The power of small

It is 12:03pm. I recognize my behavior as the Sort-of, Kind-of-Worried Phase. The hands of the clock are inching their way into the future, and I know I have to stay rational. What’re five more hours? I tell myself.

Today, I’ve decided to steer my boat 2° to the left.

If two boats are on the same path and one veers off just 2° … over time, that two degrees equals a massive difference in the distance of your destination. (If this sounds familiar, it’s because I stole it from Anthony Robbins.)

There are a million reasons why everyone should have a sense of their own wellness. Did you know our genes control 20% of our health and old age, but 80% is controlled by our own hands?

Eighty percent!

A Harvard study proves that if we do the five basic things our doctors always tell us, we can extend our life span by 14 years on average. And the five things are the easy stuff—eat healthily, get regular exercise, get enough sleep, don’t smoke or use tobacco, reduce your stress.

(Well, not *easy* per se. A client once directed me to break an AP-style rule for the article we were publishing on a major media platform because they felt “using all caps showed emphasis,” and well, that near killed me.)

OMAD. This is my 2° .

One meal a day. 

No snacks. No mini-meals. No protein shakes or smoothies, or energy bars. No bread and butter pickle chips. No spoonful of chunky peanut butter. Not a single chocolate chip. And I’m OMADing for a week. 

For the biology geeks: Going back 6 million years, our bodies were designed (or evolved) to respond to adversity. But we’ve removed that from our lives – we’ve removed adversity because it feels good. 

But we need adversity (we. need. adversity.) to be resilient and fight disease. When we face adversity, the body turns on these ‘adversity hormeses’ response’ genes (aka, longevity genes). And when they turn on, what they’re basically doing is making the body fight aging and disease. But by eating through the day, we’re doing the opposite of living adversity. We’re living “contently.” For the record, eating with the traditional mindset of having breakfast, lunch, and dinner plus two snacks in order to think clearly and have mental acuity, etc., is a myth. I’m not talking about children or malnutrition or starvation. I’m talking about the typical “healthy” adult. And I am only talking about lengthening the window between meals. Think about it for a minute. If we’re always satiated or fed, our bodies will say, “Heyy, I just killed a mammoth, no problem. I don’t need to worry about survival. I’m just going to go forth and multiply and screw my long-term survival.” But by making the body freak out a bit by thinking it’s facing tough times, like being hungry, well, I’ll tell ya’, the data backs up the claim that this is the way to be healthy in our 80s and 90s. 

I know that’s just a tiny snippet of information (and I understand not everyone wants to live to be 80 or 90), but it’s compelling data. And there is a ton of information published on intermittent fasting (IF) that covers everything from why it’s excellent to why it’s stupid. From what it does to what it does not do, how you do it, to how you do not do it. There are studies, trials, research, testimonials, philosophies, rules, podcasts, blogs… I promise if you seek it out, it will show up in your feed.

(Unless someone really wants to know), I am not really wanting to talk about why I’m doing it; but I do want to tell you how it’s going.

Day One. (Technically, Day One started last night at 5pm.)

From 5pm to a little before midnight, I made it without thinking about food. In fact, it is eye-opening how easy it is to not snack before bed. Who knew!

When I woke up, though… 

7:59am: My first thought, “coffee doesn’t break a fast, does it? DOES IT??? Shit.”

9:12am: I tried the first trick of the day to distract myself: Hellooooo, INSTAGRAM!  

9:27am: I tried the second trick of the day: I shall drink water, feel full and be merry for the remaining 7+ hours. Well, I drank water and then I cursed at the plants, fluffed the pillows, and paced the floor. I was starting to feel a little snippy.

10:05am: “So what if my best feature touches my lap when I sit down, so what?” 

11:49pm: It’s practically Noon. If I go to the gym, that’ll kill an hour, and, well, then it will practically be five o’clock!

12:17pm: The gym, the gym, the gym. Just go to the gym. Food is not everything. 

3:16pm: Either an old-fashioned train is approaching my house, or Arizona is experiencing an earthquake. It’s hard to tell where the rumbling sound is coming from.

