After a marathon twelve hour fight on Saturday, we approached each other warily on Sunday.  Sure, we’d fallen asleep together, reaching for one another in the middle of the night for comfort and solace and reassurance, but the morning after is unpredictable.

Sure enough, the smoldering argument caught fire.

In the end, he saved us.  Despite my best attempts, I couldn’t.  And as we surveyed the damage from the haven of our bed, I realized something important.  Two things, actually: sometimes you have to unlearn a lesson, and some people can’t dabble safely.

~~~

When I started dating Joey, I was fresh off the heels of two horrible relationships, one romantic, one not.  The romantic relationship had ended very badly, leaving hope and instincts – and almost my career — in its wave of destruction.  The end of the platonic relationship hurt even more, so I’d decided never to try to talk my way through a problem.  Some problems exist in a world outside of words; they can’t be solved by talking.  In fact, talking only camouflages the reality of things that won’t change.  “Talking through it” becomes a euphemism for wasting time because you’re too chicken to do what must be done.  Leave.

I’d become great at running like hell when things got rough and it worked.  My relationship with Joey thrived on the real stuff, not just words.

One night, I made an excuse to leave and was headed out the door when he stopped me, gently, and asked me to tell him what was wrong.  The resulting conversation is forever burned into my brain as the one where I learned this lesson: Stop. Don’t Run. Talk things through.

Him: “We’ll be okay as long as we’re talking.”

Me: “What if it can’t be solved?”

Him: “As long as we’re talking, we’ll be okay”

I believed it.  I stopped running.  From that moment, I stayed, planted my feet, and fought.  I’d learned a lesson, and the lesson was that you have to fight for what’s important.

~~~

Not surprisingly, what seemed like a personal emotional milestone corresponded with a sharp uptick in the number of fights we had.  I’m nothing if not a good learner (unfortunately), so when the instinct to flee kicked in, I dug in my heels and prepared for a fight.  ‘Twas not fun.

And until yesterday, until I realized I’d told that story – okay, flung that story like it was a spiky ball of fury – during every. single. fight. we’ve. had. since, it hadn’t occurred to me to consider that some lessons shouldn’t be learned so well.

The good lessons don’t require constant defense.  And some lessons aren’t meant to be black-and-white, or figurative, or anything other than a nice thing your boyfriend tells you that makes you realize he’s a keeper. 

~~~

My ex-friend was an addict.  Because we had the type of relationship that involved incessant talking and analyzing of everything that’s ever happened, ever, we talked a lot about addiction and AA – to the point that I borrowed his AA book so I could read it for myself. {Finding that book on my bookshelf may or may not have knocked a few years off my mom’s life when she came to visit and was looking for something to read.} 

I learned that you can have an addictive personality and be addicted to feelings and emotions.  I am, and was. 

I learned that some people can’t handle moderation.  I can’t. 

I learned that people who are prone to addictive behaviors and loss of control need to be constantly vigilant.  I do.

And I haven’t been.

On Sunday, after my husband carried my pathetic, crying body to our bed to force upon me a hug I’d refused, I remembered all of this.  I remembered that you know someone has a problem when they’re truly, painfully remorseful every time they lose control, and yet, they continue to lose control, utterly convinced that this time won’t be like last time, every time. I remembered that some people can’t dabble in the things they find dangerous.  I remembered that I don’t do moderation – I can spend or save but not both, remember?

And I remembered that I own my life and my actions, and that even though my husband was at least equally to blame for our marathon fight, I can’t control him.  Hell, I can’t even control me.

So I came to the only conclusion left: I’d have to stop fighting, cold turkey.

~~~

Every time we fight, he runs and I chase.  I can’t explain it, now that I’m not in its midst, except to say that I firmly and honestly believe I’m doing the right thing by hunting him down so we can “talk things through so this never happens again.”  He flees, I chase.  It’s an ugly dynamic, one I swear I want to change.

But it’s not enough to tell myself I’ll stop chasing.  Once the switch is flipped, the fight takes on its own life.  And while I stand by my belief that everyone fights (they do, even if they call them disagreements), not everyone fights like we do.  In fact, I think most people can’t even fathom fighting like we do.  Those people are smart and normal and have healthy relationships.

We do have a healthy relationship except for when the gloves come off, which is like saying the weather in Oklahoma is perfect except when those pesky tornadoes come through.

I come from a long line of devout fighters, women who will dig in their heels and let the monster explode through their words, and my instincts once the fight begins are not to be trusted.

So I’m not fighting anymore.

My husband’s advice wasn’t bad advice, not at all.  Running away from every problem isn’t the way to build a relationship, true, but some of us shouldn’t ever negate the part of our brains that tells us to run, just for a little while, lest things get ugly.

