Technology vs. Humans

I thought it was so clever of me to turn my cute little new vanity table into a quaint writing desk by my bedroom window.  My laptop fit conveniently inside the desk and the lower height of the surface allowed for perfect posture for my ailing wrists which suffered from carpal tunnel syndrome. I have a beautiful view of the trees in my backyard and the birds circling the sky overhead.  What a rude awakening early this past Saturday morning.  It sounded like an overheating engine or turbine that was crashing and burning.  I held the feverish MacBook Pro in my arms tentatively, thinking it was about to burst into a ball of fire.  Couldn't put it down on a flammable surface like my bedroom carpet.  Didn't want to place it near anything potentially flammable.  I had already unplugged it from the wall but the battery kept feeding its momentary demise.
"Put it in the garage," my husband said.  "It will cool down there."
"But we have the snow blower and leaf blower there, filled with fuel and cans of paint.  Bad idea, no?"
"Would you rather have it blow up somewhere in the house?" he fired back.
I ran down the stairs and set it on the garage concrete floor.  It was still screaming in terror.  I ran back into the house.  My heart pounded as I thought about the years of photos I stored in the laptop.  I ignored my own incessant nagging thoughts that reminded me I should back up the computer.  It had been over 400 days since I last backed up the laptop's memory.  And then in an instant, because of my silly vanity table writing idea, it might all just evaporate with the computer's processor.
The desk was near the baseboard heater.  I had stored the laptop inside the vanity under the mirror top that I flipped open to use when I brushed my hair and put my makeup on in the morning.  I never had an issue for the past 14 days.  But then again, I usually put the laptop in hibernation mode at night.  I must have forgotten to do that the night before.  I probably just flipped it shut with the processor running all night.  The laptop couldn't run its fan effectively while trapped inside the desk with no ventilation.  It was very careless of me.  Thank goodness we were home.  I shudder to think what might have happened if it kept racing its energy like that while no one was home.
So much for cultivating my little writing corner.  I was so excited that because of the desk and dedicated space I had achieved the impossible -- written at least 3 pages every day for the past two weeks.  But these are the realities of technology.  They may allow us to reach breakthroughs but at the end of the day, if the operator is flawed, the technology will fail.  Just this morning I heard about the self-operating Uber vehicles that crashed, not due to their own limitations but due to human operated vehicles in their path.
I hear that typing on a keyboard may soon be obsolete.  Think about it.  Everyone is texting with their thumbs in shorthand.  Many are using voice to text commands.  But I find that only my accomplished typing can truly keep up with my thoughts.  My handwriting is too slow now to catch every thought in time.  My wrist and finger muscles quickly ache after half a page of writing.  And yet, the longer I type, the more pain I cause my carpal tunnels so I have to wear those special wrist guards to sleep so my numbing hands stop waking me in the middle of the night.  I just can't win.
Fortunately, after an hour, I pressed the power button as I held my breath.  Please power back up, please function, I prayed.  The screen lit up gray and spun, my hope alive.  After what seemed like ages, that familiar intro audio struck its chord.  I exhaled.
I immediately hooked up my Seagate Time Machine and backed up over one year's worth of new memories.  I was redeemed.
Moral of the story: when inspired by creativity, some experiments fail, but you have to just make adjustments and forge ahead.  In my case, I continue to write in the same quaint spot.  Now I make sure I shut down my laptop at the end of each night.  It needs a deep sleep to go into REM just like me.  No more napping at the desk.  It could literally be deadly!