3:40pm: I’ve accomplished nothing today. Nor in my entire life.

4:32pm: ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

4:41pm: I am NEVER. AGAIN. doing this.

4:52pm: OH MY FUCKING JESUS.

4:59pm: …

5:31pm:  Sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows, Everything that’s wonderful is what I feel when we’re together, Brighter than a lucky penny … *sing it with me, everyone!

I’ll do this again tomorrow, for sure. But, weirdly, when five o’clock rolled around, I almost didn’t want to eat. I did eat. But I sort of didn’t want to. Suddenly I was more aware of what I was putting in my body—and it needed to be worthy of my 24-hour fast. I think I’ll start making incremental changes in other areas of my life and see what happens.

The moral of the story: Steering your ship 2° to the left now and then may not be an aggressive or huge move, or it might be massive.

What to do when you don’t know what to do.

I’ve been reading a lot about ‘decision fatigue’ (I didn’t know it had a name).

To describe it, decision fatigue smells like initiative, angst, and Covid.

Another way I can describe it: when you have an idea or a goal and it turns into a big decision and no one can make it for you but you wish someone would come over and tell you what to do (and make you cookies).

I’m struggling with decision fatigue (and chronic hesitation), and it’s self-imposed, which makes it that much more ominous.

In 2009, Paul Graham wrote an outstanding essay called Maker’s Schedule, Manager’s Schedule. I re-read it the other day and it reminded me that, no, I’m not crazy. I’ve just been working in a directly opposite way of how I’m wired. If you’ve never read the essay, and you don’t have time to read the piece, here’s the gist. Paul Graham writes that there are basically two types of schedules, a Maker’s schedule and a Manager’s schedule.

Here’s a quote directly from the essay: “The manager’s schedule is for bosses. It’s embodied in the traditional appointment book, each day cut into one-hour intervals. You can block off several hours for a single task if you need to, but by default you change what you’re doing every hour. When you use time that way, it’s merely a practical problem to meet with someone. Find an open slot in your schedule, book them, and you’re done.”

To keep quoting: “When you’re operating on the maker’s schedule, meetings are a disaster. A single meeting can blow a whole afternoon by breaking it into two pieces, each too small to do anything hard in. … For someone on the maker’s schedule, having a meeting is like throwing an exception. It doesn’t merely cause you to switch from one task to another; it changes the mode in which you work.”

Now, speaking personally and thanks to this essay, I know that I do my best when I can position my schedule as a maker. But increasingly, I’ve been doing my work on a manager’s schedule. While it’s not a wrong schedule, it limits the kind of work I can do – and want to do. And it’s probably the reason for the overwhelmed feeling, decision fatigue, and chronic hesitation.

Let’s go back to the “self-imposed” point. Around December 28 (yes, one week ago), I began speaking into existence my 2022 goals – one, here and there, over several days. And now, four days into the new year, I realize my goals are an avalanche waiting to happen. All I want is for someone to come over and tell me what to do and make me cookies. While conducive to a manager’s schedule, these goals swamp a maker’s schedule. And as I just pointed out, I’m not wired for a manager’s schedule.

My goals list looks something like this:

  • Rebrand my blog.
  • Post weekly on said newly-branded blog.
  • Schedule 3 Writing Days a month (a writing day means I spend 3-7 hours writing consistently and without interruption or distraction).
  • Journal “Morning Pages” every morning.
  • Journal daily “One Line A Day in a Five-Year Memory Book.”
  • Be self-employed by June 30.
  • Have a completed first draft manuscript by December 31.
  • (Until Thanksgiving, moving back to Rhode Island on May 1 was on the list. This has since been deleted.)
  • Get really good at tennis and join a league.
  • Read one book a month (they cannot be writing books or marketing books).
  • Get deeper (and more serious) into my Buddhist practice.
  • Adopt a dog.

To not pass judgment on me and to name what was really going on, I asked myself two questions. First question, what feels life-draining? The second question, what feels life-giving?

