Cramming vs Chilling

My last blog drifted away from its title, "Cramming or Comedy." My initial thought was to write about how I feel like I have to cram to get ready for Pedro to come back to Seattle, to finish reading all of the books I bought about how to deal with your anxious and depressed teen, like this one.

Instead of cramming Thursday night, I decided to watch "Girls5eva," a comedy about middle-aged women who used to be in a one-hit-wonder girl band twenty years ago and how they try to get back on stage.

This weekend, I invited myself to my friend Anneliese's beach house on the ocean for the weekend, which is the perfect escape I need before going to Montana. This past week at work, I was struggling. The background music in my mind--tracks about Pedro returning home--were playing at full volume. I didn't have the bandwidth to deal with the regular crap of daily life. Friday, I was so wound up I wasn't fit to be around other people. I needed to turn that down that soundtrack and take a break.

This was a good break. Walking along the ocean and being miles and miles from everything and everyone was healing and restorative, necessary before I embark on the transition of bringing Pedro home before he goes to college. I read somewhere that watching waves of the ocean is like meditating. It calms our minds just by being the ocean.

But what and where is his home? His current home is Montana. He's lived with the same guys for two years. He loves the land, the rivers, the mountains. I know he will miss Montana, and I am glad he will. 

We miss what we love.

I know Pedro has grown, as have I. I have learned more about myself in these past two years than I have at any other point. It was painful at times, but that is okay. The capacity to feel is the capacity to feel. I don't want to be numb again. Feeling pain and sadness and sorrow also means I can feel joy and happiness and serenity.

I don't need to cram to feel that. I need to chill.

Cramming or Comedy

One week from today, Pedro graduates from high school and from his therapy program at the same time. He will have spent two years to the day in a structured program. I am vacillating between grief and gratitude, fear and joy. I am delighted to have him home this summer, but I am also scared. Will I be able to hold my boundaries? What will I do and how will I react when he regresses or relapses? Am I helping or hurting the situation?

I am worried. I am anxious. I am afraid.

I have missed him for two years, and I am afraid of my feelings when he comes back home, that the grief and sorrow and sadness that I have been holding in will all fall out.

Why would that be a bad thing?

I read somewhere recently (probably on my diet app) that the secret to happiness is feeling all of the feelings, not to think of them as good or bad, but just as they are. Emotions are indicators, signals from our heart to our head.

If I don't feel my feelings, they will come out sideways, which is never good.

So, I am sitting here crying, thinking about the two years that I missed with my son. And I was crying, I visioned him in a few years, with his own family, hoping for his future. The two years I lost were likely traded up for years in the future that I otherwise might not have.

I have no idea if that vision or dream will come to fruition. It is one of many possibilities, but it is likely now, more so than it was two years ago. I loved him so I had to let him go.

Okay, I am done crying for now.

In other news, I was walking Fox this morning and I got smacked in the back of the head by a crow. Kind of weird. Maybe the crows were happy during the pandemic that some sort of quiet Armageddon took place and now they ruled the land. Perhaps now they are annoyed at the humans for coming back. Or the bird didn't like Fox. 

Anyway. 

I am feeling better. Thanks for listening.

People

I was walking Fox early this morning through the park. Given I was outside and I have both vaccine doses, I took my mask off as I left the courtyard of my building. At the park, I saw a young couple standing on little pillars stretching their arms to the sky. At first, I thought they were doing yoga (people in Seattle do that kind of stuff). Instead, they were taking selfies with Elliott Bay in the background. They saw me with my dog, said hello and asked if I lived in Seattle. 

They were visiting from South Carolina on their way to Alaska via the ferry. In the before-times, it wasn't uncommon to see visitors from the East Coast out in Seattle at 7:00 a.m., with their bodies are still in a different time zone. 

I said visiting Alaska was on my post-pandemic trip list, along with riding motorbikes through canyons near Moab, Utah, and visiting rainforests in Central America. We talked about how cold it was in Seattle this morning, and how hot it is in the south.

"There will be long hours of daylight now in Alaska, the midnight sun thing. How long are you going to be there?" I asked. 

"Three years," they said.

"Three years? Wow," I said.

"We are in the military and will be stationed in Fairbanks," they said.

Wow again.

"It was on our bucket list to live in Alaska," they said.