True Emergencies Don't Ding

I had to clean the sink thoroughly and then purge the refrigerator of spoilage to help clear my mind and get rid of negative feelings this morning.  I went on to procrastinate my day some more by cleansing and organizing the produce drawers.  I find that I am much more productive when my environment is in order.  And I also have more positive energy when I don't have visual reminders of my failure to keep up with my responsibilities like chucking food that has been stored for more than 5 days and placing unwanted leftovers in the garbage disposal.
While doing these kitchen chores, I listened to a chapter in a non-fiction book about strategies for changing long standing self-destructive habits.  While I am not trying to quit smoking or lose weight or stop drinking, my personal goal has been to be more focused so I can get my housework, work work (for my business) and passion work (my writing) done with more regularity and efficiency.
One thing I noticed about my productive pattern breakdown is that I recently stopped using my daily agenda.  Of course without a top 5 priorities list I wander from one activity to the next, whether it is the right thing on which to focus my energy or helping someone in need -- usually one of the kids or a friend who needs to talk -- I have been anchor-less without my agenda, easily falling victim to the next thing that pulls me.
I at least got in my 1 mile walk this morning because the dog needed me.  That helped me start my positive pattern for the day.  I quickly jotted my to do list in today's agenda and checked off the first two priorities on the list.  Getting these 750 words written will be my 3rd priority to check off the list.  It's a good feeling.
After this is done, I will tackle the next two items simultaneously as one can be in process while the other is in progress.  This leaves me with the 6th priority on my list hanging in the balance for the end of the day, which is very possible, if I can be efficient with priorities number 4 and 5.  Already I have a good feeling about also getting to number 6.
However, the only way it will be possible is for me to turn off my phone as soon as I finish this post.  You see, the biggest reason I even stopped using my agenda book in the first place has been the darn phone.  I trash every opportunity to be efficient by allowing each notification to interrupt my flow.  I realize my most productive days are when the phone has run out of battery power and it is nowhere in sight.  I can move forward instead of constantly being sidetracked.
Why are notifications so important when I am not expecting most of them?  Everyone checks their messages first thing in the morning, especially if they are working against a deadline on a project.  Yet I find that almost all of the messages I open could have waited an hour or two or three until I break for lunch.  There is no logic in our human need to reach for the phone when it dings.  The most important reason to do so is to respond to an urgent call.  A call, not a ding.  You know, the kind of alert where someone is physically waiting on the other end of the line to speak to you?  This is why a school nurse or family member under duress would truly need you to immediately pick up the phone.
I imagine sitting in an office cubicle while all of these type of interruptions physically stop by my doorway.  It is ludicrous how many times I allow myself to become distracted during the day.
I am going to try an experiment.  I will put my phone call ringtone volume on maximum and silence the notification and other phone volume options.  If someone really needs to reach me but I don't respond to their texts right away, I know he or she will call me.  This way, I can work without interruption and when I have a natural break, that's when I'll check to see if anyone needs an urgent reply.
All of this technology is very useful but it also has succeeded in making me feel a bit too self-important.  Everyone needs me now.  No they don't.  Time to get back to work in my productive bubble.

Classroom of Life

This morning I held a Ticonderoga tri-write pencil in my hand for the first time.  It was true to its claim.  It really was naturally easy to hold due to its triangular contouring.  When I first saw the packaging during back-to-school shopping three weeks ago, I thought it was just the latest gimmick.

"Why would you need a different shaped pencil?" I asked my 5th grade daughter.

"Because, Mom, your hands get tired from writing and they hurt after a while."

I thought about the fact that I never use pencils anymore as an adult.  The last time I used pencils was in a college fine arts class that I took as an elective.  I enjoyed learning what grade graphite pencils to use for shading and creating depth in sketch drawings.  Several hours passed while I happily focused on my artwork.  How liberating it was developing new skills.  These days I prefer to use gel pens which glide weightlessly across the page.  My hand tires easily when attempting to write more than one page which is why I now prefer to type as I write on the computer keyboard.  The only writing I physically do now is the daily task or shopping list.    

We rounded the aisle and then my daughter made another request.

"Mom, can we buy me a special binder?"

"Why do you need a binder?  It's not even on your school supplies list."

My guess was that her brother, who is in high school and had a much longer shopping list, was in the market for a new binder, so she wanted one too.

"Because, Mom, I want to file my papers in there.  You know, so I can be organized."

