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.

"Rich People," Bad Stuff & Dickens

My dad used to tell me and my brother, "Rich people aren't rich because they spend money. They are rich because they have money."

This is common sense, but as Voltaire said, common sense isn't common. My dad's point was having a bunch of fancy things doesn't make someone rich. Money in the bank (or assets or other investments) does. My dad has worked both as a corporate account and then had his own private practice. Years ago, he had a middle-aged client with a great business and a large income who was living paycheck-to-paycheck. My dad also studied psychology in college. The client came into my dad's office, confessed is situation to my dad, and then cried. My dad sat and listened, as if part of his job was to be a therapist, too. 

"You have choices," my dad said. "You don't have to live this way."

I have other friends in the same spot--they make a lot of money, and spend all of it. How? A large and beautifully decorated house in one of Seattle's nicest neighborhoods. Private schools for the kids. Fancy vacations with first class air travel and expensive hotels. New luxury cars. New clothes. Nice shoes. Everything is first rate and top notch.

"We don't have two nickles to rub together," said one of these friends.

So what is wrong with that? What is wrong with living large, spending all of your money, especially if you have a large income? There is always more where it came from, right? Why be conservative?

This is where values come in. Values aren't right or wrong, they just are. I was talking to a friend in college about how I planned to work hard, save hard, and then travel when I retire. She looked at me in a strange way. I didn't think there was anything wrong with what I said, but so I asked her what she was thinking.

"My parents lived like that," she said. "My dad worked really hard, then he died two years ago when he was forty-eight. Don't 'wait until you are retired' to take the big trip."

Happiness probably lies somewhere in the middle. Financial hardship is stressful, even if it is self-imposed.

“Annual income twenty pounds, annual expenditure nineteen and six, result happiness. Annual income twenty pounds, annual expenditure twenty pounds ought and six, result misery.”

                                                                    -- Charles Dickens, David Copperfield

I am not advocating for never eating dinner in a restaurant when you can eat at home, never buying a book  when you can get one at the library, or camping instead of staying in a hotel on vacation. All of those are choices that need to align with our values.

But I will say this: bad stuff happens. We can't plan for a life where nothing miserable happens to us. Statistically, it is unavoidable. In fact, the probability of nothing ever going wrong is much, much lower than the odds of perfection.

What are the odds of losing your job? Let's say 0.5%. "But I work hard and I'm smart!" Great. But then funding dries up, investors bail, there is a global pandemic and even though you are the best waitress/hairdresser/masseuse, you are out of luck.

"Fine," you think. What are the odds of getting so sick you can't work? Maybe you will get disability, and then it will very likely be less than you are earning now. And usually there is a lag between when you can't work and then the money kicks in. Let's say 0.25%. I am making up a number.

Now think of twenty other things that could go wrong, and the likelihood of them happening. Small, right?

The joy of those types of probabilities is that you get to add them up because each of those are different events. So the odds of losing your job or getting sick are 0.75%.

Think of it another way. Let's say there is a bucket with a 10,000 balls. In this bucket, one ball is painted red. Every day, you pick one ball out of the bucket, and the ball stays out. On any given day, the odds of pulling the red ball is 1 out of 10,000 on Day 1, which is fairly low. What are the odds of pulling a red ball within 10,000 days? 100%.

Some of those bad things don't cost money, like when Ada died. (I had a stillbirth before Eleanor was born.) Other bad things do, like losing a job, or having a heart attack where if you survive, you might might be able to return to work. It doesn't need to be a big cost to swamp the boat if you are living financially close to the edge. It could be an unexpected car repair, or needing a new sewage line dug for your home (which is in the top 1% of the least fun ways to spend $10K.)

What can you do to mitigate this, to make picking the red ball less painful? There are things you can't control, and thing you can. You can't control something crummy happening, but you can control your savings. 

Let's do some math--because I love math--to see the magic of savings. Let's say you make $5,000 a month, and you save 10%, or $500 each month.

