Beachy Keen

 The more things change, the more they stay the same. Our trip was shorter and earlier this year (and, thankfully did not include sheltering in place), but this still describes my beachy feelings.

I am the most unlikely beach candidate. I hate heat, I don't swim, and I burn to a veritable crisp. To go onto the beach, I put on comfy shorts and a tee shirt, a hat and sunscreen, then park myself under an umbrella for the duration of my stay on the sand.

And yet the week we spend at the beach each summer is my favorite week of the year. It's right up there with Christmas and my birthday which, not coincidentally, involve some of the same people. Last year, despite COVID, we booked two weeks in the community where we've stayed since my daughter was small. It was essentially sheltering in (a different) place and getting takeout from (different) restaurants. My husband made his early morning visits to the beach while my daughter and I slept. He was at loose ends a bit for some of our trip but my daughter and I happily chilled out at the condo doing whatever we happened to feel like doing, insulated from COVID and the rest of the world in general, with the exception of one of her friends joined us for part of the trip. 

It was wonderful.

While my husband's favorite spot is the beach, mine is (as long-time readers already know) the screened-in porch at the condo. This post, in fact, comes to you directly from that spot. The sun has set, the ceiling fan is whirring overhead and the crickets and bullfrogs are, for now, competing with the sounds of traffic whooshing by. In an hour or so, the bullfrogs and crickets will dominate and I will still be out here, reading, writing or engaging in other quiet pursuits for most of the rest of the evening.

Two of my novels were born at the beach and one, which has been digging in its heels and throwing a temper tantrum for months now, has finally agreed to play nice now that we're meeting on the screen porch. I'm hoping the momentum generated here will carry into our return, freeing me to finally start putting words on the page led, once again, by the nose by the characters who are really the ones in charge. 

I've heard people say that the beach is their happy place and I wholeheartedly agree with that sentiment. I feel a sense of calm here that is unique to this place and, while I've considered analyzing it, I fear that logic would break the spell and ruin the magic. Besides, I don't need to know why I feel the way I do. I just need to know that I do.

Though I try to keep schoolwork away from the beach (unless we're down here while a semester is in session), I feel no such compunction when it comes to my writing. I have a notebook dedicated to "beach pages," along with a stack of notebooks dedicated variously to a reading journal and individual projects in various stages of completion. When I instituted "beach pages" a few summers ago, this was my rationale:

What better place is there for me to let my mind go free and to simply empty thoughts onto the page? Faced with seemingly endless stretches of sand and sea, why shouldn't I let my mind do likewise, moving beyond the boundaries of topics and chapters and deadlines?

While that's by no means the only reason we come to the beach, it is a part of the trip I look forward to. Even on days (like today) when beach pages turn out to be more work than I expected, it seems that something always shakes loose with writing or promotion or something new and creative. As my mind whirs along with the fan overhead, I am grateful, once again, for an opportunity to recharge physically, emotionally, and creatively. 

Maintaining Vacation

Image by Paul Brennan from Pixabay

 My favorite movie is When Harry Met Sally and one of my favorite scenes is one that got a lot of attention a few years back when the movie celebrated its 30th anniversary -- the one when Harry talks about high maintenance and low maintenance. When Sally asks which she is, he says, "You're the worst kind. You're high maintenance, but you think you're low maintenance.

Unlike Sally, I don’t think I’ve ever actually believed that I’m low maintenance (and I'm okay with that), but it was during our beach vacation this summer that I realized that the low maintenance train no longer even bothered to stop at my station. 

When it comes to the beach, I’ve never been someone who could grab a swimsuit and some sunscreen and pull my hair back into a ponytail -- me of the pale Irish skin and receding gray hair line. I spend a day at the beach in comfy clothes, slathered with sunscreen, under an umbrella with a good book. And, as we get ready to head for the shore, I’m more interested in pulling together the perfect combination of reading material and writing implements to accompany my beach journal than preparing to catch any rays or take the temperature of the ocean.

A beach trip, to me, is an invitation to unwind. I’d rather sleep in and spend a long leisurely morning in the screened-in sunporch than rise in time to watch the sun greet the morning. But lately, even allowing the magic of sea and salt air to take over has been a high maintenance pursuit. Even in my happy place, to-do's surround me like seagulls diving for a discarded soft pretzel. 

Many are fun to-do's. I want to cram in as many books, puzzles, brainstorms, and creative pursuits as possible before our trip draws to a close. I want to empty all the ideas inspired by the change of pace and change of scenery, lasso them, and get them on the page before they escape.

Needless to say, my family has other plans. 

About midway through our trip this year, I recognized that some reframing was in order. Instead of thinking of the beach trip as ticking creative clock, I needed to think of it as a kick-off. Opportunities don’t expire at the end of the trip – they’re all still available and, if they matter, I'll pursue them.

Because the change of pace and change of scenery don't follow me home, though, I need to actively establish those changes when I get home, making time to do all the things I associate with vacation. And, back here in the real world, I've been doing a lot of thinking about what a vacation actually is and whether or not it's something we can create for ourselves no matter where we are.