Some of us need to flee.

~~~

Disclaimer: nobody was hurt physically.  No wine glasses were thrown.  Very few ugly words were used, though words were often used in a very ugly manner.  Nobody is getting divorced, though everybody is well aware of how close we came.  Nobody is going to work and deciding not to come home, nor is anybody going on a business trip and staying gone.  Everybody had a pretty good day once everybody else agreed to this abstinence-only plan.

This new job of mine is bewildering.  So many details, so many problems, so many requests for me to get involved with the unspoken assumption that I will then fix it.

I’m a fixer.  These are good requests.

But I’m also looking to make a difference in this role – a long-lasting, persistent, “Hey, look, I made that better!” kind of difference.  Chasing a myriad of quick fixes isn’t going to get me there. 

Looking at the bigger picture, though, makes me feel completely and utterly lost.

Funny how my professional and personal lives are one and the same anymore.  Once upon a time I could say, “My personal life is a horrid mess, but professionally I’m killing it.”  And it was true.  They were separate lives with separate skills.

That ended long ago and I’m thankful. 

Both at home and at work, I’m ready for lasting changes.  I want big fixes, the kind involving long-term plans and marching toward a goal and achieving it.  For good.  I want a house that is Dwell-worthy and to make a positive impact to the business.

So I asked my old boss for 30 minutes of her (very valuable and overscheduled) time and she (of course because she’s awesome) granted it.

~~~

About this boss: I worked for her for two years, the two most successful years of my career.  She’s absolutely completely without a doubt the best manager/ leader/ coach I’ve ever worked with.  Ever.  And though I am terribly jealous of her abilities, I’ve never found a reason to doubt them.  When people ask me about her, I tell them in all sincerity, “Yes, she really is that good.”

I left her organization because I found myself getting lazy.  She was so good and knew exactly what she wanted, I stopped trying to figure it out.  Why bother?  So I left, but not a day goes by that I don’t think, “What would Michelle do?”

~~~

So we talked and in those thirty minutes I got more clarity on what I need to be doing than I’ve had since I started.  I took three pages of notes, but more importantly, my perspective shifted. 

“Oh, NOW I get it.” 

God, how I love that feeling.

~~~

For months – years, in fact – I’ve wanted to write her a letter telling her how important her influence has been on my professional life.  Today I finally wrote the letter.  And put stamps on the envelope.  Despite feeling a bit silly, I’m mailing it.

Why do I think it’s silly?  Everyone appreciates being appreciated.  When you (dear readers) take the time to send me an email telling me I’ve touched your life, I’m stunned speechless every time.  I reread the words, show my husband, get choked up by the connection we all have to one another.

Who wouldn’t want to be appreciated?

So I’m sending it.  And I thought I’d make this a little challenge for all of us: who do you appreciate, and can you take the time to put it into words?  Email, letter, whatever.  Let’s make this a gratitude day. Bonus points for sending your note to someone who wouldn’t expect it.

I’ve been on a hunt for a decent organization system for, well, forever, because I’m an ENFP who knows I have to learn to follow through.  I’ve tried Franklin Covey (good but expensive and heavy), GTD (too cultish and overwhelming) and the single notebook strategy (what if it gets lost?).  Last year, I tried printing my own planner pages but couldn’t find any that weren’t cumbersome to print and carry…

… and ultimately, none of those systems helped me feel like I had a big-picture plan.

When I look back at the two years I spent in my last (current*) role, I’m stunned by how little I really accomplished.  I did a lot of stuff – enough to fill my days and weeks – but it sure didn’t seem to get me anywhere really amazing.

If I’m going to spend two years doing something, the end result had better be freaking awesome because, c’mon, that’s two years of my life.

Instead, email eats away at my hours, and in between doing things I can’t avoid, I’m a little lost.  And what happens when I’m lost?  I surf the ‘net until there’s no more ‘net to surf. 

Ridiculous.

I’m starting a new job that is big and exciting and has a whole lot of potential, but if growing up has taught me anything, it’s that I get lost easily when I’m in my work-from-home cave surrounded by sleeping cats and a shivering dog silence.  I thrive on interaction with people, get fired up being surrounded by hustle and bustle, love to wear heels and walk the halls and stay plugged in with everything.  But because I love my husband and we love this city and our house, I work from home.

I don’t want to get lost again, so I’m trying new strategies.

Enter this new thing I decided to try on a lark: Productive Flourishing’s premium planners.  I’m on my third week of using them, and I love them, but let me start at the beginning.

After reading the sales page for the premium planners, I was convinced to give the whole shebang a try, but I figured I’d start with the free planners (hi, I’m cheap).  I printed the daily action planner, weekly action planner, and productivity heatmap and dutifully followed the instructions.

But I was as frustrated as I’d been with every other system: I could check things off a task list, but at the end of the day/ week/ month/ year, was I moving in the right direction?  Without a big-picture plan, I still couldn’t tell if my efforts were getting me anywhere.

I need to get somewhere.