	Monthly income	Savings Rate	Monthly Savings Amount	Yearly Savings Amount	Cumulative Savings
Year 1	$5,000	10%	$500	$6,000	$6,000
Year 2	$5,000	10%	$500	$6,000	$12,000
Year 3	$5,000	10%	$500	$6,000	$18,000
Year 4	$5,000	10%	$500	$6,000	$24,000
Year 5	$5,000	10%	$500	$6,000	$30,000

Now you are probably thinking that this is so obvious and simple, you want your money back from reading my blog. But hey -- my blog is free, so don't complain.

No, seriously. The magic isn't in the $30K you will have at the end. The magic is in the $500 you don't spend each month.

What? 

Let's say in Year 3 you need new tires for your car and they cost $800.* You spent all of your budgeted $4,500 that month. Guess what? Instead of having to float $800 on your credit card, you can take $300 out of savings and use the $500 you would have saved that month to pay for the tires. At the end of five years, you will have $29,200, which is still pretty cool. And I haven't even talked about interest and dividends and capital gains! This example is equivalent to money in the mattress.

The point of saving money (for me anyway--you might have a different view which is totally cool) is to sleep better at night knowing that you have the ability to absorb crap that may happens.

Let's say you up your savings rate, or get a raise or a bonus. Your buffer gets bigger. What if your buffer gets too big? 

Hello, Hawaii.

"But Lauren," you say, "I don't want to go to Hawaii."

At this point, I could do one of two things:

a. Extol the virtues of Hawaii and post pictures from my vacation to Maui years ago, or

b. Tell you that you have the power and freedom to do whatever you want with that money! You get to decide! You want to buy a camper van and drive to all the National Parks? You want to buy a pet boa constrictor? Go you!

Power and freedom? 

Yes.

I like it. See, when you save money you still get to do fun, cool, stuff, but just maybe later and less impulsively, minus the debt hangover. And it if is money you saved for, you will very likely have more careful consideration of how you spend it, and likely it will be closer to your hearts desire than a binge purchase because you want to spend money ease some temporary pain.

* Now you may be thinking, "Oh my god! $800 for car tires? Lauren had no clue! Who spends $800 on car tires? That is nuts. Who needs Michelins when Goodyears are fine?" Congratulations. You are smarter than I am when it comes to tires and you will drive a bargain, which is totally awesome. Seriously. Pat yourself on the back. You can do this!

"A Cloud Called Hope" and Jo van Gogh

I've always dreamed of collecting art.

Back when I was a college student, I took Introduction to Modern Art fall quarter my freshman year. It was one of my most favorite class in all of college. My dad was freaking out that I might become an art history major.

"Economics, Laur," he'd plead to me over the phone, "Economics."

Instead of art, I studied math and history, but my itch and interest in art never went away. Seattle has (or used to have) a rich and vibrant artist community. I am lucky to live walking distance to several galleries. Before the Boy was sent away and before the pandemic, I'd poke around them.

For the past two weeks, Vincent van Gogh has been dancing in my brain. I was re-reading parts of Range by David Epstein where the author discusses the variety of work van Gogh did before he became a painter. Epstein wrote that Van Gogh: The Life by Steven Naifeh and Gregory White was he best book he had ever read in any genre, which I found remarkable. When an author I like so strongly recommended a book, I had to read it. I went to the library and checked it out. One of my most favorite paintings is Wheat Field with Cypresses by van Gogh. When I see this painting, I understand the meaning of choice. Every painter has a blank canvas and they can choose any topic in any style in any color. The magic is in what they choose.

Last week, I read a brilliant, BRILLIANT article in the New York Times about Jo van Gogh-Bonger, Vincent van Gogh's sister-in-law. After both Vincent and Theo died, Jo became the biggest fan and advocate for Vincent's work. She is responsible for presenting Vincent's work to the world. I would love to see a movie or read a novel about her life. I imagine her alone surrounded by 400 of Vincent's paintings, trying to convince the world what she saw in them. (Note to self: Maybe I should write the novel or screenplay...#nextproject)

Which brings me back to me.

