I’ve spent the morning writing about some pretty heavy stuff and I just learned some very upsetting news about a friend. I’m ready to lighten the mood a bit. So, now for something completely different:
Ten Embarrassing Truths Revealed (Many for the very first time)
1) I am absolutely terrible about getting haircuts. I just had my first one since September. I don’t know why I’m so bad about them. I always intend to be better, but…
2) I can barely ride a bike (discussed in Learning to Go Downhill). It’s shameful since my dad is an uber bike rider and I’m so athletic.
3) Sometimes at night I pig out on a concoction of Greek yogurt, peanut butter, Splenda brown sugar and chocolate chips. In large quantities.
4) I wear this pair of sweatpants all the time around the house. They’re way too big and don’t even stay up. Even plumbers would be embarrassed.
5) My sneeze sounds like a barking chihuahua, in volume, sound and duration. All heads turn when my sinuses let go.
6) I gave up on cleaning my car about 6 years ago. In all other areas of my life, I am neat and clean. My car, however, is covered with black stuff on the outside and dog hair on the inside. Luckily, Tiger is my primary passenger.
7) Since I received my Kindle, I’ve started reading trashy novels. I pretend that it’s only because I can get them for free through Amazon or the library, but that’s just a rationalization.
8) I only learned how to pronounce “caprese” a couple months ago and I order caprese salads all the time.
9) I’m never sure how to spell “restaurant.”
10) I only know the names of a handful of my “gym buddies.” I’m bad about not paying attention to their names when we meet and then becoming friends with them later.
Okay, so there’s my embarrassing laundry for all to see:) Anyone else willing to share theirs?
I spend a lot of time thinking about habits – the good, the bad, the intentional and the wholly accidental.
In my own life, I have become aware of and am addressing my habits of mind that lead me to anxious thoughts and a propensity to becoming overwhelmed. I have removed some habits (okay, maybe removing is more accurate:) ) and added others (such as my daily meditation practice).
At school, I strive to teach the students the good habits of an academic – preparation, questioning and perseverance. I try to coach them to bring a pencil every day (you have no idea how difficult this is with 8th graders!), complete their homework, ask until they understand and to push harder when the work gets tough.
As a wellness coach, I help my clients establish habits that improve the well-being of their minds and bodies. I assist them in identifying their thinking patterns that underlie their choices and I aid them in becoming more aware of their mindless approach towards health and fitness.
Habits themselves are neither good nor bad. They are simply acquired behaviors that are done often and automatically and can be difficult to break. Habits have a purpose; they serve to automate much of the minutiae of life so that our brains are free to attend to novelty. Habits are difficult to break because they often occur below our level of awareness and they are reinforced by the removal of a negative stimulus (ex. relieving anxiety) or the application of a positive stimulus (the taste of that cookie on your tongue).
I spend a lot of time thinking about habits.
But they still have the capacity to surprise me with their tenacity.
My car is approaching its 14th birthday. I had an after market alarm installed within a week of purchase. This alarm came with two identical keypads that, shockingly enough, do not have the staying power of an Acura. Although the car runs fine (knock on wood), the keypads have now both passed on. I suppose I could track down replacements or have another alarm installed, but the car is 14 years old. I really don’t want to put any money in it that is required by the stoic hamsters under the hood.
So, Brock clipped the wires to the alarm. No problem, I thought. I don’t care about the alarm anymore. But I was forgetting something.
Habit.
My doors used to lock automatically after a 30 second delay (mechanics hated this – they used to lock themselves out all the time!). After 14 years, I have become used to this feature. When I exit my car in a safe location (basically home and work), I simply walk away and wait for the car to lock itself.
It doesn’t do that anymore. Now, I have to remember to manually enter a key in the lock and turn. I know, so archaic.
My car key. The ribbon was used by Brock to secure my engagement ring in his pocket on the night he proposed:)
How many times have I remembered since the wires were clipped (sounds like an automotive vasectomy, doesn’t it? 🙂 ) on Saturday? None.
Lisa 0
Habits 5
Damn.
I used to tease my mom about her attempts to remember things and break through habits. She had sticky notes plastered to every available surface as visual reminders. She would place throw pillows right in her morning path to prompt her brain to remember while her body adjusted its path. These were never useful strategies for long. As with anything, she adapted to their presence and their novelty no longer registered.
I came down the stairs to this the other day. I first thought my mom must have put it there. Then I remembered, she’s a thousand miles away. It turns out that Tiger pulled it off the couch. Perhaps a reminder to chase squirrels?