So I re-read the sales page for the premium planner and decided to fork over the (seriously minimal) amount for the premium planner because of this one sentence:

The Premium Planners help you keep those Big Ideas on the board since they come with the Annual Strategic Planner and the Monthly Objective Planner.

Call me a sucker, but I actually thought, “Yes, yes, I DO want to keep my Big Ideas on the board!”  And c’mon, it was $12.  A dollar a month.  I spend more than that on, well, lots of silly things.

But then I couldn’t decide between the Premium Action Planner or the Premium Freelancer Workweek.  See, like a freelancer, I generally dictate what gets done when.  Or at least, I have so far.  But because that’s likely to change in the new gig, I thought I might need to focus on actions over projects again.

Crap.

So, like the bad decision-maker I am, I bought them both.  And hey, I saved $6!  (This is a ridiculous amount of thought and drama over less than the cost of lunch, I know.)

The Premium Action Planner experience

I know, that title is a bit of a build-up, eh?  {Don’t ask me why, but I’m thinking with a British accent today.}

I printed out the Monthly Action Planner, Quarterly Objective Planner and Monthly Action Planner — the first two are available only with the premium set; the last is available for free – went to lunch, and stared at them in horror.

Crap.

This was feeling a lot like my yearly Goals & Objectives planning at work, except scarier, because there I only have to impress my boss.  Here I have to meet my own expectations.  I have very high expectations.

I know I want to be bad-ass at the new job, fix a bunch of broken things and make a bunch of people really happy… but breaking that down into quarterly and monthly goals?  Tough. So I ordered more coffee, settled into my corner booth, and got to work.

And people, it was fun!  Yes, I said fun.  Even more fun than updating my budget spreadsheet – and that involves dollars.

Fun and stressful, because – like with my budget spreadsheet – taking a big unspoken expectation and defining it is scary.  Is that the right thing?  Will that get me there?  What if I don’t get that done?  What if I do?  How does my action in this small period affect my overall success?

But those are the kinds of questions that grown-ups with real jobs (that affect other people) should be asking.  Big questions.  Strategic questions.  Questions about questions.

So I’m hooked.  I printed my Annual Strategic and Quarterly Objective planners on pretty stationery so I can find them quickly and am about to work on my second draft.  I use the Daily Action planner daily (um, duh) and print it on plain white paper.  I am currently lost in the sea of paper possibilities, trying to decide on a color scheme for more pretty stationery to get me through the rest of the year.

I’m hooked.

This week I’m adding the Freelancer Workweek to my system.  Though technically not a freelancer, I do (still) have a lot of control over what I work on and when.  If I’m not careful, I keep putting off big projects until the week gets away from me.  No bueno.  I am going to use both the Freelancer Workweek and Weekly Action planner and I’ll let you know how it goes.

You know how I know this is helping?  When I don’t use it, I don’t get anything done.  When I do, I get so much done my husband starts to feel like he’s losing his place as “the one in this relationship who gets things done.”  Score.

My recommendation

Look, I’ll be honest: the links on this page are all affiliate links, meaning if you buy, I get a cut, something I didn’t know until after I bought the thing.  And I think you know by now that I am way too cheap to pay for something in the hopes of making money off you.  I mean, really.  I don’t have to point you to the evidence if you’ve been reading this blog regularly (but if you want it, let me know in the comments and I’ll provide links).  At the same time, I’ve used products simply because a blogger I respect recommended them, in which case, I think that blogger should certainly get some benefit out of the whole deal.  I am happy to click an affiliate link.

And the only way to prove I’m not TRYING to make money off you is to NOT include the affiliate links, which would be stupid.

So the links are all affiliate links.  Shoot me.  If you really hate the idea, go directly to the website and buy.  I bought this because I had a hunch it might work for me, and if not, what the heck, it’s only the cost of a lunch out the door, and at least I wouldn’t be wasting paper like with the Franklin Covey systems I’ve bought and not used.

But if you struggle with keeping track of the forest while deep in the trees, do buy it.  And if you’re not sure whether you want the Action Planner (makes me feel like a superhero) or the Freelancer Workweek, try both. 

Or buy one or the other if your decisive nature allows you to do so.  I can’t, I’m an indecisive maximizer and I’m terribly jealous of your ability to choose. 

Either way, you get the Annual Strategic and Quarterly Objective planners, which are the key to this whole shebang.

Good luck.  Let me know how you like them (and if you have any similar recommendations for me).  Next week, I’ll report on my test of mind-mapping software (and Alice!)… and prove my honesty by telling you about a product that’s totally not worth your time (even though it’s free).

Now I need to get back to planning my week and day, something I neglected to do yesterday and so, of course, got nothing done.  Argh!

~~~

*The new job is still not official so I still feel like I have to knock on wood.  I am, however, doing the new job already; such is the internal transfer process at a major corporation.  I’m told I’ll be receiving an offer any day now.  I’m not holding my breath (though I am innocently and publicly assuming it’s retroactive while quietly building up serious resentment and outrage in the event they don’t meet my compensation requirements).

