Directional Signs

Don't Go This WAY!
(Sidewalk note encountered on recent morning run)

If only life's directional signs were this clear. Instead, I get the Cheshire Cat telling me that any road will do!

"Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?"

"That depends a good deal on where you want to get to," said the Cat.

"I don’t much care where--" said Alice.

"Then it doesn’t matter which way you go," said the Cat.

"--so long as I get SOMEWHERE," Alice added as an explanation.

"Oh, you’re sure to do that," said the Cat, "if you only walk long enough."

[Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland]

Catbird Seat

A hovering hummingbird caught my eye on my morning run.  I often see them, but they flit and fly off in an instant.  This one was staying put (well, as much as a hummingbird can do), and there wasn't even any honeysuckle in sight.  Curious.  I stopped, trying not to make a sound. 

Bird still hovering. 

Slowly, I removed my iPhone from my pocket and readied the camera. 

Bird still in place. 

Click, click, click. 

Bird still here. 

Then I took a closer look.  Unbelievable.  My jaw dropped.  There was a sneaky cat, desert-colored head peaking up over the wall, eyes round and piercing.  Brings new meaning to the phrase "sitting in the catbird seat"!  I stood there for about 5 minutes, barely breathing.  That hummingbird flitted all around the cat (high on its wall-perch), coming several times within paw's reach.  But the cat just watched. 

As I look at the photos I captured (this one, for example), I have to wonder whether the cat was more interested in the hummingbird, or ME?  A bit creepy, but I love this shot -- cat with eyes locked on me.  Hummingbird flitting teasingly in cat's peripheral vision.  Where do I even start with the metaphors here!!

The Metaphors, They Find Me

I'm out of town and out of pocket this week, immersed in a week-long leadership training course at the Kellogg School of Management at Northwestern. Fascinating stuff. Spent the day getting at least a flavor for what it would have been like to go to business school.

On a break, I literally made a run for it -- down along a path that hugs the lake. It was blustery, cold and gray -- and lovely. What to my glazed over eyes should appear, but a flock of kites, trapped in the air. I stopped in my tracks and was blown away (blustery, I tell you) by the symbolic significance--at least to a metaphor hunter like me. About a dozen kites caught in a stand of leafless trees, blowing in the wind, but going nowhere. Abandoned. So vibrant against the lifeless gray sky and yet-to-leaf trees. Took my breath away.

Ever feel like a trapped kite against a lifeless backdrop?

Wednesday's Word -- Resolution

Do you make New Year's Resolutions?  I typically am a big time resolutioner, but this year it seemed the most I could muster was the unimpressive likes of:

get out of bed
take care of kids
do job
keep it together

Not all that inspiring or resolutionary (if I can make that a word).  But you do what you can.  Sometimes that's more, and sometimes that's less.

Humor me while I share a few thoughts about the word "resolution.  Resolution comes from the Latin resolutionem, which means the "process of reducing things into simpler form."  Take the overwhelming whole and break it down into bite-size pieces.  It comes from the stem of resolvere, meaning "loosen."  So, now you know why a cleaner that claims to loosen and break down dirt might think to call itself "Resolve." 

Given my sub-par cleaning skills, it probably won't surprise you to know that I'm a bit more interested in other meanings of the word.  Resolution is also degree or sharpness of a computer-generated image (think pixels across and down your display screen).  Resolutions give you clarity.  Put all the pieces together and you get the picture. 

But here's my favorite meaning.  Resolution is the process in harmony whereby a dissonant (unstable) note or chord is followed by a consonant (stable) one.  I don't know about you, but I could use more consonance and less dissonance in 2011.  Here's to a resolutionary year.

What Matters in the End

Another quote from my bulletin board of wisdom.  It just fits at the end of a week like this one.  Somehow it's human nature (or at least my nature) to focus on the end to the exclusion of the journey.  But the reality is that sometimes the end you have in mind isn't the end you end up with.  And sometimes that's for the best.

"It is good to have an end to journey toward; 

but it is the journey that matters, in the end."

~ Ursula LeGuin ~

Lightening Your Load {and regretting it}

Have you ever thrown something away, only to find yourself in desperate need of that very item a week later?  That sort of thing seems to happen to me with some frequency.  Of course you had zero need of the thing for the year it was sitting untouched and neglected in your junk drawer or hall closet.  But that's the way it goes.

Have you ever cast aside some aspect of yourself, only to regret it later?  It won't be the next week or the next month, and maybe not even the next year.  It takes longer.  But have you ever taken a hard, long look at yourself and missed the you you used to be?  It happens.

I have travel on the brain, so here's the metaphor.

In Bill Bryson's A Walk in the Woods, he gives an entertaining account of his efforts to hike "the AT" (Appalachian Trail), which spans 14 states (from Georgia to Maine) and 2100 miles.  (I sometimes dream of doing this myself, but then come to, and remember that I have responsibilities . . . .)  His family has recently moved from England to New Hampshire, and he discovers that the Appalachian Trail snakes right through his town.  The idea starts as a crazy whim, but then he actually decides to do it.  He reconnects with Steven Katz, an old high-school friend from Iowa (who provides much comic relief, but uses bad language at times, so be warned).  Katz is ill-suited to the task in every imaginable way.