Stay tuned. Meanwhile, feel free to share your thoughts -- about Harry, Sally, high/low maintenance, beaches or vacations -- in the comments :-)

Late Night Laughs and Screened-in Porches

    It's not TV Talk Show Host Day (that's in October), but this post from almost five years ago made me wonder just how far back my love of screened-in porches and patios goes. The house we lived in before the one I wrote about here also had a screened-in patio. Hmm....

This morning, Alexa (my Echo Dot) told me that it was TV Talk Show Host Day and also Johnny Carson's birthday -- something I forgot until it was time for me to write this post.

Though I grew up during the Johnny Carson era, much of his late night reign was before my time. I remember my parents sometimes staying up late to watch him and, for some reason, I remember them mostly in the house we lived in when I was in middle school. A big, old house that had been subdivided into three separate apartments before we bought it, it boasted a room my mother liked to call the library because it had floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on one wall. A big, long room off the living room, the library looked out onto a flagstone courtyard and had double doors connecting to the bedroom my sister and I shared. (THAT was a trip. We still shake our heads at that one.) It boasted a black leather sofa that faced the bookshelves and a TV...somewhere in the room. Though I have a clear recollection of that room in many ways (including the fact that it was my stage when no one else was home and I wanted to perform the songs I listened to on the record player in that same room), now, many years later, I can only guess at where the TV must have been.

When I got old enough to stay up and watch the show myself, I remember less of Carson and more of his guests. I first saw Joan Rivers and David Brenner on Carson -- Jewish comics who threw around words like schlepped and schmaltz and gave me my first lessons in Yiddish.

Johnny Carson was it back then --  not like now where the news is followed by a selection of talk show hosts on each of what used to be considered the major networks. Colbert and the Jimmys at 11:30, Seth Myers and James Cordon and a host (no pun intended) of others at 12:30 and beyond. I'm now older than my parents were then, and my talk show hosts of choice are Stephen Colbert and, when I can stay awake long enough, Seth Myers. They're much more political than I remember Carson being but, then again, I was a kid -- and then a teenager more interested in boys and music than politics -- when Carson was on and I'm sure a lot went right over my head.

It's fun thinking back to Carson -- and more fun thinking back to that house (which had a great screened-in porch) and my parents drinking tea out of mugs, watching late night television and maybe having a nibble of something sweet (I come by it honestly, apparently). We only lived in that house for a few years, yet some of the memories are as vivid as yesterday, even though I am now two decades older than my parents were then.

My daughter won't have multi-house memories. We still live in the same house we brought her home to after she was born. Sometimes, when she's home, she'll join me for a bit of Stephen Colbert or Seth Myers or send me a link to James Corden's Carpool Karaoke.

I wonder what her memories will be.

Reset

 Today, I took the day off. On most people's calendars, it's a random Tuesday, a work day for some and summer vacation for most of my colleagues. I chose today because I had a deadline yesterday that led to my working through much of the weekend. In addition, my husband has been taking long weekends which, while nice, throw my typical routine off-kilter. I needed a day without deadlines, one where my schedule was my own and my to-do list consisted only of things I wanted to do, preferably in a quiet house.

And I took it. 

And I highly recommend it. 

Most of the time, I'm good at being proactive, at "taking a day" before I get to a grouchy and overwhelmed state, but circumstances of my own creation led me to keep pushing forward, telling the little voice in my head "not now, not now."

That should have been my first clue.

Why do we do this to ourselves? 

I very nearly didn't write this post, not because I didn't want to write a post today, or because I'm writing it so late in the day, but because a small part of me felt guilty about taking a random Tuesday all to myself, throwing productivity out the window. I even wrote (and just now deleted)  a sentence or two about how I rarely take days like this, like that's some kind of badge of honor.

It isn't. There's no honor in not taking care of ourselves.

So, here I am, writing this post. Not to tell you about what I did, but to give you permission to do the same. We should all feel the freedom to take a random day off just for ourselves. Just because. And when the inevitable "it must be nice" comments arise or the thoughts of "there are so many other things I should have done" reverberate in our heads, we need to neutralize them.

It is nice. And all of those other things will still be there tomorrow.

Today, however, is for me and, to co-mingle Rhett Butler with an old L'Oreal commercial, frankly, my dear, I'm worth it.

And so are you.

And today? It was wonderful.

Lazy, Hazy, Not-so-Crazy Days of Summer

 After yesterday's post, this one from two summers ago seemed to be the perfect Way Back Wednesday post.

Hello, my name is Lisa and I have a low tolerance for laziness. Not other people's laziness, mind you. Just my own.

When it comes to laziness, I have a double standard. I'm the first to reassure friends and family that downtime is important -- something I truly believe -- while simultaneously honing a bad habit of filling every minute of my own. 

I'm the queen of lists, projects, and wishful thinking.

The concept of boredom does not compute. I have enough projects on my mental and physical lists to keep me occupied for at least the next decade. This is unfortunate (not to mention more than a tad unrealistic) because I've reached the age where I run out of energy much too early in the day to complete them all. 

