one way to hear what you're saying to yourself

the first installment in a week-long series exploring our rituals of talking to ourselves

this happened:  our baby was born.

and then this happened:  the things that i say--and even just silently think--about myself became very, super-duper, incredibly, intensely noticeable to me.

here are some examples--positive, negative, and...well...complicated:

• i look like crap today.
• oh man, i'm an idiot.
• mama can't do anything right. ["mama" is referring to me, not to my own mama, who does almost everything right.]
• i rocked that.
• everyone's going to think i'm [insert negative adjective here].
• look: i can fit into my non-pregnant jeans again!
• i think i can really help with that.
• i'm stressed out, okay?!
• i'm awesome at figuring out those kinds of problems.
• i don't care what he thinks of me.
• i just tried to be a good friend to her.
• we're having the most fun ever, and i am hilarious.
• i'm not doing as much creative work as [insert person, usually a woman, to whom i am comparing myself negatively here].
• i am the luckiest person on the planet.
• i am supermama.
• i sounded like a moron.
• i'm really freakin' good at that.

now, i consider myself to be a pretty self-confident person.  on the whole--from a bird's-eye view--i really do think i'm smart and kind and a good friend and creative and have things to offer the world.  and still, my daily soundtrack tends to be pretty rough on me.

when i say or think these things now, i automatically click to how i'd feel if my daughter were saying or thinking them about herself.  and often, i don't like it.  

so i'm trying to change my daily soundtrack.  and it's hard to do.

i'd love to hear from the non-mamas and non-papas, as well as the parents out there:  when do you hear what you're saying to yourself most clearly?  and how do you change it when you don't love what you hear?

how to leave for a vacation

part one in a week-long series about the rituals of summer-vacation-taking

how to leave for a vacation

1. plan to leave by a certain hour.  save up 413 small tasks that you must accomplish before you leave.  begin those tasks 90 minutes before your planned departure time.
2. pack way too much.  remove three items from your suitcase.  feel proud.  put one of the three items back in your suitcase. 
3. water the plants.  think about how you should go on vacation more often so that the plants get watered more frequently.
4. unplug everything in sight:  the coffeemaker, the rickety old lamp in the hallway, the microwave oven.
5. spill something on the floor.  preferably something that makes a big sticky mess or will dye the floor a nice shade of purple if it isn't tended to immediately.
6. decide to set the timers for the lights.  spend 25 minutes looking for the timers for the lights.  get in a fight with your partner/child/dog about where the timers for the lights could be.
7. leave 104 minutes after your planned departure time and feel pretty psyched that you stayed on schedule.  or close enough.  or close enough-ish.
8. feel relieved that you're finally on the way, and then throw a big rock at that feeling by stopping for gas, lunch, and cash before you even leave town.
9. get fifteen minutes down the road and make a joke.  smile for the first time in several hours.  remember that you actually like the person/people in the car with you.
10. relax.

how to make a new friend

part one in a week-long series all about the rituals of being friends.

how to make a new friend when you’re five years old (option one):

1. say, “hello.”
2. wait for the other five-year-old to say “hello” back.
3. ask, “wanna be friends?”
4. wait for the other five-year-old to say, “okay.”

how to make a new friend when you’re five years old (option two):

1. say, “hello.”
2. wait for the other five-year-old to say “hello” back.
3. ask, “wanna play dinosaurs?”
4. wait for the other five-year-old to say, “okay.”

how to make a new friend when you’re an adult:

1. watch the other person and how s/he behaves in a group.
2. wait.
3. dance around in your mind about whether you need a new friend because you already have enough friends for god’s sake.
4. have a good conversation with the potential new friend but don’t follow up.
5. forget how to suggest fun things and/or decide that nothing you do is fun.
6. get scared that the new friend doesn’t want to be friends.
7. get busy.
8. try to act cool and aloof around potential new friend.
9. hold back your real personality until you judge that potential new friend can take it.
10. judge potential new friend as too snobby/smart/busy/pretty/unattractive/granola/corporate/soft-spoken to be your friend.
11. take potential new friend’s busy schedule as an indication that s/he thinks you’re horrible and never wants to see you again.
12. somehow, against all odds, hang out with potential new friend.

ah, to be five years old again. in the world of adult new-friend-making, it seems we have to be subtle, fend off awkwardness, avoid showing our hand in case the other person doesn’t like us. sigh.

 

about fifteen years ago, when i was newly living in chicago, i had an amazing experience in this ritual of new-friend-making. i made one of the best friends of my life with a conversation almost exactly like the five-year-old version above. it was so simple. and it worked. and we’re still friends.

 

it worked so well, i’m not sure why i didn’t stick with it.

 

this week, i got a message from a new-ish friend that reminded me we don’t have to do the adult version of new-friending. she said, in plain language, that she feels we were meant to cross paths, that we are kindred spirits. and it made me feel like a million bucks.

things i’ve learned about teamwork from my husband--or--how to pull together when life seems crappy

when things are going well in your lives...

say to your special person with a big smile, “who lives better than we do?” and then give them a smooch. this is a big deal. it's fun, and you’ll be glad you did it when things are not going so well. speaking of which…

when things are not going so well in your lives and you’re starting to take it out on each other...

dig deep, call on your ancestors for help, and try your very level best in that really bad moment to reach out to your person. if you’re in a stand-off in the kitchen, go over and hug her. if you’re sitting in silent tension on the couch, put your hand on his knee. if you can summon it, say, “i love you.”

more than likely, this will both completely surprise and completely disarm your person. and more than likely, your person will be exceedingly grateful that you realized she was upset, too. and yes, more than likely, she will be just a little bit humbled because you were the one who was able to reach out.

if, on the other hand, when things are not going so well in your lives, you try your very level best to reach out to your person and you fail because you’re too far gone, trust that your person will reach out to you, and accept it when she does.

maybe in a few minutes, you’ll even be able to laugh about the way you threw a bag of cheetos and a shoe at the refrigerator and collapsed in a heap in the middle of the kitchen floor. or not. either way, it’ll be better than it was before.