Today, I bought a painting called "A Cloud called Hope" by Hart James. It is a landscape that cuts through the bedrock or clay layer of earth in browns, followed by the greens and then a bright blue sky with a white cloud. I hung it above my bed.

When I first saw this painting, I was immediately struck by my own powerful emotions. The Boy finishes school in June and will return to Seattle for the summer, and this painting is symbolic of my own journey for the past several years, of supporting him while I also sort out my own layers of co-dependency. Co-dependency is a fancy way of saying I habitually put the needs of others before my own to the detriment of my own sense of self. This lead to my own breakdown in 2019. Slowly, I have been regaining my sense of self, but not without a lot of effort. The fact that I even bought this painting is a major part of my recovery, that I allowed myself such an indulgence as a reward and symbol of all of the crap I've been through for the past two years. The brown dirt, clay, bedrock represents my challenging past where I felt like I have been dragged through the mud and beaten down (even if some of it was self-inflicted), that whether I like it or not, will always be a part of me. In life, there isn't a chance that bad things might happen; there is certainty. Challenges will arise, and we have the choice of how we meet them. The green represents my growth over the past year and a half, and the blue sky suggests brightness. 

The cloud represents hope, hope that brighter days are ahead.

I lost eight pounds. Why do I still feel fat? And Credit Card Debt Cruncher

As I mentioned in my last post, I am using this Noom app to help me lose weight. Noom's idea is to build self-awareness around nutrition and diet, which is both good and kinda of bullshit because I really don't want self-awareness. I just want to be thin AND eat chicken wings smothered in BBQ sauce with a side of garlic fries. Or maybe a wedge salad with a cup of bleu cheese dressing. I also want to wear the hottest spring fashions. Think Alexis Rose. 

Why hasn't Noom taught me how to deal with the fact that in two months I've lost eight pounds which is super cool but also kind of depressing because I still have forty-two pounds to go? (Maybe that will be tomorrow's lesson.) Friday I was so excited and happy then yesterday I caught my reflection in a street window and I thought "Holy cow I still look pudgy." How can I have patience for the long haul?

This reminded me of back in the days when I had credit card debt. In my early twenties, I lived in Lincoln Park in Chicago, which is a very cool and expensive place to live. I was carrying $2000 on my Visa. I'd add some charges every month, and pay some off, but the balance was always about $2K. My dad, an accountant, wouldn't judge me or anything about it, but he would drop subtle hints that giving my hard earned money on interest was a waste. Finally, I realized my dad was right and I paid it off. 

That is the simple and short version of the story.

How did my credit card bill get out of control in the first place? I wasn't tracking my spending. The first December after I graduated from college, I went Christmas shopping with my friend H. We were in downtown Chicago and I spend $50 here, $60 there, and so on. I remember we went to the Chop House for dinner and had steak, potatoes and creamed spinach. It was divine. Was it worth the $45 I spent at the time? Yes because I remember that meal and that day all of these years later.

In January, I got my credit card bill for $750, which at the time was a lot and I couldn't afford to pay it off. I was shocked--How did I spend all of that money? I only spent $50...fifteen times. My gut got in the game and said this is not cool.

How did I pay off this debt:

• I became aware of how much I was spending by tracking all of my credit card purchases in a spreadsheet and compared how much I was spending relative to my monthly income.
• When I saw how much I was spending, I made better choices and spent less. If I was going to enter it into my spreadsheet, it had better be worth it.
• I used the money I saved to pay off the credit card debt.
• Every time I came into a small wad of cash (like a tax refund or birthday money), I dumped it towards the debt.

That is the practical way I paid it off. Spiritually, it was a lot harder. How did I tame those gremlins in my mind that wanted to buy fancy shoes? How did I stop the tug-of-war between my head that knew I needed to pay off the debt and my heart that wanted cool stuff and nights out on the town? I needed to convince my heart, my head and my gut that I needed to not spend as much money. Enter self-awareness.