What feels life-draining is not unsubtle: the thought of so many rogue, self-imposed, deadline-driven, high-reaching goals. It’s unrealistic to have this many at once, I know. And it definitely amplifies imposter syndrome.

What feels life-giving is easy to identify: Writing. Playing tennis (even badly).

I decided to make a list, for lists’-sake. I cut my goal list in half and deleted deadlines. Here’s what it looks like today.

  1. Hide all the journals in a draw somewhere and forget about them.
  2. Write 500 words a day.
  3. Read one chapter a day.
  4. Play tennis.
  5. Develop a consistent Buddhist practice.
  6. Adopt a dog.

For the record, this blog post is more than 500 words. I already feel victorious as I exceeded my goal without much trying.

I think the point of my story is to not let conventional deadlines (or rules) keep you from growth and from your own transformation. Your life is waiting for you to see it, to name it, and to do your next right thing. And if you suffer from decision fatigue, it’s OK to pause, wait, and clear the decks. We’re not robots. We’re meant to breathe in and out. Some seasons are for a deep inhale, and others are for a long exhale. It’s great to have goals – but not at the expense of having a life. The big truth is, our daily decisions are actually making our lives. We’d be wise to pay close attention.

Every March 1

This is not us. [Source: Getty Images]

Today is my daughter’s birthday, and as much as I want to celebrate this day, I am not prepared. I never am. You see, today also marks 22 years since my dad’s death. When I look at the calendar, the first thing I see is my father dying all over again. Every March 1, while I know I am moving further away from his time with me, I am incredibly taken by surprise at how emotional I get. I can remember every brutal detail about the hospital room, but I can’t remember his voice. I swear, keeping his memory alive is getting harder and harder as time passes. More than two decades later, and I’m not prepared for this day.

Truth be told, our relationship was nothing less than an uphill battle. Yet, the process of living without him still is challenging. There are moments that I miss. Moments of him just being there, being a dad. I think while I was growing up, he was in this profound struggle; I picture him fighting this epic battle inside – and not winning. I don’t ever remember not wanting to be his daughter, but I also don’t remember loving being his daughter. And it’s not because of the things he did, but it’s the things he didn’t do. He didn’t tuck me in or kiss me good night. He didn’t help me with homework. He didn’t pull me onto his lap, tell me stories or spend any time with me at all. No daughter needs grand gestures; it’s all about the little things… and physical affection. But still, he was my dad.

Time marches on. There’s nothing I can do to stop it. But it certainly feels like from here on out, staying connected to my father will be more challenging. He’s more gone now than he was yesterday or ten years ago, and each new day, new year, new decade, he’ll be further away. Someday I’ll have lived longer without him than with him. Accepting this seems like adding a new layer to my grief.

And I’m not prepared for that day.

In a few hours, I’ll see my daughter. We’ll hug and I’ll hold on to her a few seconds longer than she’ll probably want—but I’ll be too busy flashing back to the time she turned five in that brutal hospital room.

Happy birthday, Haley. I miss you, dad.

On the future of America

What the heck is happening in our country? I’m not saying civilization is collapsing, but the department of “We Have it Totally Under Control” has:

  • built a wall around their house and then knocked down ours
  • passed an equality act that handed down a death sentence to women’s rights
  • and they’ve grown the national debt while thoroughly destroying the size of the dollar

I don’t know where we’re headed, but we might implode. With that in mind—

What I think the U.S. will look like in a post-imploded world 

There will be many priorities right after the implosion, and essential workers will be needed back on the frontline. In case you’re wondering how useful you’ll be in rebuilding our country, I’ve gone ahead and listed what I think will be the top eight careers on the rise.

Starting with number eight and working my way to the number one job that will be needed post-implosion:

8. The Massage Therapist. There are going to be a lot of stressed-out people.

7. The Barista. We’re still going to want our coffee.

6. The Uber Piggy-Back Driver. Gas-powered cars will be outlawed and electric cars will have dead batteries – but people will still want their Amazon deliveries.