Bryson and Katz pack all sorts of equipment and provisions for the journey, some of which are useful and important, and some not.  Tents, sleeping pads, nested pots and pans, eating utensils, water purifiers, patching kit, sleeping bags, water bottles, ponchos, matches, pack covers, compasses, stove, gas bottles, head lamps, knives, clothes, etc.  Katz insists on some other items, many of which are hanging off the side of his pack on the first day on the trail:  grubby sneakers, boots, pepperoni sausages, rice, cookies, oatmeal, raisins, M&Ms, Spam, Snickers, sunflower seeds, bricks of cheese, canned bacon, Little Debbies (lots and lots of them), and bologna.

The first day on the trail requires a hike up Springer Mountain in Georgia.  Bryson and Katz are both completely overwhelmed by the difficulty of the task -- especially Katz, who is very much weighed down by all his provisions.  Bryson finally leaves Katz behind.  When Bryson stops late in the day to wait for Katz to catch up, it takes quite some time.  Katz finally appears, with a pack that has been emptied of much of its contents.  In his anger and exhaustion, he threw all sorts of items out, lightening his load in the process.  Some important and some foolish in the first place.  Spam?   Over the edge of the mountain.  Brown sugar, peanuts and cheese?  Gone.  Extra shoes?  Gone.  And so on.

As we all ascend our own personal Springer Mountains, there will be times when we cast aside parts of ourselves to continue the trek.  Some of what we send flying over the edge is good riddance.  Spam.  Goodbye.  How much of what we carry is dead weight -- something we should have never packed in the first place?  Something that must be cast off if we are to progress.

But sometimes, I think we cast off pieces that -- while perhaps not essential -- will be missed at some later point in the journey.  That has certainly been true for me.  How much of what makes up your own individual essence have you flung to the side of your path as you trudged forward toward your goal?  Have you tossed aside talents, interests and priorities only to later wish you hadn't?  Do you ever look around your destination at your fellow travelers, struck by how unlike they are to the you you used to be?  Might have been?  Or maybe only I do that.

Here's a "me" (from an old yearbook) that doesn't remotely resemble the present "me."  At least some days, I think that's a grand shame. {I don't look anything the same, but that's certainly not the part that's the shame.  Who knows why I thought this look was a good one back in the late 80s!}

*In truth, I was actually never a very good artist.  But I did have a great love for the arts of all kinds and was happiest in the midst of it.  Now, I still get my liberal arts kicks in my own way.  For me, there is a certain joy when I can insert a literary allusion in a speech, brief filed with the court or oral argument.  Even if very few of my fellow travelers notice or get it. It makes me happy, and that's enough.

Wednesday's Word -- Procrastinate

Procrastination is a plague.  But it is also a powerful catalyst that I try to make the most of, because I can't seem to rid myself of the habit.  So here are some thoughts about the word.

procrastinate

I found one dictionary that defines procrastination to mean:  "The act of postponing, delaying or putting off, especially out of habitual carelessness or laziness."  I suppose that's a fair description of me at times.  According to Wikipedia, there are three criteria for behavior to be classified as procrastination:  it must be counterproductive, needless, and delaying.  In my case, procrastination is usually needless and delaying, but not entirely counterproductive.  Although procrastination results in suffering, it also creates a powerful period of intensely focused productivity when I reach the point at which I must get the thing done.

The word "procrastinate" comes from the Latin, meaning "tomorrow," although it has three parts that are somewhat redundant. The prefix "pro" means forward.  The second syllable "cras" means tomorrow and the third syllable "tinate" means belonging.  So, it means put it off until tomorrow.  Assigning a task to "tomorrow."  Laundry, you "belong" to tomorrow, and so forth.

I seem to have Frog and Toad on the brain this week, but I can't resist sharing another favorite story.  This time from Arnold Lobel's Days With Frog and Toad.  It makes the point.

Tomorrow

Toad woke up.  "Drat!" he said.  "This house is a mess.  I have so much work to do."  Frog looked through the window.  "Toad, you are right," said Frog.  "It is a mess."  Toad pulled the covers over his head.

"I will do it tomorrow," said Toad.  "Today I will take life easy."  Frog came into the house. "Toad," said Frog, "your pants and jacket are lying on the floor."  "Tomorrow," said Toad from under the covers.  "Your kitchen sink is filled with dirty dishes," said Frog.  "Tomorrow," said Toad.  "There is dust on your chairs."  "Tomorrow," said Toad.  "Your windows need scrubbing," said Frog.  "Your plants need watering."  "Tomorrow!" cried Toad.  "I will do it all tomorrow!"  