This was the first conversation I've had with strangers where I could see their faces. This was the first conversation with strangers who weren't selling me food or were another dog owner walking their pet. 

I saw their smiles and felt their warmth and an ephemeral friendship as we emerged from the other side of the quarantine. I read ages ago that it is these small connections we make with people who are outside of our inner circle that bring us a necessary kind of social interaction and comfort. They were from another part of the country, heading off to adventure, and I was one of the many people they will meet along the way.

Stuff I Got Done Today v Stuff I Did Not

As I am getting ready for bed, I started to think about all of the things I didn't get done this weekend. I didn't:

• Email or text back the other moms from Pedro's school. They wrote to me Friday and I have been a slug. I love these moms and feel bad I have't connected with them.
• I didn't do my Noom homework. I've done my diet homework diligently and faithfully since I've been in the program in March. Today I didn't get it done.
• I didn't exercise today except for a quick walk through the Market. 
• I have 23 ideas for blog posts that I haven't gotten around to writing yet.

Just as I was kicking myself for all of the stuff I didn't get done today, I decided I need to step back and congratulate myself for what I did get done.

I finished getting making the drapes and railing skirt for the landing so Pedro and Claire-Adele can have some privacy when they visit the condo this summer. My friend Erica came over yesterday and helped me pick out fabric and plan my sewing. She was sooo helpful and was such a great sanity check. She wanted to make it Insta worthy and worried that she was giving me bad advice. I just needed to get it done.

I love the fabric for the curtains, but given more time, I would have found a fabric I like better for the railing skirt. Time and the quarantine were not my friends as a several fabric shops have closed in Seattle. Those that are open have very limited hours. I could order fabric online, but that takes a lot of time to order samples and then wait for the fabric to arrive. I am becoming more used to the idea that nothing is permanent, that I can change my mind, and in a few weeks or months, I can get new fabric that matches "perfectly" to make the landing Insta worthy. (I'll give a plug to "The Fabric Stash" in Pike Place Market. I've been in there four times in past week. I am on a first name basis with the owners Gary and Deborah.)

But here we are. Pedro will be home in a few weeks. I needed this project done before I leave for Montana.

Today, I put everything together. And yes, I did a fabulous job on the curtains. Notice how the pattern is exactly level on both panels. Yes, I am impressed with myself.

Railing skirt. This is a term I just invented to describe this cloth thing.

The Nest & We Can do Hard Things

This morning in my recovery meeting, the speaker asked the question, "When we are spinning out and our minds are full of chaos, what can restore us to sanity? What are we avoiding?"

This weekend I have been spinning out. What am I avoiding?

Pedro will be returning to Seattle this summer before he heads off to Colorado State in mid-August. He graduates from his program June 4. He will have been gone for two years, which I can't even grasp. Two years. I sent my kid away for two years. That was a hard thing to do, and as Glennon Doyle says, "We can do hard things."

Other moms with kids Pedro's age are getting ready for an empty nest. I am getting ready to briefly have the bird fly back, rest and then take off again.

And he won't even be staying with me at the condo. He will be staying with his dad at the house in Ravenna. Or maybe?

Pedro's therapist mentioned to me that Pedro was looking for summer jobs all over the city--up north and downtown. "He can look anywhere and he is excited about that."

Downtown? Huh? I had spent a lot of time mentally preparing myself for and accepting that the Pedro won't be living downtown with me. Pedro thinks of the Ravenna house as his home, not the condo. He has his 75,000 piece Lego collection there, along with his bikes and trampoline. Why would he want to live with me in a one bedroom condo where he has to sleep in the landing? Now, there is the idea that Pedro might spend time downtown, which I had not entertained.

I need to adjust, both emotionally and physically.

What will that look like if the Boy lives with me? How will I react? How often will I see him if he isn't living with me? Will it be easier to have Jack deal with Pedro now? I had Pedro from 0 to 16. Surely, his dad can handle him for a few weeks at age 18. Right? Jack and Pedro can figure out how to live together without me as the intermediary. I was actually looking forward to that.

Before the kids were born, I nested. For Ada, Jack and I were living in an apartment in Chicago. I bought clothes, a crib and a few small toys. For Eleanor, I didn't do much. I was terrified that she might die like Ada did. I think there was one baby shower, but I blocked it out. Plus, I already had a majority of the stuff I needed from Ada.

