WTS DAY XXXIV

Am not really in the form for doing anything, but am writing this so as not to miss an X on the Seinfeld-inspired calender. I have been starved of social outings and right now I am supposed to be at a MeetUp, but I amn't, obviously. The bus into town passed me as I crossed the road to the shop to purchase a San Pellegrino before it closed at 8 o'clock and I did have a mad notion of hopping on it (I should have been on it really) but being in my Penney's jeans and old shirt, with my make-up untouched since one o'clock, I decided against it. I am a flake. 

I am an exhausted flake. It is so hot! It's gone beyond funny at the stage. Am having an Fe tablet along with the San Pellegrino, in case the problem is anaemia. I got up late and was going to spend the day at home but the boredom got to me and I went into town. Yes, I fell. No, I did not purchase anything style/beauty related. Instead I went to Vibes n Scribes and spent forty-two euro on books. I got four books for that, which is good. I have one almost finished already: Jamie Bartlett's "The People v Tech". It confirmed what I already know, and was almost enough for me to spontaneously delete my Facebook account. I have considered this in the past, not just because of their data-gathering and ad-targeting, but also because of the baby photos and the holiday photos and the whole nauseating #blessed #family smorgasbord of smug. It's long gone from my phone. It is impossible to cut the cord though. How would I know? How would I know that the man I was in a relationship with this time two years ago has gotten engaged? How would I know that my university-friend who is at least two years older than I am is pregnant with her first baby? How could I keep watch for evidence that the Man Who Went to the Far East has finally settled-down out there? [the absence of evidence is not evidence of absence]. On a practical level, I am in two professionally-linked private groups. Facebook is handy for that kind of thing. It would be possible, of course, to close my personal account and rejoin the professional groups using a new account. They would know it was me, but I could pick a name that would not be recognisable, and have no pictures. That would be a solution. That I'm not considering it means I am afraid. Facebook does seem  like a way to "keep in touch", but this is an illusion. 

The other books I bought were James Comey's "A Higher Loyalty", "Move Fast and Break Things" by somebody (similar in theme to the Bartlett book) and a reference-guide to Greek mythology. I had intended to buy two Joseph O'Neill books in the secondhand section. They had at least two copies of all his books last week, but I had taken a punt only on "Netherland" and when I went back today for the others they were gone. Will end up buying them full-price in Waterstones. For my morning reading, I am going to switch back to William Trevor. I heard a Gretchen Rubin podcast yesterday that suggested, if you want to reprise a discontinued activity, to recreate the conditions under which you engaged in this activity regularly and with enthusiasm. When I was writing a lot I

-lived in Dublin

-was reading a lot of William Trevor

-was seeing a lot of plays

-was going out all the time

-had no laptop and was writing/typing on the communal computers in Trinity.

Maybe I could try the last strategy when I have my student ID for UCC. By the time I get one though, I'll be in the school phase of my bimodal work schedule. I don't think an internet café would work in the same way. In fact, the computer labs in summer would be the perfect place to be writing. I will get on to this problem next week. Of course, an alternative would be to bring the laptop over to the college and find a place to work over there. I'd need to buy a decent case to carry the thing in. Now that's a shopping expedition I could engage in without feeling guilty. 

WTS Day XXIX

Have fallen off all the bandwagons I am on. I went to TKMaxx yesterday and bought a product there. I had nothing on all day and was having an at-home day, tidying my house while listening to this podcast of Emma Guns interviewing Gretchen Rubin, reading "The War that Ended Peace" by Margaret Macmillan, doing yet another load of washing, cooking super-healthy baba ganoush for lunch. No sooner was the aubergine gone into the oven to roast did I remember that I had eaten the second half of the cashew nut butter that was in the press. I went to Marks and Spencers to buy more. My local M&S is a shopping centre where there is a small TKMaxx. I felt conflicted: 

A. I made a decision to stay out of there for at least two weeks. I've done a whole week. It's a matter of honour and self-discipline. I'll feel better if stick to my guns. On a superstitious level, life has been good to me lately and maybe there's a link to my embracing various forms of routine and resolutions. 