~~~

Later today: my thoughts on how crazy it is (crazy!) that eight of the twelve of you who commented on my “I’m an ENFP” post are INFJ’s and more on what I’m looking for in building my team at work.

~~~

Update: links have all been fixed. Thanks, Maggie, for reminding me!

Penelope is an ENTJ, something she mentions over and over (well, except when she says she’s an INTJ, which often happens in the same post). 

Honestly?  I didn’t get why until I discovered that I’m an ENFP, and now I want to say “Because I’m an ENFP!” all the time.

All the time.

Because holy hell, being an ENFP describes everything about me.  The procrastination, the indecisiveness, the love of possibility and fear of limitations, the muscle tension. 

Muscle tension?  Yup.

What stuck with me the most was that ENFP’s are great at ideas, but never follow through.  The book I was reading said something like, “Immature ENFP’s might have trouble in relationships because they haven’t learned to follow through or stick to the truth.”  With big ideas and gift for gab, one can easily be a lying flake.

Oh, so true. (Here’s a better link if you don’t trust my paraphrasing.  Note the use of the word “immature.”)

And while I think I’ve gotten past the lying part, I struggle to turn ideas into reality, and it’s time to grow up, so I’m focusing on learning to accomplish things rather than just dream of them – and I have a handful of tools I’ve tried so far because serendipitously, I’d already decided to focus on doing one little thing before reading the book, but now the words “haven’t learned to follow through” haunt me.

So true.  So scary.  Stay tuned.

If you don’t know what you are, here’s a quiz.  Please take it.  It’ll be fun!  (And seriously, I now want to ask for personality types in interviews, because I need some other letters to balance out my team, which currently consists of just me.)

Martha Beck grouped Dr. Laura with the likes of Rush Limbaugh, noting that certain public personalities want only agreement, not real discussion.

I listen to Dr. Laura because she’s on talk radio during lunch hours and that’s when I’m usually in my car.  I’d prefer Dave Ramsey, but he’s not on, and I can’t handle music sometimes.  I think that’s the most dangerous kind of influence, actually – the kind that surrounds your consciousness rather than being invited in.

I listen to Dr. Laura but admire Martha Beck, so I had some soul-searching to do.

~~~

Over the past couple years, every assumption I had about my life and role as a wife has been tested.  My husband is not like my previous lovers – he was raised by a stay at home mom, grew up in the generally conservative South, had always been the primary earner and decider in his relationships.  And I’m not like his – I’m the primary earner in my life, have lived in big cities, alone, and have always made all my own decisions.  I was raised by a divorced mom and involved dad, never felt particularly maternal myself, and was only sure that I never wanted to be left without options.

I never ever for one moment considered being a stay-at-home-mom.  Not even once.  In fact, I was pretty convinced I’d fail, hating every minute and resenting my kids for trapping me in an endless cycle of tasks I hate.  My ex-husband declared early on that he’d love to be a stay-at-home-dad; our path was set.

Then I got divorced and married a Southern man.  He never explicitly said he thought I should stay at home to raise our kids, but he mentioned he always thought his wife would.  Once.  In the first six months we were dating.  But it stuck with me and I began to imagine he wanted me to be that kind of wife, whatever “that” was.  I never specifically decided to consider the option, but between my assumptions about his wishes and regular doses of Dr. Laura, I started to wonder.

~~~

Wondering is good.  Options are good.  Assuming your path is set for whatever is reason isn’t.  So I started to consider the benefits of staying home with my children, paying attention to the choices made by other women, looking again at my childhood and my mother’s choices. 

But more importantly, I got a better sense of myself.

When I first moved away from the home I’d shared with my ex-husband, I was surprised to learn new things about myself.  It was like getting to know myself all over again. I discovered that I liked to cook, couldn’t stand elaborate patterns, preferred blank walls to mismatched paintings.  Who knew?

Similarly, I was surprised to find that I liked the idea of staying home with my kids, at least for a little while.  I was bewilderingly unable to consider leaving my husband to parent alone, even for a week, and not because I didn’t want to, but because I couldn’t imagine it.  And the stuff that made me whimper in fear related to house-management, not child-raising.

Learning is good.  Paying attention is good.

~~~

I had a cushy stay-at-home job for the past few years, one where I decided what I worked on and how much progress I made on any given day.  I hated it.  Without external and somewhat objective evidence of my worth (both to my company and on a personal level), I floundered into self-consciousness and doubt.  Despite the best efforts of my husband, best friend, and even (the horror) my boss, I continued to feel useless and unnecessary.  I obsessed over paint colors and fireplaces and wedding plans because at least those tasks seemed clearly defined.