When Pedro was born, I was in a different place, physically and emotionally. We lived in a three story, five bedroom house. My friend Gwen, an artist, painted Eric Carle murals on the walls. There was a lion above the crib, a giraffe and a peacock. Maybe an elephant? We ripped out the old, blue shag carpeting and cleaned up the floors. It was a great room, but we moved to Seattle a year and a half after Pedro was born.

Now I am finding myself in the same spot of nesting, carving out space in my condo for my son. I am not expecting a new baby, but my old one to come back home, and it kind of feels the same. I'll need to re-arrange the landing to make space for him. Right now, the landing is my work-from-home-office, storage space for the mattress and place where I keep my spare fabric and piano keyboard. I'll need to move my desk and my monitors to a new location so Pedro will have a place to sleep. I need to get curtains for the giant window, so the sun won't wake him up in the morning. I've cleaned out sections of my closet for him to keep his clothes so they don't have to pile up on the landing next to the bed. 

Like when I was pregnant, I feel an urgency to get this done, to have everything ready when he comes home. 

He's coming home. He's coming home.

Part of the reason I sent him away was because I didn't have the skills to take care of him, and he couldn't take care of himself. It was a no win situation. While I was gone, I did a lot of work on myself, going to  therapy and recovery group meetings. As I learned to change my own behavior, I learned a lot about the crazy and isolating environment Pedro grew up in. I started to blame myself--"If only I had started my own self-work ages ago, maybe the Pedro would have been fine."

Yesterday, I listened to Glennon Doyle's podcast, "We Can Do Hard Things." She discusses her own battle with anxiety and depression. She's been sober and in recovery for nineteen years, she goes to therapy, is in a loving and supportive relationship, she is on medication, and STILL she has panic attacks.

oh.

I guess anxiety and depression are real. Not that I ever thought it was pretend or fake -- god no! Rather, I thought that the Boy was depressed and anxious because I was somehow a shitty mom, that I didn't do enough, that I wasn't well equipped or serene or whatever, that if I had been better, the Boy wouldn't have needed to get shipped off, sent away, that he would have been happy and joyful and not suicidal.

no.

That is not the case, I am realizing one year, eleven months and one week into this progress, this journey. I knew when I shipped him off, that I couldn't take care of him, but that is different than me thinking that I am not to blame.

He is coming home. He is coming home. 

I was never truly "ready" to be a parent. I had to make it up as I went along. I did the best I could. Likewise, I will never truly be ready to have him home. I can do the best I can, where I am at today. 

And I can do hard things.

Melinda & the Second Book

Dear Melinda,

I am so sorry to hear about your divorce. Or, should I say "Congratulations!" Since I don't know you personally, I am not sure how you feel about it. Maybe I should say both? Nevertheless, I am sure there was much pain and heartache that came with this decision, even if you are doing this ultimately for your own personal fulfillment.

I imagined you talked to Mackenzie Scott about her divorce, and how that went down. I feel like her divorce just happened yesterday, and now she is married to a Lakeside teacher! Good for her!

For some reason, the story of your divorce is compelling to me, and I am not sure why. I was rooting for Mackenzie's recovery after seeing Jeff jetting around with a botox bimbo. Perhaps that was the whole plot: billionaire dumps Seattle frump for Malibu Barbie. And by "frump" I mean Mackenzie looks like every woman walking around Green Lake. Unlike the Bezos divorce, yours seems more complicated, and therefore I am more curious.

I read somewhere about your divorce being a "celebrity" divorce, which doesn't set well with me. I understand that you are well-known and famous, but "celebrity"? No. You are not famous for the sake of being famous or for being superficially glamorous. Part of the reason I can't think of you as a celebrity is because we live in the same city, and Seattle (and environs) is a small town. I feel like I kind of know you in the "friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend" way, that we have lots of overlapping connections. Our kids are about the same age, and I have several friends whose kids went to the same private schools yours attended. The University YMCA was around the corner from your kids' elementary school. I would often run into other mom's there when I was taking yoga classes and whatnot. I have dozens of friends who have worked at Microsoft and at the Gates Foundation.

Are you American royalty? No, you were not born or bred to be the wife of the richest man in the world. You were smart, educated, ambitious, hard-working and caring. As such, you landed on a path surrounded by others like yourself, and along that path was the guy who was leading the largest software company in the world.

