Value

At my former school, we used to have two options for credit recovery for failing students.

The first ran two mornings a week for four months. There was a $50 fee for this option, an amount that was doable (especially with payment plans and scholarship options) for our low-income families, yet was also high enough to be significant.

The other option was summer school, four weeks of all-day classes in the heat of July. This choice was free.

For years, I taught under both programs. And, very early, a pattern began to emerge. Every year, the turn out for the few day or two of summer school would be tremendous – the classrooms barely able to contain the students. Yet every year, the numbers dropped exponentially until the class sizes were often in the single digits.

The morning program never started out with as many students (partly because the parents held out hope that their kid could still pull up his/her grade) yet every student that showed up on the first day stayed until the last.

There was another marked difference between the programs. In summer school, the students often acted as though they were biding their time. Many of them never asked a question, never completed an assignment and acted as if they were simply there to keep their desk company. In the morning program, however, the students wanted to learn. They brought in marked tests for clarification, they asked for help on homework and they worked hard even though the sun had yet to rise.

Frustrated during my third stint at summer school, I asked my administrator about this difference.

Her answer was simple.

“It’s the $50. They have buy-in.”

She went on to tell me that there used to be a fee for summer school and the shift in behavior only occurred once it was waved. She told me stories of morning kids on scholarship and how she learned the importance of charging every family something, even if it was only a few dollars. Once the family parted ways with their money, the program had value.

It was important to show up. It was important to try.

If we perceive that something has value, we appreciate it. We take care of it.

 

 

That lesson has stayed with me and I look for it in other areas.

Brock uses the idea of value to help him keep up with things. When he buys cheap sunglasses, they inevitably get lost or broken. But the pricier pair he purchased four years ago? Safe and snug in his car. They have value to him and so he takes care of them.

You can see it at play in those studies that pour cheap wine from expensive bottles while the more valued product spills from the bargain vessel. Every time, the tasters rate the wine based on the bottle. The labels speak of value, thus changing perception.

In my classes, I reward students for perfect scores on weekly quizzes. It’s not an easy goal to reach. When we have to work to achieve something, it is valuable and, perhaps more importantly, we believe we are worthy.

I see numerous examples every day of this economic principle in action – from Groupons to free Kindle downloads.

 

 

And then I look at my former marriage.

I loved him. I loved our marriage.

But I’m not sure I valued it.

I didn’t have to work for it. It was there.

I didn’t have to earn it. I credited luck rather than effort.

 

I believed it would always be there, whether I showed up every day or not.

I was filled with assumption more than appreciation.

It was easy.

Perhaps too easy.

 

 

I’ve learned from that mistake.

I’ve worked hard to get to where I am now.

I’ve paid dearly, in so many ways in the past few years.

I see the value.

And I appreciate it and take care of it every day.

I’m on the lifetime payment plan:)

 

 

Setting the Stage

all the world's a stage

 

As part of my calculated not-so-risky risk that I am undertaking, I have to complete a self-paced online course. I signed up for the class over two weeks ago but only just started it yesterday.

This is a change for me.

Normally, I refer to myself as a reverse procrastinator – I get it done in a short period of time under immense pressure, but I do it at the beginning of the timeframe rather than the end.  Yeah, I was the weirdo kid who wanted to get her homework on Friday afternoon.

Adding to that, once I make a decision, I act upon it. Quickly. Very quickly.

So, combining those two traits along with my excitement about this new life trajectory, and I wanted to start the course as soon as I had signed up.

Which was at 7:30 pm on a Tuesday night, after a long day at work and less than two hours before I head to bed.

I could have started. There was nothing holding me back.

Except my understanding about how important it is to set the stage. A smooth beginning pays dividends throughout.

I started paying attention to this when I first started meditating. It was difficult for me to stay centered and avoid distractions. I soon learned that if I spent a few moments preparing the space by tidying up and perhaps lighting a candle or some incense, I was much more successful. The energy spent setting the stage was a transitional moment, a time for my monkey mind to receive the message at what was to come.

I found that the same idea carried forth into writing. Some days, I am consumed with words and they simply flow unencumbered. Other days, I have to be more strategic. Those are the times that I have to set the stage. I make sure that my glasses are off and my contacts in. I have coffee or tea or water close at hand. I ensure that disruptions will be minimal. In other words, I prime my mind for writing.

Setting the stage is important within relationships as well. John Gottman talks about the importance of avoiding harsh startups, finding a correlation between how a disagreement begins and how it will end. It’s not easy when you’re angry or frustrated to take the time to set the stage for a positive interaction. But those few moments of intention 9and holding your tongue) are perhaps as important (if not more so) than what actually needs to be said.

Setting the stage is a time for pause. It is a time to think about the outcome we want and how to limit the barriers to that end. It is a time of preparation for the real work and a time of transition for the mind. It’s a trade of between patience and consequence.

A well-set stage doesn’t guarantee a good show, but it certainly makes it more likely.

As for my internet course, I waited to start until yesterday morning when I was well-rested and could remove other distractions. I’m glad I did. I flew through 20% of it in just a couple hours with no stress and no pressure.

The stage has been set. A positive start to the course gives me a positive feeling about the whole endeavor.

And that’s worth waiting for.

 

Opportunity

According to Cesar Millan, every bad moment is an opportunity for rehabilitation.

He doesn’t panic when a dog lunges.

He doesn’t get angry when they try to bite.

He doesn’t give up when the dog snaps.