This was me, minus the large team:

And the more responsibility I had for running a large team, trying to hit many goals at once, the less work I did. Honestly, I just didn’t know what to do. I was outside my core strength.

And I know this:  the first sign that you are outside of your strengths is when you can’t make yourself do the work you need to do.

So I changed jobs.  Sort of. {Meaning I will be changing jobs if HR gets it together and gets me an offer, but I’m doing it already anyway.}

And now this is me:

I am great in that phase of a business–thinking, philosophizing, finding holes in markets, finding holes in ideas. I never give up. I always have another idea, and I don’t mind feeling lost day after day, week after week.

In any office, employees gravitate to the job each should be doing, no matter what the titles are. Sometimes we gravitate to a job and it’s not available, and we go nuts doing something we shouldn’t be doing. Sometimes we gravitate to that job and it’s such a good fit for us that we do it even without a title.

A lot of people say they should be doing a job they do not have the authority to do. Here’s some news, though: You’d be doing it already if you were great at it. Ryan Healy is now Chief Operating Officer at Brazen Careerist because he’s already shown he can do the job. That’s how you get serious promotions:  doing the job first, in an outstanding way.

And now I’m back to the me I knew – the kindly ass-kicking, embarrassingly confident, unflinchingly capable me – and I’m scared.  My husband only knew the cushy-job me and has already remarked on how different I seem when I come home from a work trip.

I knew this was going to happen.

Because I am different.  When I know what I’m doing, I know it – and I love it. 

~~~

My first semester in college, I took macro-economics with a professor known for chewing up and spitting out freshmen.  At the end of the semester, just before the final exam, I dropped by her office to find out my exam scores… for the entire semester.

“I’m here to find out my exam scores for the semester, please,” I said.

She sneered a bit, pulled up my paper file (1997, people!) and suddenly, her demeanor changed.

“Oh!  I didn’t expect this.  Most people who don’t know how they did are failing.  You got a 100, 100, and 98.  Why didn’t you know that?”

I didn’t know that because the only thing that happened during the 8:30 am class following an exam was that you got your test back. I preferred to sleep in, confident I’d done well.

~~~

I have this new job and I love it, but I don’t want to tank my relationship again.  I’m trying to be cognizant that other people don’t care as much about my job as I do, that my husband doesn’t yet recognize that my bluster is to counteract my worries, that I have to learn to leave work at work for the sake of home.

And I’m a little bit overwhelmed to be reminded how my preferences affect so many futures.  It’s the same sense of responsibility I feel when I hear the phrase, “Happy wife happy life,” – like, wait a minute, now my happiness has to carry the weight of everyone else’s?  Are you kidding me?

But I’m grown up now, or on my way there, so I remind myself that nothing is black and white.  I can want to stay home with my kids for a few years and still go back to work.  I can NOT want to stay home with my kids and still have a great relationship with them.  I can define my future however I want.

Or, to be more accurate, we can define our future however we want.  My husband and I had a chat about accepting each other’s influence, and contrary to our public personas, I seem to take too much influence and he might take too little.

I won’t be the wife he thought he would have, but neither is he the husband I thought I would have – nobody is.  We all discover somewhere along the way that reality isn’t quite like we’d expected…

… and that’s okay. 

~~~

So my next step is to challenge my assumptions about my husband.  Somewhere along the way I defined myself as the “keeper of all things household,” so I worried about hiring a housecleaner and dog walker and making freezer meals when my travel schedule got crazy.  I had this idea that things would fall apart because I’d be too busy to deal with them.

Turns out I didn’t “deal” as much as I “pondered,” so there wasn’t much left undone and my husband stepped in and took over what was.  We’re both happier that way, actually, because he’s much more the Doer and I’m much more the Stress Out and Worry While Not Doing-er.  (My truck insurance finally got moved and my tags are getting renewed and the dog’s medicines are all refilled.  In a week.)

And now I’m thinking about life with kids in a city far, far from my company’s headquarters.  We don’t want to move, so what does that mean for me, my career, my family, my husband, our children? 

What if I lived somewhere else for one week a month, leaving my husband to care for an infant full-time?  Why not? {His family is local so they could pitch in, and yet, I feel weird about that, even though I wouldn’t bat an eye if the situation was reversed.} What if we all lived somewhere else for half the month, packing up and moving cross-country every few weeks?  Why not? {Not sustainable past infancy, but in the short-term, maybe.}  What if we moved? {We like this area, my husband is starting a four-year degree program in the fall, and waaaaa, I don’t wanna!}

What if, what if, what if?

~~~

The best part about being a grown-up is seeing life clearly and still thinking it’s fantastically exciting.

“He’s such a happy baby!” I remarked, sitting on the floor with her one-year old son.  “He’s always smiling.”

“You know, I think it’s because we never fight,” she replied, half under her breath because our husbands were around the corner.  Funny how women will talk about relationships with acquaintances, but men never do.