I used to tease her. But I get it now. I don’t think its so much a loss of memory as we age as the accumulation of habits.
Less is novel.
And more is automatic.
We do as we have done.
Biology uses the term “homeostasis” to describe an organism’s attempt to maintain a state of equilibrium or balance. Our habitual state becomes our equilibrium and we are fighting homeostasis to change those patterns of thought or action.
It’s a difficult battle, but not impossible.
The easiest way to change habits is to piggyback them on other changes. For example, if I had a new car, it would be easier for me to remember that my exit strategy had changed. Or, when my life was in flux from divorce, I could easily add a regular yoga class since it was simply one more change of many.
I’m not suggesting you get divorced just so you can do yoga, however!
So what can you do when you don’t have other change to anchor to?
Start by becoming aware of your habits and their precursors.
Example: I buy a Starbucks on the way to work every day when I drive by a specific location.
Identify the pros and cons of the habit.
Example: Starbucks is yummy and coffee has caffeine, but it is expensive.
Change the circumstances or the precursors.
Example: I drive a new route that does not take me by the Starbucks.
Redesigned logo used from 2011-present. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Practice relaxation.
Example: The best part of the coffee was the first sip before I walked into work. Instead, I will take a brief mediation in the car to relax.
Identify the challenging situations.
Example: I am most likely to stop when I have not had enough sleep or I am stressed about the day.
Plan alternatives to the habit.
Example: When I am tired, I will bring an extra mug of coffee from home and I will use yoga and meditation to handle the stress.
Create a challenge.
Example: I will commit to an entire Starbucks-free month.
Just so you know, that is a hypothetical “I” in the above exercise. I love me some Starbucks but I’m too cheap to go there too much! I went through much the same process when I decided to add meditation to my daily life a year ago. Since then, I have been able to create a habit of it; I rarely skip more than a day. It has become part of my homeostasis, my balance. We will always revert. It is impossible to not to fall back on habit, to be completely mindful in every moment. Luckily, we can change what we revert back to by changing those habits and creating a new stasis.
And now, I just need to go through the process with locking my car door. In the meantime, please don’t steal my car. I might have to send Tiger after you!
I received a gift tonight. No, not one that was wrapped and sitting under a tree, nor one that came in a box at all. The gift I received tonight was the gift of giving.
My boyfriend and I made our usual trip to the gym this evening. Usual, with one small caveat – he was almost out of gas. Now, this is a situation that historically has caused me great stress. Until my mid-twenties, I never let my car go below 1/4 of a tank. Yeah, I know. I am getting better; however, and the situation this evening only caused me mild distress until we pulled into the gas station with 1 mile left on the digital readout.
(Photo credit: silverlunace)
By the time Brock and I left the gym this evening, it was dark out (not cold, however. thanks, Atlanta for this springtime respite!). We saw a woman struggling with a gas can with her car pulled just into the driveway of the gym (a position we could have easily been in ourselves just 30 minutes earlier). Brock immediately stopped the car, rolled down the window, and asked if she needed help. She said she couldn’t get the nozzle of the gas can to operate according to the directions. Brock put his car in reverse, and pulled out of the driveway, hitting a piece of metal and blowing a rear tire in the process.
A brief interlude: After only a few weeks of dating, Brock spent an afternoon helping me as I purchased an apartment’s worth of furniture from IKEA, loaded it into a rental truck, and carried it up 3 flights of stairs. On our way back to the rental facility (after MANY trips up those damned stairs), we came across a man who had run out of gas just outside my new apartment. As the nearest gas station was a mile away, Brock offered to give him a ride there and back. We were exhausted. I was elated. I knew then I had a man worth keeping.
Undaunted, he got out, and proceeded to try to help the woman. It turns out that this gas can was either designed by or manufactured by complete morons, as it was impossible to connect the nozzle to the can in any fashion. She and I proceeded to mess with the pesky plastic piece of junk (eventually using a laminated brochure as a funnel in its place) while Brock went to change his tire.
We left the gym parking lot 20 minutes later than planned with gas on our hands, rumbles in our bellies and a busted tire. But we also left happy, filled with the authentic well-being that can only come from helping another. And that’s a gift we can all receive.
I received the text just months shy of our tenth anniversary. The divorce process being what it is, the marriage persisted after the ten year mark. The wedding was never the year we marked, however. We always added six to go back to when we started dating. So, by the time it was over, we had been together for sixteen years. That was half of my life.