B. No-one would know and no objective harm would be done. It was only the little TKMaxx, not the main one. I was having a very unexciting day and five minutes wouldn't hurt. 

Reader, I caved. I almost bought a new workout top and then I actually did buy a Bliss Foot Patrol, even though I have two unopened ones here at home. For ages and ages they had none of these so I snapped two up the last time they had them, even though I have yet to finish the first one I bought. It's a really lovely, acidic, minty foot-cream that is heavenly used straight from the fridge on a hot day and the discount on Bliss is always decent. It was 8.99, not the end of the world, but it was ultimately close to a tenner on something I don't need. Plus, I had picked at the forming scab that was healing my shopping habit. 

That morning I had thought about going into town to write in the café that's under the TKMaxx in town, but I didn't go in, partly because I felt if I went in I'd end up dragging around the shops and frittering away money. This isn't just about the money. It's the time. It's the meaninglessness of it. So I didn't go. This was the right decision. There's being a flaneuse, and then there's being a sad creature who mopes around the shops without purpose or direction. 

The other bandwagon I fell off was the one I climbed on only yesterday. Having left a notebook and a biro next to my bed, I woke up and as per usual went straight to Twitter and continued the very debate that had delayed my going to sleep last night. I did remember and wrote a little, but by then it was too late. I think I'll stick a post-it on my phone tonight, or put Freedom on for longer. 

That's it. Will just have to pick myself up and keep going. Disgusted at my lapse yesterday and more committed than ever now to abstinence. 

Why Buying Books is Okay, Even When You Already Own a Copy

One week into the 90 day challenge and how's it looking? Today -  the first real test - was a partial success; I used two parking discs rather than paying for the multi-storey car-park; I escaped from TKMaxx with nothing more than an item of practical underwear, even though tempted by array of bargain-some beauty product. Why did I even go there in the first place? It's my habit: a habit compounded by the shop's addiction-forming variable-reward system.
I'd had lunch at home and met a friend for hot chocolate before caving and stocking up in M&S.  At that stage I was tired and knew full well that that was willpower-depletion. I could have chosen to push through, to go buy some real food from local businesses. But sometimes knowing why you're doing something doesn't make it easier to not do it. Or, it doesn't make it easier enough.
I also bought a book. Buying books is allowed, as I have rarely regretted buying a book. Even awful self-help books that seemed - on inspection in Waterstones - to hold the secret to transforming my life only to be lots and lots of wasted ink and dead tree. With books you have to kiss a lot of frogs. Not only will you meet some Book Princes, you will over time develop a sixth sense for a book's amphibian-factor. The book I bought today is a Prince. I knew it would be, being "Better than Before" the latest from Gretchen Rubin. Not only have I read Rubin's previous two books, I'd also read this book. I bought it last month. I am a Book-Buyer-Lender-Buyer. Lending books to other people is one of my life's greatest pleasures. It's akin to the hobby of match-making, although there is a downside. This is that a book on loan is not a book on the shelf. And a book on loan may sometimes become a book lost. So every now and again, I will deliberately buy a book rather than resent the very book-reader relationship that I myself set up.
I like Rubin's book. It's witty and thought provoking and I like that she eschews playing amateur cognitive psychologist (although there's plenty of reference to actual research) in favour of anecdote and personal musings.   I even like that she neatly insists that since I disagree totally with her unscientific division of humanity into four habit types (Upholders, Rebels, Obligers and Questioners), this very resistance indicates that I'm a "rebel".

"Gratitude brings freedom from envy, because when you're grateful for what you have, you're not consumed with wanting something different or something more." Gretchen Rubin

Gretchen "Grateful" Rubin

I have decided to practise gratitude. I nearly wrote "started a gratitude practice "; I need to read some real books. You know, ones that don't come from the self-help section.