Here is why I am writing to you: I want to read your next book, the one still unwritten where you tell us how you really feel. While I haven't read your first book yet, I am guessing it is full of bullshit. I am sure your first book is well meaning and you firmly believe in feminism and support human rights around the globe. I don't doubt your sincerity.

Instead, I imagine your first book to be layered with the lies you told yourself in order to stay in your marriage. I am thinking of Glennon Doyle's first two books, the ones where she became sober and then fought to recover her marriage after her husband's infidelities. I never read those first two books, and I don't intend to. I am sure those books are fine, but in those Doyle was lying to herself, denying her affection she felt toward women. When Doyle faced that truth and put pen to paper, the result was brilliant.

Everyone lies to themselves about something. Sometimes it is big stuff, sometimes it is small. Part of the human experience is uncovering these truths, and then deciding what to do about them. Somewhere along the way, you figured out that truth, and acted upon it. I am guessing you decided your marriage didn't match what your heart wanted. I am sure you loved Bill and cared for him, but that is different than wanting to stay married to him. What was it that switched, that flipped, that made you change your mind? Was it slow? Was in sudden? How did you find your truth, and what was it?

Why, Melinda, do I care about your divorce? Is it because I am a middle-aged woman about to launch my youngest and have been in marriage-limbo for more than two years myself as my son was recovering from anxiety and depression? Is it because when I was younger I considered myself a feminist, yet against my intentions found myself in a very traditional role of stay-at-home mom? Is it because traditional gender roles tell women to marry the smartest guy they can find, that marrying a workaholic is a good thing? I am not saying Bill or Jack don't have big hearts, but for both their intellect and ambition lead when they walk into a room. I have other friends who are married to intellectual giants who are assholes. I have another dear friend who felt she had to marry someone smart than she is. She has a PhD in chemistry and an MBA. How many guys are smarter than her in her town?

Maybe this is what feminism needs to address next: you don't need to marry the smartest and most ambitious guy in the room. This is a myth that women have been drinking up for centuries in various forms, in part because they had to in order to survive. Maybe look for the nicest guy, the kindest. The one who makes you laugh and smile and think. The one who challenges you to be a better person, who nourishes you emotionally and spiritually. The characteristics might align with the smartest guy in the room, or they might not.  Maybe women don't fully trust ourselves to be our own providers. As Miley Cyrus sang in her revised version of Santa Baby: A woman's best friend is equal pay. Maybe we need better childcare options, lower college costs and less student loan debt. I know you have written about women's rights, but where does this touch you on a personal level? 

Marriage is hard. Being married to a powerful man who dedicates his life to his job is hard. You lived with that since the day you were married. What changed? What is him? Was it you? What did you want that you weren't getting? Are you healing? Are you at peace with your decision, or are you plagued with doubt?

Thanks for listening, and I wish you well.

Lauren

Decision Day and "No Mud, No Lotus"

Someone somewhere--probably a college admission officer--decided to market May 1 as "Decision Day," the day that high school seniors announce their choice of where they are going to school in the fall. This concept did not exist before social media. Moms in my circle (rarely dads, TBH) might post a picture of their child in front of a sign with the school's name, and kids might wear a shirt from their future university.

All of this makes me want to barf.

I could write that parents waiting for their kid to get into a top tier school is a toxic rite of passage--as was written a few years ago in the New York Times. The goal is to graduate high school and move on. Celebrate the teenagers moving to their next step; don't make kids feel like a failure if they don't get into their dream school.

Why does this Decision Day make me nauseated? I feel like this is a day for parents to congratulate themselves and say "Yay! My kid got into a fancy private school! I passed parenting! I am a success!" For the kids to say, "I got an A+ in childhood! Woohoo! Look at me!"

I don't want to feel miserable about this, either. As much I as I loathe Decision Day, I am not unhappy for these kid and their families. One of Pedro's old friends is going to be a Division 1 athlete in an academically top state university that has produced multiple Olympic medalists in the sport. By all accounts, it is impressive and I wish sincerely wish him well. I have a friend who has two daughters: one got into Cal Tech and the other into MIT. I know both girls and they are so deserving.