It was unnecessary but she had a good argument.  Her school papers always piled up on the kitchen desk and they became my problem.

"Let's make a deal then.  If I buy you the binder, you will hole punch your papers as they come in the house and file them in your binder."

"Okay."

She spent the next ten minutes looking for just the right binder.  A blue sparkly one with green borders caught her eye.  It was four dollars more than the average binder but I figured anything that would help inspire her to keep order was a good thing, so I obliged.

"Mom?  Can we buy those plastic page protectors that you used for your writing portfolio?  I want to start my own art portfolio."

Ever since that day, whenever she has had free time, she has sketched and colored drawings and inserted them into her special binder.

I found her desire to be comfortable when writing and her need to organize her work inspiring.  She took pride in her work and wanted to feel good about it.  I thought for a moment about what I might want to do differently so I can also look forward to my tasks with more energy.

Last night I zipped through the halls of our beautiful, new, state-of-the-art Waterford High School.  I stopped in at each of my son's classrooms to meet his teachers and hear about their expectations for the year.  I felt a great sense of pride knowing that our tax dollars were well spent.  Everything about the evening, from the confident and encouraging words of our new Principal Mr. Hauser, to the design and layout of the building, to the newness of the furniture, to the impressiveness of the technology and resources available to our kids, inspired me.  I felt the sense of promise that our kids must also be experiencing as they go from class to class.  Even the teachers reflected an appreciation for their new tools and a positive outlook on the year.

It made me think back to my school years, when life was a fresh piece of sketching paper, waiting for me to draft some lines and fill in sections.  I used an eraser every now and then when I found myself veering in the wrong direction, but I forged on.

We are here to help guide our children as they become who they will discover they want to be.  But they are also here to remind us that we can keep using pencils and erasers too, even if we don't have to.  I guess that's why we buy ourselves the latest electronic gadgets.  There is still much to learn and new skills to develop.

I've been working on my first book for three years now.  I'm not done yet.  Once I finish the manuscript there will be even more work to do that I have never done before; editing, publishing and then finding a market for it.  The unknowns are scary but exciting too.  Maybe we are all works of art in progress and it's time to just draw some more lines.