5. The Librarian. Hard-bound books are going to be sexy again.

4. The Food Taster. As tribes begin to form, the leader of each tribe is going to need a food taster if they want to stay alive.

3. The Complainer. Because there’s always one.

2. The Algebra Teacher. We all know how important algebra is to succeed in life.

And the number one job that will be in demand after the implosion is The Storyteller. We all need storytellers to tell us a good story before we go to bed—you know, by the fire. But mostly, we’ll need speech (used freely) to creep back in. Debating and disputing. Sharing and educating. Entertaining and engaging. Connecting and influencing. 

Whatever you’re currently doing, I say start training for your future. You never know when disaster is right around the corner. Whether it’s a zombie apocalypse, a power grid failure, a meteor smashing into the earth, or an implosion by executive order, you need to go into the collapse knowing what job you are meant to do. Fostering a brand new society will take more than just that fighting spirit that is harboring inside you. It will need essential workers.

The peaceful illegal

Are illegal immigrants peaceful? Maybe some, but you decide.

According to the official website of the Department of Homeland Security, and the FY2019 Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) report:  

In FY 2019, ICE agents arrested approximately 143,000 illegal immigrants. Of these individuals, the convictions—or charges—pending at the time of their arrest included:

  • 74,000 for driving under the influence (DUI)
  • 67,000 for drug offenses
  • 1,900 were convicted of homicide
  • 1,800 were convicted of homicide-related crimes
  • 1,600 kidnappings
  • 37,000 assaults
  • 10,000 sex crimes
  • 4,276 were known or suspected gang members
  • 675 were suspected to be members of the MS13 gang
  • 31 were known or suspected terrorists

Of those arrested by ICE in FY 2020, 90% had criminal convictions or charges pending at the time of arrest.

These individuals came into our country when our borders were secure. Now our borders are open.

Jumping off tables

The woman with bushy hair was staring at me.

We were sitting on opposite sides of the room, and while she was sizing up my bloody lip, I was scrutinizing the general state of her hair. It was severely overgrown, wooly, and I’m positive she had shards of an age-old butterfly clip entangled in the dark heap. If it wasn’t a butterfly clip, then it was most definitely a tree branch or stick.

In my mind, she wasn’t young enough to have this level of unkempt hair. She also wasn’t young enough to wear such achingly bright shorts. But here she was, a woman of about forty sitting in front of me, an unrecognizable curl pattern to her mane and glaring red shorts that were screaming, “Look at me!”

             “So I suppose you want to ask me what happened to my lip.”

             “Yes, dear. Were you punched?”

(Oh, she has a British accent! I was not expecting this. British people are usually a bit more … tidier … no?)

I was about to say ‘yes and give her a grand story about a bloody and ruthless fistfight. Maybe a vengeance mission that includes swollen faces and the taste of blood. Or a grudge match that ends with spectators shouting, “SHE’S ALIVE!” (Floating a tall tale comes easy to me.)

Instead, I gave her the truth.

             “I jumped off a table.”  

At age 53, a change is clearly taking place.

Let’s be honest, most people don’t envision 53-year old women jumping off picnic tables or vaulting over common obstacles in the park. They don’t picture these ‘aged’ women hurdling structures by running, vaulting, jumping, climbing, and rolling. Or moving along ledges, scaling buildings without ladders, or leaping between rooftops. Getting down on all fours to pass over, under, through, and around the environment — urban or natural — for sport or otherwise? Probably not. 

Young men on YouTube, however, with incredible acrobatic athleticism, yes. Safely and efficiently, I might add. But I think the general perception is that 53-year old women count daily steps and apply ice packs to flaring tendonitis. Maybe they hold Downward Dog or Tree Pose for 10 breaths. And they might suit up for weekly aqua aerobics (to nail that breaststroke).

But 53-year old me is wholly embracing “park play” and jumping off picnic tables, hanging from monkey bars, practicing cartwheels in the grass – bloodying my own lip in the process – and bragging about it to the first urgent care technician that looks my way.