Yet, when I think of the three kids on Pedro's old soccer team who got into Princeton, I think of a saying about a former U.S. President: "The guy was born on third base and he thinks he hit a triple." No doubt these kids who got into Princeton are smart and work hard. They also come from well-educated, affluent families. Maybe these kids weren't born in third base, but second?

Last week, I was telling my therapist about my new painting. I told him I loved the painting because it showed the mud and "the muck" in addition to the bright, cheerful cloud and bold blue sky. 

"It reminds me of the expression, 'No mud, no lotus.' The lotus flower floats on the water, but the roots in the mud." 

The next day, "No mud, no lotus" was the topic on my mediation app. The expression came up a third time later in the week, as well.

Now I am slowly changing my mind, mid-blog post. With the Decision Day announcements, we don't see the sleepless nights of kids studying for exams or writing term papers. We don't see the parents fretting over financial aid for these schools. We don't see the blisters on the hands from the kids rowing crew. What is wrong with stopping to celebrate the accomplishments of these kids, these families?

I think what is bugging me is that sometimes when I look at the outside world, I see all lotus, no mud. I am not asking everyone to post every ugly moment of their family life, their struggles, their challenges. Maybe it is because the last few years I have been spending a lot of time looking at the mud, studying it, meditating, praying, whatever, on how to get out of it. 

"Lauren, your life still can be beautiful with the mud," my therapist said.

Yesterday, Pedro called. Earlier in the day, he had competed a Spartan race, which was a 3 kilometer race through a trail with mud pits, obstacles and 1000 feet of elevation gain. He was thrilled. Less than a year ago, he had knee surgery. Sunday morning, he wore his knee brace, and powered through the course in one hour, one minute and one second. He said there was an amazing view of Flathead Lake at the top of one of the hills. He didn't stop to look long because he was focusing on his time. In the end, Pedro placed 14th in his age group -- 18 to 24! 

On Saturday, there were also Spartan races, and Pedro and the other guys in his house volunteered, watching the obstacle stations making sure no one got hurt. The Saturday races were longer -- like 13km and 50km. At the end of his story, Pedro told he saw a twenty-something guy was no legs making his way using his arms through the 13km race course.

I was amazed. And shocked and felt like a slug for the little I do with my two legs. Here was this guy, slogging through miles of dirt and mud on his arms and stumps of where his legs should have been. I imagine this guy was a veteran, and perhaps lost his legs in combat. No one forced this guy to do this Spartan race. He did this on his own free will. Talk about tenacity and grit and courage and determination. 

This guy had made peace with the mud. He embraced it. Perhaps he even loved it.

And therein lies the lotus.

Savings, Rainy Days and Make Your Own Rules

Hooray! I am back. I have "emotionally occupied" with my new job. Not in a bad way, but any new role has adjustments, so I haven't dedicated enough time to my blog.

In my last post, I talked about saving money, which then begs the second question: How much money do you need to save? There are lots of things to consider: Are you saving to buy a house? Saving for college? Retirement? Vacation? Remodel? New car?

Let's put all of those aside for now. How much cash do you need on hand, for like a small rainy day? The general rule of thumb is three months of living expenses. This cash should be liquid, like in a checking or an accessible savings account. I am not talking about the stock market or bonds or anything 

a) you would need to pay capital gains on, or 

b) that could easily decrease in value (hello Bear Market!)

First, let's discuss what could be a "rainy day." It could be a car repair, and you need your car to go to work. It could be a healthcare expense. It could be you need to fly to visit your ailing parents. You could lose your job. Whatever. Rain is rain. 

Here is the wild and trippy things that sounds weird in words but makes sense in numbers. The fewer expenses you have, the less you need to save, but then the more you can save. So having fewer expenses means you can save more money.

Here's the math:

• Figure out your monthly expenses
• Multiply that by 3.

	b. Monthly Expenses	d. Three Months of Expenses (b x 3)
Example 1	$5,500	$16,500
Example 2	$5,000	$15,000
Example 3	$4,500	$13,500
Example 4	$4,000	$12,000
Example 5	$3,500	$10,500
Example 6	$3,000	$9,000
Example 7	$1,000	$3,000

Great! You can probably do that on a piece of paper! If you want to become a superstar, I recommend learning how to use a spreadsheet like Excel or Google sheets. (Note to self: I can probably figure out a way to post these spreadsheets so I can share them.)