A Think Full of Dishes

A Think Full of Dishes

Behold, the beauty of a sink full of dishes. Are you the one in the home who gets stuck washing the most dishes?
     Most households have a dish washing machine, but it is still possible to have a sink full AND a dish washing machine full of dirty dishes. There are well meaning spouses and family members among us who love to cook and eat the delicious meals cranked out in the kitchen on a daily basis but won't get involved with the clean-up process.
     I don't mind hand washing dishes. Don't get me wrong. I adore my dish washing machine and use it often but from time to time when I've had a particularly busy week, I have allowed the dishes to pile up for two reasons.
     One, it's my passive aggressive way of protesting the lack of helpers in the house.
     "I need a fork," one family member will eventually say. "Where can I find a fork?"
     "Tons of them in the sink," I'll reply. "Help yourself. I have to go for an errand. Be right back."
     Eventually someone gets the idea, pops in a dish detergent gel pack in the little compartment of the dish washing machine and hits the start button. When I return from my errand, I might see some dirty dishes missing from the sink.
     Two, I use washing dishes by hand as my part of my creative writing or strategy planning process.
     First, I'll look for my preferred channel on Pandora Internet Radio usually instrumental nouveau flamenco or new age, sometimes alternative rock. Next, I'll pump up the volume. I then assess the dish pile-up and generate my plan of attack.
     Of course. There are glasses buried under haphazard piles of bowls and dishes, thankfully still intact. There are stray spoons and forks in between the dishes and bowls, making the piles unstable and inviting breakage and a couple are peering out of the garbage disposal. I immediately sort like items. I pull all the cutlery and place them in the largest dirty bowl or pot on the counter. I neatly stack all the bowls and dishes and place all the glasses on the counter.
     If the dishwasher is not full, I fill it up quickly with cutlery, glasses and dishes. This maximizes the space used in the dishwasher and significantly cuts down the amount needed to be hand washed. Then, I set aside the plastic containers, larger casserole servers, bowls, pots and pans and super fragile items for hand washing. Once I've hit the start button on the dish washing machine, that's my green light to start hand washing each neat dirty pile I've created. That's when the magic begins.
     There's something calming about having put some kind of order in the dirty dish madness before tackling the chore. It feels like I'm halfway done because I can see the bottom of the sink. Finally, my mind's gateway is able to open.  I robotically wash and set the now clean dishes upside down on a towel on the counter to air dry. I am no longer thinking, "what a mess" or "I can't believe I'm stuck with this again."
     My thoughts instead have turned to the possibilities of the story idea that presented itself in my dream from the night before. I wonder about the man walking his Irish Wolfhound that is so huge that the dog's head towers over his when they are in a standing embrace. I start designing in my head the next promotional flyer I will create to support a non-profit fundraiser I am planning. I decide I'm tired of buying the same ingredients and cooking the same old tired family dishes each week. Once I'm done with the dishes, I run to the kitchen book shelf and flip to a recipe I admired weeks ago from the Flat Belly Diet Book. Grilled scallops with kiwi asparagus salsa. Mmmm. That is appetizing. The dirty dish stress has evaporated from my forehead and shoulders. I'm ready to create.
     I believe dirty dishes are a metaphor for the anecdotes, the ideas and inspirations that come and go in our minds every day. Sometimes we don't allow ourselves time to dump or process some of these thoughts through some kind of meditative activity, be it walking, running or, say it with me, washing dishes. We sometimes let them pile up and overwhelm us.  It's actually the best time to organize our thoughts, just like we do with the dishes.
     So the next time you are looking at a disaster in your sink or other areas of the house for that matter, think about the meditative opportunity that has just presented itself to you. Turn sink time into think time!

Soul Matters

Soul matters.  What is burning deep inside us as a want, is important.  We are all born with an imprint of what makes us special.  Like flower buds, we each have the potential to bloom with the right nurturing.  It just takes a long time for some of us to recognize who we are and what it takes to make us sing from within.  Hopefully once we honor our souls, our flower petals can open wide in the full sun.
    I have always known since I was a little girl that I wanted to write.  I took every opportunity to write outside of school.  Sometimes it would be a journal entry.  Sometimes it was a letter to the electric company on behalf of my immigrant parents.  Sometimes it was an attempt to write a story.  Other times it was just to share with the world what was going on in my head and in my heart, knowing that the world was never actually going to read it.  I always wrote the truth.  The pen and paper were my best friends.  I usually felt a lot better after writing.
    I was somewhat still on track for a future in writing during high school, even if I was attending a science and math magnet high school.  It was an honor to be accepted into this selective program.  I had taken an entrance examination and my parents and I had prayed for the opportunity to go there.  And it worked.  I got in.  I happily attended Experimental Physics, Mechanical Drawing and Calculus classes along with Literature and Creative Writing classes.  The problem was not during high school when I was aiming to be accepted into a good university liberal arts program.  After freshman year I realized in time that I was following the wrong path toward an unwanted future in engineering.  The following year I declared my major in Literature and Rhetoric but it still all became rather confusing for the next 2 decades.
    After graduation, my absolute, positive certainty about being a writer someday instead became a dream with many questions.  During the early 1990s there was a recession.  People were lucky to have a job offer at all.  Maybe I could write a book on the side, someday, but in what practical profession could I apply my degree?  Would I teach?  Would that be enough to pay rent?  How about law or business instead?
    So I took a fork in the road that led to the business side of advertising, the media department, where my job was to buy print or outdoor space and radio or television broadcast air time.  It's ironic that I did that professionally for 8 years on behalf of my high visibility million dollar advertising clients, and yet every day now that I am free to write, I am battling to carve the right space and time to do what I was always meant to do: write!
    The problem is that what we do for a living is directly attached to our ego and our exterior fashion.  People judge us when we say what we do for a living.  Does it fit us?  Are we providing for ourselves and our families adequately?  Are we making our folks proud?  At some point we all submit to these very revealing questions.  The true question is, are we listening to our inner voice?  What's it saying because that knows more about us than everyone we think knows us inside and out. 
    The old adage is that we don't mind working when we are doing something we genuinely want to do.  There is no question that if I was already a writer when my children were born that I would have found a way to balance my all my loves in my life correctly.  Instead, I found myself writing media plans, press releases, copy for websites and brochures, introductory sales letters, pitch letters, leader speeches, feature articles, news articles, newsletter blurbs...the list goes on. 
    I kept thinking, this isn't me.  My family comes first.  I need to get back on track with my original goal to write.  Books.  Children's books.  Books for women.  Books that inform about something I've learned.  Books that absorb women, make them care and laugh or cry.  So I walked away from promising tracks in advertising, market research, journalism, communications.  I kept getting promoted because I was a hard worker.  I had good business sense.  I learned fast and I was efficient.  They never would have guessed that I was so unhappy.  They figured me for a "lifer."  Well I fooled them all, especially myself. 
    But I do not regret anything I've ever written.  Because I realize that I would not have this perspective or steadfastness now had I not experienced other kinds of writing.  Perhaps that is why I am now able to be direct in my writing and softer when the occasion calls for it.  Perhaps every single person I have met, likeable and grossly unappreciated, will somehow work their way into my books as characters.
    I certainly have met my fare share of pleasant and repulsive types.  Some led hateful, pushy, lazy, smarmy, manipulative and whiney lives while others were sincere, saintly, cheerful, hard-working, earnest and truly inspiring against the odds.  I have worked in such crazy environments that it's a miracle I ever survived them.  I have worked with stoic and robotic workhorses who must also have a soul somewhere in their bodies, screaming to be noticed or to express their true selves. 
    Yes, there are many stories to tell.