I thought everyone fought.  Hell, that was the big lesson of my divorce post-mortem: everyone fights, so instead of trying to avoid arguments, may as well try to get better at them.  But they never fight, never even an undercurrent of frustration between them, and I’m a darned good observer of couples’ interactions.  What am I missing?

~~~

At the funeral service for a dear neighbor, I sat next to a close friend and her husband, who are also neighbors.  Through the entire service, she fidgeted – bouncing leg, shifting in her seat, twiddling her thumbs. 

On the ride home, she laughed.  “You must really love me,” she said to her husband.  “I fidget all the time and you never tell me to stop!”

He stayed silent, apparently not feeling the need to confirm or deny.

~~~

Six months into our marriage, I often feel less stable than ever before.  I can’t explain it, despite multiple attempts to figure it out.  We’re very different, my husband and I, and in terms of time, we just haven’t known each other long.

“Someday you’ll reach the point where the years you’ve been together will outnumber the years you spent apart,” my therapist said.  I found that statement to be terribly depressing, having spent half my life with another person.

I’m thirty and have known him three years.  Assuming we’re only talking about adulthood, in a decade we’ll hit breakeven.  Wow.

Not the most helpful statement, but a reminder that we can’t take anything for granted for good reason.  We haven’t earned – through years of time together — to assume anything about the other.  It’s time to stop trying to get somewhere and start just being.

~~~

2010 is the year of not losing my shit.  I lose my shit most in regards to my husband, because he’s what matters most to me.  Good or bad, my relationship with him is the culmination of some rough times, painful lessons, and what often feels like a path of destruction left in the wake of my maturity.  Living this life is something I choose every day.  Being with him is something I’m careful not to take for granted.

But the weight of my past can be a heavy burden for a relatively new relationship.  I have to remind myself that just because I’ve learned something doesn’t mean he has.  I’ve had the freedom to learn at my own pace; he deserves the same.

In past years I relied on mantras to get me through tough times: Keep moving.  Don’t run.  Timing is everything.  Anger requires action – go do something. 

This year, then, my mantra is this: Believe, Ignore, Look for the Good. 

When things go badly, I immediately think I made a mistake.  So this year, I’m going to push myself to believe.  When things go badly, I’m going to believe in him, believe in us, believe in goodness and light and getting through eventually.

But that’s only the first step.  While I’m fervently believing, I’ll be ignoring. Sure, my husband does things that drive me bonkers, but he’s human (and even my non-human family drives me bonkers: Frank, I’m talking to you).  We’ve gotten in the habit of mentioning every little thing we think the other should or shouldn’t do, as if just by saying something, we get closer to perfection.

Nope.  At least half the time I do something stupid, I already know it by the time it’s over.  No need to be told that it was stupid and I shouldn’t do it again.  The rest of the time, sure, I can use some input, but there’s such a thing as timing, and right when I’m feeling stupid ain’t it.  And I do the same thing to my husband.

So, no more.  I’m ignoring a lot more, on purpose rather than in the fog of lust, but whatever – same result.  When he’s all worked up over losing his keys, I’m no longer going to catch the passing frustration and make it my own.  When he says something ridiculous, does something reckless, or just plain drives me nutso, I’m going to leave it alone.  If it’s still bothering me later – when I can look at him and feel love again – I’ll bring it up.

And last, but not least, I’m going to spend the time while I’m believing and ignoring (and therefore not responding) looking for the good.  Hurt leads to anger, anger requires action, and my action will be to look for the good in the situation.

My dog isn’t going to live much longer, not even 12 – 18 months (because that estimate is from onset, not diagnosis, and we’re probably six months in), and that really sucks.  For me.  Because the best part of the whole thing is that he’s not human and therefore doesn’t know he’s sick.  Does he miss playing?  Probably.  Does he wish he could play?  Doubtful.  Research tells us canines can handle a whole lot of thought processes and feelings – jealousy, envy, happiness, maybe even joy – but they live in the moment, so the ability to wish for something different is pretty unlikely.

Thank God.  Because I wish for things to be different enough for both of us.  So I’m sad, oh so very sad, for myself, but at least we can make Indy happy as a clam by giving into his every whim, dressing him in weather-appropriate garb, and cuddling as much and as often as he’ll let us.  If he’s warm, comfy, and well-fed, how can he not feel loved?  And really, that’s the best we can do for him.

I’m believing in the power of love and time and being present to get me through the sadness, ignoring the fact that in a perfect world, he’d be a perfectly annoying and nutso puppy, and holding on tight to the only good I can see: we have enough warning to give him the best next six months (and maybe more, please, please more) we can.

If this mantra helps with a dying dog, surely it can help my marriage.  We’ll probably always fight and be annoying, but we have a lot of years to breakeven; may as well make the best of them.