Toad sat on the edge of his bed.  "Blah," said Toad.  "I feel down in the dumps."  "Why?" asked Frog.  "I am thinking about tomorrow," said Toad.  "I am thinking about all of the many things that I will have to do."  "Yes," said Frog, "tomorrow will be a very hard day for you."

 "But Frog," said Toad, "if I pick up my pants and jacket right now, then I will not have to pick them up tomorrow, will I?"  "No," said Frog.  "You will not have to."  Toad picked up his clothes.  He put them in the closet.  "Frog," said Toad, "if I wash my dishes right now, then I will not have to wash them tomorrow, will I?"  "No," said Frog.  "You will not have to." Toad washed and dried his dishes.  He put them in the cupboard.

"Frog," said Toad, "if I dust my chairs and scrub my windows and water my plants right now, then I will not have to do it tomorrow, will I?"  "No," said Frog.  "You will not have to do any of it."  Toad dusted his chairs.  He scrubbed his windows.  He watered his plants.  

"There," said Toad.  "Now I feel better.  I am not in the dumps anymore."  "Why?" asked Frog. Because I have done all that work," said Toad.  "Now I can save tomorrow for something that I really want to do."  "What is that?" asked Frog.  "Tomorrow," said Toad, "I can just take life easy."  Toad went back to bed.  He pulled the covers over his head and fell asleep.  

I just love this story.  But unlike Toad, my problem is that even if I do today what could be put off for tomorrow, additional tasks will be looming over me tomorrow anyway.  I'd love to "save tomorrow for something that I really want to do," but the forces in my life (work, children, etc., etc.) have other plans for me.

What would you do tomorrow if you could spend it doing something that you "really want to do"?  I'd stay in bed like Toad! 

One Tangle at a Time

I had a dear cat named Minino (pronounced me-knee-no).  He was a long-haired cat, and while I did a good job of grooming him in the early years, as my life got crazier, I turned a blind eye.  Over the years, his matted tangles took on a life of their own, to the point that I became too overwhelmed and even ashamed of his condition to even know where to start.  I am embarrassed to say that he perhaps could have set a Guinness World Record as the world's tangliest cat.  He had a solid, matted hump on his back the size of a kitten (or small monkey) and a second tail, among other unnatural matted formations.

One day about six months ago, I decided to start one tangle at a time.  I made a goal to cut at least one tangle off that cat each day.  Minino was not, at first, a willing participant in this experiment.  He would hide from me, hiss at me, and even try to bite me when I came close to him with the scissors.  I found myself spending more time with him each day, scratching his head, breaking down his fears and defenses, building his trust.  As my little experiment progressed, he still had his reservations, but the process got easier.  I think he himself could feel the transformation as the tangles came off, one by one.  And the transformation was deeper than his appearance.  He became a younger, more playful, more joyful version of himself.

There's nothing profoundly genius about breaking a daunting task into bite size pieces, but--for me--the effect was liberating, and I began to find myself applying the technique to all aspects of my life.

Messy, cluttered house?  Mop the kitchen floor and call it good until tomorrow.  Home decor that hasn't been updated in a decade?  Move a painting from one room to another and give myself a pat on the back.  Daughter who complains heartily about a big homework assignment?  Help her figure out how much she needs to do each day to finish by the due date and then do the minimum for the day.  Too much junk in my diet?  Instead of a major overhaul, add one fruit and vegetable to each meal.

I do have to admit that not all of my life de-tangling experiments have worked.  For example, one of my tangles is a lack of "stillness" in my life.  I made a goal to sit completely still and try not to think about anything for 5 minutes each day.  Not too ambitious.  But I failed horribly.  I found myself up at midnight, trying to steal some "still" time.  And while I was sitting there, my multi-tasking brain was jumping around, out of control.  The experiment was off within a week.  That likely means I didn't try nearly hard enough.  Like Minino, the most essential cutting may cause the one with the tangles to hiss and hide and even bite.    That only means you're on to something important.

What tangles are you dealing with?  Try cutting them off one tangle at a time, and you might be surprised!

P.S.  It was painful to use the past-tense to say that I "had" a cat named Minino.  Sadly, Minino died very quickly and unexpectedly a few days before Thanksgiving.  I found him not "quite right" one morning before leaving to pick my parents up at the airport for a visit.  I had a sick feeling about it, and when I arrived back at my house with my parents, he was dead.  I am still in a bit of shock even as I write this over a month later.

I can't help but continue the analogy.  Even when we break a problem down into manageable bites, we still sometimes don't get the chance to feel quite finished with the project.  I am, though, so grateful that I was inspired (or something) to reconnect with and nuture Minino while I still had him with me.  Perhaps there is a lesson in that too.  A week ago today, my 84 year old grandpa -- who was strong and independent and kind and amazing -- died unexpectedly of heart failure.  I don't deal well with death--whether pets or people.  This loss, leaves me with so many regrets about visits not taken and letters not written and phone calls not made.  Tangles untended.