So how can you save that money? 

• What is your income minus monthly expenses? I call this my buffer. This is my discretionary money after all of my expected expenses are paid. (I'll talk about a list of expenses in another post.) 

	a. Monthly income	b. Monthly Expenses	c. Difference (a-b)	d. Three Months of Expenses (b x 3)	e. How long to save this much? Months (d / c)
Example 1	$5,000	$5,500	$(500)	$16,500	(33)
Example 2	$5,000	$5,000	$-	$15,000	#DIV/0!
Example 3	$5,000	$4,500	$500	$13,500	27
Example 4	$5,000	$4,000	$1,000	$12,000	12
Example 5	$5,000	$3,500	$1,500	$10,500	7
Example 6	$5,000	$3,000	$2,000	$9,000	5
Example 7	$5,000	$1,000	$4,000	$3,000	1

See the magic here? The less you spend, the less you need to save, but the faster you can save it, which means you can save more!

Of course, you still need to live. You need a roof over your head, you need groceries, clothes and probably some kind of entertainment. How can you decrease your expenses?

I've read a bunch of books on financial planning and some of them are brilliant and others make me cringe with all of the "rules" or what is a "good" way to spend money and what is not. Some of them are useful, like try to get out of paying PMI (principal mortage insurance) on you home loan as soon as possible.

Yet, most of these rules are bullshit. You will need to figure out what you value and if you want to spend money on it. Some of these financial planners don't want you to have any fun. They would have you dress in a burlap sack you bought at Goodwill that you drove to in your used Prius while drinking your homemade coffee after your trip to the library to get a book on how to cut your own hair. You are reading library books because no Netflix, cable television, etc. Plus the library has free internet! Actually, you should walk because then you could drop your gym membership. 

Here are some of the financial rules that you can take or leave. You may 100% agree with them, which is awesome. You have the power and freedom to choose.

Rule 1: Don't buy books. Get them from the library.

• Not gonna happen here. I love books. There is a Japanese word tsundoku which means buying more books than you can read. This happens to me all of the time. I love the library books, but I also like owning my own books. Sometime I check out a book from the library, keep it for a month after it is due, owe $8 in overdue fees and then buy it anyway. This is what I did to Untamed by Glennon Doyle. I bought it, then highlighted half of it and wrote in the margins.

Rule 2: Make coffee at home instead of going to Starbucks or other coffee shops. At $6 a day times 5 days a week for 50 weeks a year, you could save $1,500.

• Do you go for coffee with your friends or co-workers? Is this coffee enhancing your career or sustaining friendships? Is this an affordable luxury? A small break that makes you feel awesome? Do you meet your neighbors at your neighborhood coffee shop? Does the cool coffee shop bring fun to your corner of town? If you answered yes or even maybe to any of these questions, drink the coffee. (Maybe split the difference and get coffee twice a week and buy stock in Starbucks SBUX.)

Rule 3: Eat at home. Don't eat in restaurants. 

• Restaurants are more expensive than eating in, but what are you getting? When the kids were living home, going out to eat gave me an hour and a half of their undivided attention, and I didn't have to spend time grocery shopping, cooking and cleaning. This was at at point in my life where I had more money than time so it was a good investment. I know how much I spend in restaurants. I measure it. I make trade-offs. I spend less (than I want to) on shoes and clothes so I can go out to eat.

Rule 4: Credit card debt is the root of all evil.

• I am 98% percent on board with this, but there are (rare) occasions when it makes sense to float some credit card debt. I had a friend who lost his job. He was deciding if he should take $10K out of his retirement to cover expense in case he didn't find a job soon enough. I suggested doing the math. He would have paid a 10% penalty on the $10K, which is $1,000. He was a tech guy in Seattle, so the likelihood of him getting a new job was high. I recommended seeing how long he could get by with a credit card. He got a new job in about a month. He didn't rack up much credit card debt at all, just a few thousand, which he then paid off. He paid way less than $1,000 in interest and still had all of his retirement money. Long story short -- do the math before making a decision. Sometimes credit cards are cheaper.

I have nothing against saving money. My problem is with rigid rules that people can't live by. Then they break a rule (for a good reason, let's say) and then give up on their mindful spending and cry.

I propose something else. Make your own guidelines. Rules are rigid. Guidelines are flexible. But make them your own.