Was I aware that I was self-aware at that point? No. This is me looking back through the retroscope. But I was aligned. My brain knew maintaining a credit card balance was a dumb idea, but self-discipline will only get you so far before your heart starts to object. Once my heart agreed that I needed to reign in my spending, the rest came into place. 

How do you convince your heart? Or your partner?

When Jack and I first got married, he had a large amount of credit card debt. He had just finished medical school and residency, and was in his fellowship. While he was paid in residency and fellowship, he was making less than he was spending. His student loans from medical school were due, and all of his non-medical friends had "real jobs" with some discretionary funds.

I was able to convince myself to stop spending money, but how to convince Jack? 

Spreadsheets, baby. Spreadsheets.

My dad taught me how to use spreadsheets when I was in college because he thought they were cool. Back then, only accountants and engineers used spreadsheets. Now, they are ubiquitous. I created a spreadsheet for Jack of how much credit card debt he had, how much interest he was paying each month and the interest rate per card. Then I did a running total of the interest. 

There was no shame, no blame, no calling him a stupid fool for spending money. It was just a spreadsheet that showed how much he spent and how much he owed.

"Oh my god this is terrible!" he said. He wasn't arguing with me or against me. He was looking at the data. Why do you think the entire business world wants to move to "data-driven solutions?" Data has no feelings. (Shock was a useful tool, though, I have to admit.)

And so this spreadsheet became the credit card cruncher. Each month, I added rows until it was all paid off.

Back to my diet, which is a lot like debt. First I had to admit there was a problem. I was not happy I gained weight. Then I had to decide to do something about it. I wanted to stop gaining weight and lose weight, so I started a diet. Finally, I had to ride out the ups and downs of getting to my goal. There were times I paid off a decent amount of debt, only to still have a decent amount of debt left. There are times where I have lost eight pounds and still feel pudgy.

As Dory says, "Just keep swimming." Keeping going towards the goal. I was able to manage debt. I can lose fifty pounds. 

Will fifty pounds make me magically happy and my life perfect and beautiful and wonderful? 

No.

Will it make me less stressed and feel more energetic? I hope so. 

The same goes with debt. When the debt was paid off, the psyche burden went away. I slept better and I felt better.

My Noom Diet and "Money doesn't come with instructions"

At the end of February, I got sick of how much weight I had gained during the quarantine so I decided to sign up for the Noom diet app. It is a few hundred dollars (like $180) for seven months of nutrition, exercise, sleep and stress-reduction education, plus coaching. Before the pandemic, if you asked me if I would have ever used my smart phone to track every glass of water, every step I took, and everything I ate, I would have said you were crazy. And here I am, with my Fitbit and weighing myself first thing every morning, trying to drop all of the weight I've gained not just since the pandemic, but since before the Boy (now to be known as Pedro) was born when I weighed ~125 pounds. After Claire-Adele was born, I went kind of nuts and exercised twice a day a several times a week. I'd bike in the morning for an hour before Jack went to work, and then I'd go to this kick-ass aerobics class at the YMCA with every stay-at-home mom in central suburban St. Louis. The more I worked out, the less I ate. My food choices also improved. I ate more vegetables and less fatty and fried foods.

When Pedro was born, I didn't have make or find time to get enough exercise. It was a pain in the butt to make go to the grocery store with a toddler and infant and cooking is my least favorite chore, so we ate out more. I didn't gain weight all at once overnight. It was a slow steady, packing on of extra pounds, a few at a time. I have an hourglass body shape, so I tend to carry my excess baggage in my boobs and my booty, which isn't bad. I never felt like I looked fat or ugly. 

Why now? What is the urgency? I am tired of carrying these extra fifty pounds around with me wherever I go. When I hike with Claire-Adele, she kicks my butt. Last time she was in town, we hiked Little Si. I imagine my excess weight to be bags of groceries. Do I want to carry fifty pounds of groceries up Little Si? Because in effect, I was. I want to be able to hike. I don't want my legs and joints to ache. I am fine now, but how will I feel in ten years?