Embracing What Matters

Five plus years ago, a very good acupuncturist asked me to fill out a very unique batch of patient application forms.  I had found her practice because I was looking for acupressure massage services close to my home.  I had persistent pain in the back of my neck and upper back and I had no reason to believe that I was seriously ill.  I simply wanted an alternative and drug-free means to address the pain.  I seemed to also be under frequent virus attacks at the time.

I was used to those check-off boxes that listed all sorts of past ailments and symptoms in my health history.  But instead, I was asked to answer revealing questions in narrative form, like I was taking a personality test!  The first box asked me to list the five things I would like to do before I die.  Before I DIE!  Can you imagine bringing up that three letter word to someone obviously interested in maintaining health and wellness?  On the list, I wrote things like author and publish my own books someday and see my grandchildren grow up.  I found out that I was a wood element, which meant that I had a constant need to grow and that I had a tendency to be rigid like wood.  I tended to take safety in roots and shy away from risk.

To make a long story fit into this concise blog format, let me tell you what I finally realized after two years of interviews and needle sessions with my acupuncturist.  The secret to good health was my happiness.  This meant ensuring the alignment of my mind, body and spirit.  Only until I closed the door on a successful yet unfulfilling career in marketing and corporate communications and opened the door to designing a very satisfying "day job" that allowed me to be flexible enough to focus on raising my children, did I have a chance at being happy and healthy.  I honestly don't mind all those after-school minivan shuttles; those precious moments during which I could hear how my son and daughter's day went.  I love that each day now I am one step closer to finishing a manuscript.  I have faith that I'll get paid again someday when the product is done.  It's just that I'm still in the creative production mode.  And I love that I have time to volunteer in the community.

It's been a long, anxiety-ridden road to today.  But I appreciate this crystal clear perspective that I now have and I am grateful for the many life experiences I have gained along the way.  We all have the power to be happy as long as we are willing to take a hard look at how we spend our days and have the courage to make changes.