He simply sees the moment as an opportunity.

A moment to show the dog another choice. A different way of responding. A different way of being.

I could have used Cesar the other day.

No, I didn’t try to bite anyone.

But my past tried to bite me.

Brock and I signed up for a house fund registry which meant that a significant portion of our wedding gifts were in the form of money in a joint Paypal account.  We had the agreement that all funds gifted would be applied towards the house with joint decisions. All good.

And then, one morning when I checked my email between classes, I see that $500 had been withdrawn from the account. The email didn’t tell me where the money went or what the intent was behind the transfer.

It just told me that money had been taken.

It just triggered panic in my gut.

I had to endure the entire day before I would have time to log in to Paypal to see the intended destination of the funds or to ask Brock about the transfer.

My past tried to tell me that this was a nefarious move on some level – either trying to hide money or deciding to move forward on a purchase without discussion.

My past made it a bad moment.

My present recognized it as an opportunity for rehabilitation.

In my former life, I would have a) found a way to call my husband right away and demand to know what was going on (see Assumptions) or b) let my panic and anger build through the day as I imagined all of the potential scenarios that could be unraveling.

But this was an opportunity to make a choice.

This was a chance to respond differently.

I started by relaxing. Telling myself repeatedly to take deep breaths to calm the panic in the gut (that would make a good band name:) ). I reminded myself that my response was from the past, triggered by my fears of being betrayed again. My reaction had nothing to do with Brock or the actual situation at hand. I decided to believe that everything was okay. But I also made the decision to check once I got home. Not with Brock, since it was really my problem, but with Paypal.

Trust but verify.

By the time I arrived home, I wasn’t panicked. I wasn’t angry.

I didn’t even run to my computer to log in to Paypal.

But I also didn’t avoid it either.

When I finally did look at the account, I was calm. Rational. Thinking with my present mind rather than with the alarmed mind of the past. I could see clearly and interpret the numbers.

The $500? It was moved into our joint savings account. The amount was set by Paypal’s limits.

I walked down the hall to where Brock was sitting at his computer, wrapped my arms around his shoulders.

“Thank you for starting to move the money into our savings.”

I never told him about my panic. That’s not his responsibility.

I’m the one who has to whisper my own life and see opportunity for rehabilitation in every bad moment.

Lesson learned:)

 

 

My Husband Walked Into a Bar

My husband was out of town for business this past week.

As I’m winding down for the evening, I receive the following text:

Sitting at the bar of the steak house that I am at and there is a woman in her 70s who is cracking me up.

My response?

That’s the kind of woman I want you to pick up in bars:)

He chatted with this lady through the evening, sharing pieces of their conversation with me.

She was in her mid 70s and was recently widowed after being married for 50 years.

50 years.

With the same person.

And then they’re gone.

Wow.

I remember how alien it was to be alone after 16 years.

But that’s a drop in the bucket.

My husband was drawn to this woman’s energy. She had made the decision to fully embrace this next chapter of her life, even though it wasn’t asked for.

She got a tattoo. On her butt.

She dates younger men. Plural. Her pick line? “Do you have life alert? I’ve fallen for you and can’t get up.”

She is going ziplining this week and told stories of her other adventures.

She didn’t use the excuse, “I’m too old.” She didn’t live in the past, although she didn’t forget it either.

She shared a bit of marital advice with my husband.

Write notes. Lots of them.

She went on to talk about how her husband left her notes on an almost daily basis. She laughed about it at the time since their frequency made them not-so-special.

But then he became ill. And he died.

And now she looks back at the notes and smiles, remembering the relationship.

And now she realizes that even if each note may not have seemed special at the time, the accumulation of them is priceless because it speaks of the affection and bond held through the years.

I understand.

Brock and I are note writers. It’s amazing the power of a few simple words or a smily face can have on your mood and outlook. I have a folder filled with the ones I have received from him over the years. I hope I’ll need a box to hold them before the end.

I enjoyed my by proxy evening with the this woman – a reminder that you are never too old, that you can fully embrace life after unwanted change and to never take yourself too seriously.

I think I’ll hold off on that gluteal tattoo, however:)

Self Sabotage

I am about to take a risk.

A calculated one.

A paced one.

But a risk nonetheless.

And I’m scared.

I’m scared I might fail.

I’m scared I’m making a wrong choice.

I’m scared that I’ll have trouble fitting everything in and I’ll lose focus on what’s important.

I’m scared I’ll make people upset.

Or disappointed.

But most of all, I’m scared that it might work.

That it could be the piece I’ve been looking for.

That it could provide me with the freedom I’ve been craving.

Where I am is comfortable. Known. Stable.

But I want more.

I’ve tried before and didn’t quite fail but it wasn’t the answer.

This may be.

It feels right.

But it also feels risky, which makes me want to pull back.

But then I’ll never know what may have been.

Tonight, I am committing to trying.

To risking.

I am making the promise of self support rather than self sabotage.

I started by making a list of all the risks I have taken that have paid off.

One is fresh on my mind.

I took the biggest risk of my life choosing to stay in Atlanta.

Choosing to move near Brock.

Choosing to let myself be vulnerable.

And to let myself love again.

That risked more than anything else ever could.

And I’m happier than ever.

I wonder what this new risk might bring?

At the least, I’ll know I’ve tried.

But hopefully, just hopefully, I’ll be able to add it to my list of successes in another year or two.

I’m going to get myself out of my way, take down the roadblocks of “what if” and enjoy the ride.