             “I got this at the park. Yeah, you see, I was jumping off this table… It’s part of my parkour training. Do you know what parkour is? Helloooo? Cindy? That’s what your name tag says, right, Cindy? So I bloodied my lip doing parkour…”

             “Cindy?”

My parkour training is less impressive and less splashy than those splendidly dangerous, flying seventeen-year-olds on YouTube.

A cat hang that tears open the calluses on my hands; a quadrupedal walk (also known as a beast crawl) performed forward and backward that scares the beans out of me when done on a ledge, and a walking climb-up that bruises my shins, over and over and over again is as intense as it gets. I also hop rocks and bushes. And don’t forget picnic tables. I leap off picnic tables.

It’s all primer. My goal? This, minus most of the tricking because.

By parkour’s very nature, it encourages adaptability, exploration, self-reliance, health, creativity, and mental fortitude. All attributes any 53-year old woman strives for, no? Taking your body through full ranges of motion, matching strength + flexibility + stability, and connecting your breath + rhythm. Talk about feeling free to be as strong, joyful, peaceful, warrior-like, secure, sexy, silly, playful as you desire. Achieving strength at every angle. (Bloody lip, optional.)

I think I can say with a fair degree of certainty that my journey, as accidental as it is, is just starting to pick up steam.

More and more, I believe the Buddha had it right: pretty much all of our struggles, from frustrations to anxiety, from anger to sadness, from grief to worry, all stem from the same thing — being too tightly attached to something.

When we’re worried or upset, it’s because we are tightly attached to how we want things to be. When we’re frustrated with someone, it’s because we’re attached to how we want them to be. And when we hesitate or delay, we are attached to things being easy. And so on.

OK, if you agree being too attached, clinging too tightly, is the cause of our struggles … then the answer is simple, right? Drop the attachments. Reconcile attachment. Let that B—go.

Easier said than done.

Fact: I was attached to a specific gym routine. Every Monday, I lifted shoulders. Tuesday was back. Wednesday was chest. Thursday was legs. This four-day split ran on repeat for several years. Eventually, I realized I was only expressing one of my physical abilities, or bio-motor abilities if you will.

(Before I get too deep into this story, I need to tell you that I’m really terrible at parkour. But instead of being discouraged, I’m like, wow, I’ve spent the better part of my adult life working on my body. Yet, I have very little ability to use my body. So even though I’m sucking at parkour, I’m enjoying it. The skill acquisition really inspires me. I love the concept of training-to-last. I also love that I’m experiencing all these different kinds of sensations (and even bruises)).

Weight training is quite linear. It’s “these are my very almost completely sagittal plane movements or isometrics, and I’m not moving at a lot of joint-variation angles.” On the other hand, parkour is really about flow and the transference of energy and creating direction – or momentum.

I’ve been attached to static, linear, push/pull, feet hip-width apart and planted on the floor.

Parkour is a scary 180.

So what makes me think I can do parkour – or any sort of freerunning – without killing myself (or breaking bones or shedding more blood)?

The concept of Dharma – Buddhist doctrine – teaches us that everything is a manifestation of our own mind. We think there is an objective world outside, and there is a subjective world inside. And we believe the so-called objective reality of the world is something distinct from our consciousness. Still, it is only the object of our consciousness. It is our consciousness. That’s the hardest thing to understand and a primary obstacle for us and for science. So if I’m “attached” to weight training being what “exercise” looks like, if this is the perception I’ve created, why can’t I create a new perception? One that involves me sprinting over pony walls and sailing through crawl spaces?

Buddhism offers the example of a river. We see a river and call it one name, but the water is not the same water; it’s constantly changing. You cannot swim twice in the same river, and it is not the same person who goes into the river. Tomorrow it will not be “you” who goes into that river. You will have changed, just like the river constantly changes. How mind-blowing is this?

If things are things because I perceive them to be, then I will perceive jumping off tables as something 53-year old women do.

And also… bushy-haired Brits can wear red shorts.

P.S. Once you realize perception underpins everything you think, do, believe, know, or love, then you just found a new way of seeing. Congratulations!