This is a serious defeat for my inner cynic. Not my inner skeptic, I'm still friends with her. I wrote before how I've always resisted the idea of counting my blessings. Was this because I was, as Brené  Brown would say, waiting for the other shoe to drop? She calls it the notion of being afraid to acknowledge your own happiness "foreboding joy" and writes

"Scarcity and fear drive foreboding joy. We're afraid that the feeling of joy won't last, or that there won't be enough, or that the transition to disappointment (or whatever is in store for us next) will be too difficult."

That's part of it, but in my own life, I've dismissed all thoughts of actively cultivating gratitude on the basis of one memory.

I had a GP at the time who's not my GP anymore. He was youngish and laidback and I kind of liked him. Other people liked him too and he had a busy private practice but I was one of his public patients. I was in the surgery one day getting my prescription and we were chatting.
"Why don't you go home, Ellen, and make a list. Write out all of the good things in your life."

I can understand now, the judgement behind his words, and the implications that I was an ungrateful, spoilt brat who couldn't grasp how lucky she was. "Ungrateful" is a word I've often had levelled at me. There I was with my parents still living and healthy, my educational opportunities, my prospects, my youth. What right did I have to be miserable?

I couldn't see that judgement then and, because I respected him, I went home and wrote my list. I'll dig it out next time I'm down in my parents' house but I'm fairly sure what was on it. My degree, my masters, the fact I was working on a PhD, my youth, my family, the friends I was sharing a house with, my active social life, the radio station I was volunteering at, the local paper for which I'd started to write reviews.
Within months my family was mad as hell with me, I'd lost my place in the house and was back living at home with no nights out at all, my friends weren't talking to me, I'd thrown in the PhD, the radio station wouldn't have me on the premises. I thought that all was lost. The only way I could get through it was to pretend it wasn't happening.

So when the books would talk about gratitude journals I think they're a dangerous idea. The one time I counted my blessings, most of blessings flew away like birds in the winter.  But is gratitude the same as counting your blessings? I'm beginning to think they aren't the same. Certainly we can be grateful for blessings, but counting them implies that somewhere there is a massive chart, where all our scores are recorded and adjusted. Being told to count your blessings means "Take a look at the chart there and see there are people with  far lower scores than yours. Get over yourself."

Katherine Baldwin

I've decided to be conscious of my blessings without counting them or keeping score. I'm going to pick three things each day to be grateful for. Typing those words feels really uncomfortable which might be a good sign.  I'm following the guidelines from JustCharlee, that I got from Katherine Baldwin via Twitter https://twitter.com/From40WithLove . These are:


Three Little Steps
Commit to writing three things you’re grateful for, for 21 days.

1. Commit and share
Whether that means posting on facebook or buddying up with a friend, making it public means it’s likely to happen rather than go the way of many a gym membership.

2. Choose a fixed time
Make it a habit like brushing your teeth. First thing in the morning and last thing at night are great because they set you up for sweet dreams or create a positive start to your day. Three little things. You have time for that!

3. Keep track
To find out what difference it has made, keep a note of changes you notice.

http://justcharlee.ca/wellness/three-little-things-how-daily-gratitude-practice-changed-my-life/

This is, incidentally, almost identical to the gratitude journal kept by Gretchen Rubin in "The Happiness Project"  www.happiness-project.com . Rubin writes

"Gratitude brings freedom from envy, because when you're grateful for what you have, you're not consumed with wanting something different or something more."

 That makes sense to me, and is what I hope to achieve. Not to stop wanting something more (relationships, children) or something different (writing) but to not be consumed by that want.  Rubin only kept her journal for two weeks but found by then she was able to integrate gratitude into everyday life. Unlike the morning pages, which are an open-ended commitment, I'll just do the writing-down of the three things for three weeks and then see. I will let you know the outcome here.

 

So what were my three things for today?

1. Seeing my washing flapping in the wind on the clothes-line. I'm in love with my clothes-line. Seriously.
2.Spending almost two hours catching up, in person, with some-one I hadn't seen in ages.
3. Posting my entry to a local short-story competition.

The last is quite a step towards the mountain of being a writer again. A tiny, baby step but definitely in the right direction. And I have twenty-eight more days off in which to do little else but potter around, fix up my house and write. A happy day :-)