step away from the list and do something that really matters.

Image by Rosy / Bad Homburg / Germany from Pixabay