I tried Keto and I lost a few pounds, but it wasn't a diet I could permanently maintain. I like bread, but how much is enough? How much is too much? 

I also didn't have some obvious "one thing" to fix and tada! drop my flab. Jack has a co-worker who lost 45 pounds in the first three months of the pandemic. How? She stopped going to the bar after work (because bars were closed) and drinking five beers. Instead, she walked seven miles.

This Noom app helps me build self-awareness around what I eat and how much I move. I've learned that exercise won't overcome a bad diet, but moving and building strength can keep me healthier. When I was twenty-three, I could go to John Barleycorn on Belden and Halsted and have a beer, eat half a plate of nachos, the best hamburger on the planet and their potato chip like fries. I might have gained a few pounds, but nothing epic. I could still bike and walk and play tennis. I'd go to water aerobics. After I had kids, I drank a lot less (I'd get cranky when I'd drink around my kids. Not a good parenting look.) 

The Noom app is doing two things:

• Helping me make healthier choices to help me lose weight.
• Even if I am not losing weight as fast as I'd like, I am not gaining more weight, which alone is a miracle.

I've lost seven pounds so far. I am moving the ship in a different direction. Yay! Forty-three more to go before I get to my pre-Pedro weight. 😒 

The worst part is that I am kicking myself for gaining all of this weight in the first place. I wish I had developed healthier and more consistent eating and exercise habits years ago. I wish I would have ordered a salad instead of french fries for the past decade (or two), and then I wouldn't be here. I wish I had managed my diet and exercise as well as I've managed my money.

Wait...What?

I wish I had managed my diet and exercise as well as I've managed my money.

Whoa.

By my own admission, I am really good at managing money. A year after Claire-Adele was born, I asked Jack why he loved me. The first thing that came to his mind was "You are really good at managing money." 

That was not that answer I was looking for or expecting. "What? No, seriously. What do you love about me?" Then he doubled-down.

"I am serious," he said. "If it wasn't for you, we wouldn't be able to buy a house."

I was hoping he would have said that I was kind or attentive or thoughtful. Instead: my ability to manage money.

Some of my friends ask me for advice with their money. I have other friends who are really good at managing their money whom I ask for advice. My dad is an accountant, so I have a built in family member who provides direction and insight. Heck with having a doctor in the family--you only need a doctor when you are sick. Money is around 24/7/365.

Years ago, I was in a memoir writing class at the University of Washington. The teacher asked us what was our passion, our obsession, and to write about that. The first thing that popped into my head was money. I didn't say it to the class because I was too embarrassed. 

The thing is, I am not greedy. I don't aspire to be rich so I can buy lots of stuff. I want to be comfortable and secure and have money for a rainy day. I want my money to work for me, in addition to me working for it. I want the freedom money provides. I want to know that I can pay my bills if I lose my job, that I can afford a new roof if the current one leaks. I want to send my kids to college. That I can manage a crisis if one happens, just like it did with Pedro.

"Money doesn't come with instructions," my Uncle Bob once said. Food doesn't come with instructions, either, but I am learning about it through Noom. Love, relationships, family, friendships, career: none of those things come with instructions. Yet, we can learn from one another, in a safe place where was can share our fears, as well as our hopes and dreams.

In this next phase of my blog, I will write about something I have self-studied for years, something I am passionate about, something I want to share, something I have discussed with friends and family: the relationship I have built over the years with money.

Rebound

When I talked to the Boy Sunday night, he was in a great mood. Cheerful, in fact, which was surprising considering he punched a hole in the wall Wednesday night. I didn't think he'd be happy to tell his parents that he "done fucked up."

But he was. He was happy (and I daresay proud) that this punch gave him awareness of how far he has come, how much progress he has made, in the past two years.

"I felt like I did when I was at home," he said. "I was reactive and explosive. I saw what was happening. I was upset for about ten minutes, and then I calmed down." He went to the brink and instead of fully going over the edge, he came back. He sounded relieved, grateful, and proud.