Odometer (Photo credit: trickhips)
It felt like my life odometer had been abruptly and violently forced back to 000000. It was painful, but it was also frustrating. It felt like those were miles wasted on a pointless journey that was aborted before its intended destination. The consistent rolling of the numbers indicating the length of the relationship felt purposeful. They spoke to where we had been and where we were going to go.
When my boyfriend and I reached the six month mark (an important period that frequently delineates casual dating from more serious partnerships), he commented on how long we had been together. I remember scoffing internally. Six months was nothing. I had been with my ex thirty two times that! I didn’t get it yet.
Then, one year came, again commented upon by my boyfriend. I still didn’t get it. I can be a slow learner at times.
It wasn’t until two years when I finally understood. First, due to the magic of ratios, it was now only 1/8 of the time that I spent with my ex. But, more importantly, I viewed my entire life odometer differently. I had been viewing it as the primary and permanent wheel in the center of my console, quietly ticking away through the journeys of my life. I saw the divorce as an assault on the dial, overriding the system.
Then I realized that life is rarely that linear. Our lives are perhaps better marked with trip odometers that are reset to mark the beginning of a new journey. These parallel journeys should not be quantified; the distance is not what adds to the quality. Rather, each trip should be accepted for what it is with the understanding that the odometer can be reset if needed.
I now don’t worry about sixteen years. I don’t compare times together, creating ever-improving ratios. Now, I just roll down the windows and enjoy the ride 🙂
In a few days, my car will be 13 years old. It is strange how an inanimate object can be tied to so many memories and can act as a benchmark and barometer of life’s major events.
I bought my car, a 1999 Acura Integra, when I was 21 years old and 6 months shy of my wedding. I had just moved across the country to join my fiance, who had relocated several months earlier in order to find work. I felt like I was on the precipice of my adult life: I had moved away from my childhood city, I was soon to be married, and I was in the process of making major decisions about school and career.
We were excited to buy the car. We felt adult. We liked signing our names together on the note and on the title. We felt proud of our research and negotiating powers, paying only $300 over cost and we were able to put over half down. I called my mom, excited to tell her about the new purchase. As I described the leather seats, she moaned, “Oh, Lisa,” in a tone that would have been more at home if she had just found out I had gotten a large tattoo. I didn’t care; it was my car and I loved every inch of it.
It really was my car. My ex was a tall man, about 6’1″. A 2-door Integra wasn’t exactly a comfortable fit for him. We used his vehicle (which changed over the years) whenever we went someone together. My car remained mine and mine alone.
In the early months, she was often filled with unique finds to make our apartment feel more like a home. Soon after we married, we purchased a house that we immediately began to remodel. My car was never without a random tile, a leftover tub of spackle, or a paint sample strip as we worked to create our dream house.
When she wasn’t driving to Home Depot, she took me back and forth to school to get my B.S. and then later my master’s. She took me to small jobs as a receptionist and a physical therapy technician before I settled on becoming a teacher. Once my career was set, she had only to carry me 3 miles round trip each day to the middle school down the street.
Even though my ex was rarely in the car, he worked to make it better for me. He pulled off all of the interior of the doors to insert extra insulation to cut the road noise. He replaced the factory stereo with a hand-me-down of his and hard-wired in the XM radio. He took on the repeating task of washing the exterior and vacuuming the inside. He made his mark.
As my car began to age and my ex bought a new car, she began to be the choice transportation for the dogs. I also developed a passion for gardening, and I would frequently fill her to the brim on biannual trips to a local budget nursery. Her carpets still have stray leaves and embedded dog hairs; signs of a life left behind.
My car’s life changed after the divorce also. She had been protected in a garage up until that point. Now, she bears the hail scars and pollen stains of a life lived outside. With the addition of a GPS (a post-divorce gift from a friend), she has led me on adventures, traveling further than she ever had before (with the added security of a AAA card in deference to her advanced age). Her title has changed over the years: first my maiden name and my ex’s name, then my name changed to match his, and now, she is in my name alone. Her plates have changed, reflecting my move across town.
She no longer has the shiny unblemished exterior of her youth. Her leather seats now show cracks from where my legs rub against them (and where my tears fell for many months). Her trunk no longer opens and her antennae often sticks. But that hunk of steel, that has been with me through so much, still runs beautifully.
Today, she yet again carries a dog. I like to think that makes her smile.
So, happy birthday to my car and thank you for carrying me through the bad times and staying through the good.
Lessons From the End of a Marriage 