So.  Against my better judgment, we are going snowboarding tomorrow night – the night before I take a 6:00 am flight to a week of work-related fun.  I know, I will regret it, but I am determined to continue to live my life despite a more challenging job.

Here’s the lowdown on my first snowboarding experience: I wasn’t bad, but that’s because I didn’t take too many chances.  I studied beforehand so I knew what was coming in the lesson (and yes, I had notes, shut up) and I did great.  On my first skid down the little hill leading to the chair lift, I did great, successfully traversing across it in both directions.  I didn’t ever really fall, though I did tip over once or twice, and all was well.

But then I had 2.5 beers in the bar. (We shared a pitcher in celebration of my husband’s 28th birthday.)

My responsiveness, as you can imagine, was slowed, as was my courage.  I didn’t get much better after that, and after two out-of-the-blue spills, I retreated to the training area to practice basics.  And you know how it goes when you’re learning something new: sucking takes way more energy than being good.  I got tired pretty quickly from putting on and taking off my board, or (blegh) stepping back up the hill.  Stepping sucks.  I’m ready to ride.

I am, therefore, asking for tips or tricks or even just “get your ass back up and keep trying, you big chicken who didn’t even make it on the chair lift” comments.  Help?  And I’m asking publicly even though a few of you have emailed me privately because perhaps others are interested in learning and can use the same tips.  {Ahem, and because I can find your tips more easily on my blog than in my out of control email inbox.}

Oh, and because I always find attire the most stressful part of any new endeavor, here’s my update: I love, love, love my pants.  My jacket is so-so –- functionally okay, but I still think the army green color makes me look homeless or wannabe or something.  Someday I’ll prep it up with a paisley hat or something. Mittens are fine for snowboarding, but I’m buying decent glove liners.  And holy, hell, who knew you could sweat that much in sub-20 degree temps?  Not me, that’s for sure.

Also, anyone know how to keep glasses from fogging up?  I eventually gave up, stuck them in my pocket, and winged it without the benefit of detailed vision.  Not the best option, ya know?

This is the year of not losing my shit.

I’m going to spend big, dream big/ plan big/ do one little thing, and travel more.  Each one is an attempt to manage personality quirks so that I don’t lose my shit so often this year. 

This quirk: I over think everything, which leads to my believing that things are scary that won’t actually hurt or kill me.  I’m not saying that emotional pain isn’t a big deal, but when I start to be afraid of feeling bad, I need to get out and do more.  It’s all about perspective.

Make sense?

Learning new physical things is scary for me.  I’m a technical learner, needing to understand the mechanics and technique intellectually so that I can tell my body what to do.  So learning a new thing is good for my brain because it makes me think really hard.

But it’s also good for my brain because sometimes you just have to stop thinking.  You have to trust in techniques that don’t feel right, trust in your body to do things without active brain intervention, trust your coaches and teachers and advice-givers.  Okay, so learning new things is also a trust exercise and I can certainly use some practice trusting.

And more than anything, doing things that might actually injure reminds me that emotional pain will not.  This is good for not losing my shit so much over emotional things.

So.  Doing real scary things.  Like riding my motorcycle more often.  And learning to snowboard.  And hiking and camping and doing a headstand in yoga.  That’s the plan.

The hilarious part is that I’m not a big risk-taker, so my version of motorcycle riding is pretty darned safe.  My goals for snowboarding are pretty darned low. (And I have written notes stashed in my jacket pocket culled from hours of watching instructional videos in preparation for the real-life lesson.  Yea, I’m a nerd.)  Hiking?  Not really scary.  But it’s all relative, so I’ll still get the benefits.

Yesterday I wrote about one of my resolutions: Spend Big.  This resolution is similar in trying to build mechanisms for dealing with personal quirks.

This quirk: I dream but don’t plan, plan but don’t dream, and then don’t actually do anything at all.

Let me explain.  I’m a practical girl, a cheap-ass, and someone who wants a quick pay-off.  I’ve lived in rentals for most of my adult life so spending extra on something sturdy and lasting always lost out to making changes quickly and inexpensively.

While I often look at pretty pictures and dream, those ideas rarely get turned into a feasible plan.  When I do plan, I limit myself to what’s easily sourced, paid for, and slapped on rather than dreaming.  Regardless of the scope of planning or dreaming, though, nothing gets done.  I dream and plan and re-dream and re-plan and somehow live in my imagination rather than the mess that is our house.

So.  New plan.  At some point this year, I am going to dream my way through every room in our house, building inspiration files and paying attention to what we need now (and guessing what we might need later).  Then I’ll make functional needs lists and mock-up some color schemes and find things I’d like to buy or make – the plan, but based on the dream, not based on what I can do with twenty bucks and a weekend.