While the Boy talked, I just listened. I didn't pepper him with a hundred questions. I let him flow with his thoughts and words. Isn't that what most people want--myself included: be heard and then held? As a parent, the hardest thing I am learning is to listen. Just listen. Not give advice. Not ask leading questions. 

Just listen.

The Boy relapsed and recovered. He didn't collapse. I didn't rescue or fix. He is learning to take care of himself. 

I have to give his girlfriend some credit here, too. She told him it was dumb that he skipped class last week because he might get grounded for the weekend. Her words have far more impact than mine or his therapy team's. She speaks, he listens. I am grateful that her words to him (that I know of) are honest, direct, caring and kind.

The Boy turns eighteen later this month. His birthday is a few days before mine. Soon, he will no longer be the Boy. Perhaps I should come up with a new pseudonym for him on my blog.

Or maybe not. 

Now, this is becoming his story to tell, not mine.

Regression, or When Jekyll meets Hyde

The Boy is supposed to graduate from high school and his residential therapy program this June. He is coming back home to Seattle this summer, and is slated to attend college this fall. This is a minor miracle from where he was two years ago. Actually, it is not a miracle. It is an act of a tremendous amount of hard work and introspection, both on his part, mine and Jack's.

The Boy had his first major regression this week, his first relapse of troubling behavior since he started residential treatment two years ago for his anxiety and depression.

The Boy's therapist was unpleasantly surprised when he heard of the relapse, in part because the Boy's regression does not fit the mold of typical relapses of kids in the program. When other kids relapse, they vape or drink.

"What happened?" the therapist asked me Thursday morning after he had read the email from the night staff saying the Boy had punched a hole in the wall. "He seemed fine when I talked to him Wednesday."

I love my son's therapist. I really, really do. At that moment, I wanted to say, I probably should have said, "Ask the Boy, not me. I am not the one who punched a hole in the wall." I wanted to say, "This is why I am paying you the big bucks. YOU figure it out." 

Alack and alas, I was polite. I didn't want to piss off the guy leading the therapeutic SWAT team caring for my kid. Many therapeutic professionals will look to the parent to explain the unexplainable, as if moms can read their children's minds. After many years of trying, I realized I can't. 

I could, however, give the therapist some insights. Back in eighth grade, when the Boy was first hospitalized, we were given a chart, an explanation of what happens when kids are in need of acute psychological treatment. Most professionals don't have to deal with kids in their acute phase of emotional crisis. That is left for parents, the night staff and/or the police. 

This was the graph of what a psychological crisis looks like:

Some kind of problem escalates in a person's mind. They freak out, whatever their special brand of freakout looks like. They crash into depression, self-loathing or suicide ideation because they fucked up. Maybe they drank twenty beer and tried to drive home. Maybe they screamed at their kids. Maybe they punched a hole in the wall. Some of these self-destructive behaviors are more or less socially acceptable. Eating a whole chocolate cake in one sitting typically only hurts the person eating the cake, so its level of social acceptance is neutral (until we get into fat shaming.) Punching a hole in the wall is down on the list.

I am glad the Boy had his first regression while he is still in treatment. I am glad he is surrounded by system of support that will force to him to reckon with his behavior, not hide from it, nor be ashamed. I heard somewhere recently that shaming people doesn't help change their behavior. (Maybe Brene Brown?)

I wonder what is going through the Boy's head when he punches a hole in the wall, and what happens after. I imagine it is somewhat like Dr. Jekyll meeting Mr. Hyde. I've never read The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson, but I probably should. I wonder if there is a scene where the two meet, where the calm and refined Dr. Jekyll sees his evil alter-ego, Mr Hyde. What does Jekyll think of Hyde, or rather, what does he think of the other side of himself?

Where I am in all of this? Suprisingly and pleasantly detached. For years, I spent a considerable amount of my time and attention trying to keep the Boy in the above Green Zone, so he wouldn't spike and crash. I burned myself out trying to manage something I couldn't manage. I was going crazy. Fortunately, I have found the right support for myself, to help me stay float while the rest of the world might be crashing around me.