Last week, this fill-every-moment, endless to-do list kind of thinking caught up with me, and not for the first time. I was checking things off my lists, but my motivation could not keep pace with my expectations. I was making progress, but I was never satisfied with the progress I was making. 

My husband came home from work one day early in the week and, after asking how I was said, "You look tired."

"I am," I replied.

R391n4 via Pixabay

But that was the first time all day it had occurred to me that I was tired and that an actual lack of energy was at the root of my nonexistent motivation.

How bad does it have to be for a person to recognize that she's tired only when someone else points it out?

So, I sat down and had a little chat with myself about the meaning of "vacation," and "time off," not to mention the longevity of these time periods, or the lack thereof.

Let me reassure you that this is not a pity party -- at least not this week.

It was a call to action. 

I realized that there were a few specific things that needed to change, the simplest of which was re-instating a habit I'd inadvertently broken. Somewhere between my summer class and my summer vacation, I'd stopped prioritizing the things I wanted to do. As a result, I was operating off a lengthy to-do list. This left me both seeing and feeling little progress, which sapped my motivation. 

The other realization had to do with the little chat I had with myself about vacations and productivity. Here, I'd inadvertently fallen into a habit, instead of out of one, carrying my run-run-run, do-do-do mindset into what was supposed to be downtime. 

It was all too much. But, I knew just what I needed.

I needed to recapture a lazy day -- preferably on a regular basis. A day with no specific to-do list. A day where I could move from the first thing I wanted to do to the next for an entire day. A day where reading, dozing, and playing games on my iPad was treated as just as valuable as anything practical I might accomplish.

RalfDesign via Pixabay

A lazy summer Sunday. Preferably, a succession of them.

Last Sunday was the first of those days. It was relaxing, rejuvenating, and surprisingly productive, despite its theme of luscious, luxuriating laziness.

It was lovely. And, next Sunday, I plan to do it again. I deserve it.

And I think you do, too.

I Didn't Mean to, But...

Pixabay

 At the end of last week, I realized I hadn't written or posted a single blog. I didn't mean to, but I took a week off. 

That got me thinking about other things I didn't mean to do that are, nevertheless, defining my summer.

I didn't mean to, but I blew my summer vacation out of the water when I took on a freelance job that's taking more time (and creating more stress) than I expected.

I didn't mean to, but I sabotaged my plan of eating less junk when I filled my house with a month's worth of chips and cookies in a desire to be well-prepared for a card game with friends and a July 4 family cookout.

I (we) didn't mean to but when I (we) went to the furniture store to replace my (our) mattress, I (we) ended up with furniture for two other rooms in our house (as well).

Clearly I'm sharing the responsibility for that last one.

I'm usually thoughtful when it comes to making and honoring commitments (and making purchases), but clearly every rule has an exception. This time, I blame summer. With its long days and less hectic pace, this season lulls me into losing track of what day of the week it is and thinking I can do more than is actually possible if I want serious downtime.

Maybe I didn't mean to, but I did. And now, all I can do move forward with the goal of balancing the commitments I've made to other people with the commitment I made to myself to slow down and enjoy some leisure time.

And as for the furniture? Maybe I (we) didn't mean to, but I'm happy I (we) did. I can't wait to start moving things around and re-vamping the various spaces. 

Because that's what I classify as a fun summer project.

Intuition

 When I write about organizing, I emphasize the importance of being true to your defaults -- who you are and how you do things. This philosophy was a game-changer for me, first in terms of organization and, lately, more broadly.

So often, we do things because we think we should do them. Psychologist Karen Horney called this "the tyranny of the shoulds," which is a perfect description because the "shoulds" can hold us hostage. And when we let them lead the way, we are in danger of going against who we are, how we do things, and even what we need, which is clearly not a good long-term plan.

Sure, there are shoulds that are worth adhering to, but they very rarely have to do with using file cabinets or wearing white shoes after Labor Day. And, when we stop to think about it, many other "shoulds" are just as arbitrary. 

I've learned that when my intuition says one thing, but the shoulds say another, I have to at least give my intuition a fighting chance by questioning the shoulds. Why should I do this? What will happen if I don't? If I do? Can I live with those consequences? How does this fit with what I need right now?

I used to tell my elementary school students that they needed to trust the "uh-oh" feeling. "Do you know what that is?" I asked them. "That feeling in the pit of your stomach that tells you something's just not right?"

Even eight-year-olds knew what I was talking about but, somewhere between 8 and 80, we learn to squash that feeling rather than listening to it. Sometimes we push it down for a good reason, but whether we have a good reason or not, if we squash our feelings long enough, squelching the "uh oh" becomes a habit.

Going with your gut isn't always popular. Sometimes what you need disappoints someone else. Other times, we realize only after the fact that going with our gut was the wrong choice. And, the fact that our intuition isn't always more accurate than the "shoulds" further complicates matters. But, with practice, we learn which way to go, most of the time.

I've come to think of the "shoulds"/intution conundrum as a T-intersection. Each direction is a viable choice, but only one will be the path you want to travel at that moment. 

And sometimes, you'll only know you made the right choice by the lightness of being that permeates your body as you continue on your journey.