{Yes, of course, I’ll review and adjust with my husband, but I’m learning to accept that my process and his process are really, really different, so things work better if I start a plan and he tweaks it.  Remind me to come up with a resolution for not being so pissy when he tweaks the bejeezus out of something he’s had no hand in creating.  But that’s for another post. Or rather, series of posts on relationship resolutions.}

And last?  I’ll pick one small thing and do it.  I’m often left paralyzed by the overwhelming-ness of a big change, but the best plans are those you act on.  So it won’t matter which one thing I do, only that something (anything!) get done.  Having a plan that costs out to a ton of money doesn’t mean we have to spend it all at once, but it does mean that anything we spend should move us in that direction.

Ideally I can use the same process for vacations (where I tend to limit my options to those theoretically costing $300 and a weekend, but of course we spend thousands anyway) and job stuff (where I chicken out on insisting on big changes in favor of staying in favor with people who aren’t responsible for my career).

Dream Big, Plan Big, Do Just One Thing.

Are you sick of reading about other people’s resolutions yet?  I am, but only halfway.  While I can’t stand the end of year round-ups everyone does, finding them overwhelming and stressful (am I really supposed to sit and click through the 100 best anything of any year, really?), I do find it interesting how others structure their resolutions.

There are the list-makers, the goal-setters, the pretending-I-don’t-do-resolutions-because-I’m-afraid-I’ll-fail people.  I’m a theme resolver. 

A few years ago was the year of “getting my shit together,” financially, emotionally, psychologically.  Then there was the “tie up loose ends” year – I finally did the paperwork for my divorce, paid some old random bills, and dumped stuff that wasn’t mine.  Last year was the year of “finding grace,” at which I obviously failed, but I learned a lot along the way about how I lose my shit when things don’t go well.

This year, then, is the year of not losing my shit.  I think I’ve learned enough to not only understand how things go badly, but stop them before we’re careening down a narrow road to an ugly crash.  That’s my goal, anyway, and I’m sure I’ll be blogging more about it all.

I’ve realized that I tend to lose my shit over little things – many, many, many little things.  Eventually all the shit-losing overflows into a storm of, well, shit.  The top blows and all the little frustrations turn into one gigantic relieving purge.  It’s not pretty. 

So in order to stop losing my shit in a big way, I have to find a way to manage it in all the small ways.

And I feel most crazy when it comes to money.  I have no perspective, so I can either not spend, or I can spend it all, but I’m completely lost in between.  I’ve stared at hair dryers for 20 minutes and ultimately walked out without a single one because I wasn’t sure if I was getting the best deal.  On a 20 dollar hair dryer.

Craaaaazy.

So my 2010 resolution is to spend big.  What does that mean?  It means that the thought of any purchase over a hundred dollars causes me great stress, so I debate and waffle and research and shut down.  In the meantime, I will have spent a hundred dollars on a bunch of little things I don’t even remember.  Okay, let’s be honest: multiple hundreds of dollars are spent while I hunt for a good deal that might save me ten bucks. 

This is crazy.

Instead, I’m keeping a “Things to Buy” list.  When I want something, it goes on the list.  When I spend money, it will be on something on the list BEFORE I buy something else.  And I’m trying to be specific.

Let’s take snowboard pants as an example.  My husband snowboards; we live 30 minutes from a little ski run; we live two hours from many other ski runs; snowboarding makes my husband happy.  I’ve decided to learn skiing/ snowboarding.

But I know that I hate to be unprepared so proper attire is necessary.  {I know, I know, you can wing it any number of ways.  I know this.  But I know that I will hate every moment.  So: proper attire.}  I tried on a bazillion pairs of pants and fell in love with some that were (wait for it) NOT ON SALE.  Not even a little bit.  So I looked around, tried them on three different times, looked around some more, and finally, with my husband pushing me into it, bought them.

AT FULL PRICE.

I love them.  Love, love.  Jump up and down love.  Wear them secretly because I love them, love.  Then wear them not-so-secretly while working in my home office because they’re warm and love them more, love.  Love.  This is $150 well spent.

So my list will say, “North Face LRBC Freedom Pants, XS, black” not “snowboard pants,” because my cheap and crazy-ass will buy cheap pants and hate them every minute rather than spending $60 extra for the ones I love if I’m not specific.  And I’ll spend that $60 on who-knows-what.

I’m also trying to be okay with the waffling and regret that comes with those kinds of purchases as just a part of the process for me, not a sign that it’s a bad decision.  I bought a jacket (on sale) that’s not at all what I would have thought I’d like, but I put it on and thought, “Yesss.”  Then my brain kicked in and started wondering whether the color and style were too “hi, I’m a wannabee hard-ass” and I’ve been stressing ever since.  Given a quick review of my purchase history, I’m sure that I’ve stressed over every good purchase I’ve made, so this probably is one.  We’ll see.

The mittens that don’t quite fit, though, are getting exchanged tonight.  No more "making it work,” Tim Gunn’s advice notwithstanding.

That’s what “spend big” means: spend money on things big enough to matter – the right things – rather than on a thousand little things that aren’t memorable.