"Did You Have A Good Day?"

My husband often asks me that, possibly to see what the definition du jour is of "good."
When considered from that angle, it's an interesting question.

"Depends on what you mean by 'good'."

Does good mean "productive"?  If so, what qualifies as productive?  In my experience, people are delighted to weigh in on what productive means...for other people.
Less so for themselves.  (I've done this too.)

Does good mean "relaxing"?  That's an easy one; as a card-carrying Calvinist, the answer is "No!"
Others may beg to differ.

How about..."satisfying"?  Is a good day a satisfying day?

Every few months, I check out a Monday Morning Mindset call for business owners.  There's a general formula to these calls:  an inspiration, relating that inspiration to business, and exhortations to Go Out There and Work Hard, even if (especially if) the work is uncomfortable or intimidating.  This demonstrates seriousness and commitment.

Does it also make for a good day? 

Related:  Is it necessary to dislike the journey, in order for the goal to be considered "worthwhile"?
Further Related:  What if the work/journey has some obvious unpleasant features...but these don't really bother you?

I believe it's easy to record a day on the "good" side of the ledger, even if it contained some objectively unpleasant elements.  The trick is to note what went right, and to resist listening to those who would say, "Yes, but you didn't...".

A few bumps in the daily road shouldn't be sufficient to write off the whole day as unproductive, stressful or unsatisfying.  If you're flexing your skills at all...it was a good day.  Enjoy.

The "Loser" Spot

When I was in high school, I tried out for the precision-skating team in my figure skating club.
I was a late-comer to figure skating, my parents didn't want to get second or third jobs to bankroll any hard-core training, so...

...I wasn't very good.
In fact, I didn't even try out until tenth grade. And then, I had to share a spot with another skater for a year.

At that time, a senior-level team could skate 32.  Not only was that a lot of bodies to move around in formations, when all the skaters lined up for a pinwheel, the ends of the line nearly touched the wall.

And, they moved fast.

Of course, the ends of the pinwheel were prestige spots, reserved for the strongest skaters.  As one moved toward the center of the line, there was less speed and strength required.  At the very center, the two "anchor" spots required only toe-picks and some upper body strength to counteract the centrifugal pull of the rest of the line.

In today's vernacular, the center of the pinwheel was the loser spot.
I spent my three years on the team in that spot.
(That said, I had a blast the whole time.)

Today, with the career I trained for behind me, and another one heading toward the cliff,
I sometimes think I'm back in the center of the pinwheel.  Maybe the "pinwheel of life", to put a metaphorical spin on it.

I got closer to the end position for awhile, enough to feel a little wind in my hair.
That was ok; still...the best spot, the high-profie, all-my-friends-can-see-me, everyone-knows-how-good-I-must-be spot never quite happened.

Now, what am I to make of being back in the center of the pinwheel?
Well, it's humbling, for sure.  Everyone knows the weakest skaters are in the center.
The anchor spot holds zero prospects for glory and recognition.

But...
Somebody's gotta do it.  Without the anchors, there's no pinwheel at all.
It's not glamorous, it's not selfie-worthy, but it IS indispensable.
Maybe not so loser after all.

"Whatever It Takes"...or "Championship Focus"?

Poor "whatever it takes" is really getting a drubbing! When I first started working from home, I heard "whatever it takes" a LOT! Was I willing to do "whatever it takes" to develop my skills, build a business...or was I "not serious"? Not liking either of those, my quest for a third option led me to my skate bag, where most of life's answers lurk within. As an adult skater, I felt the sting of humiliation for fourteen long years, as I strove to master the mental game of competing/performing. Along the way, I watched my share of elite skaters, and I noticed that there always seemed to be a few in the very top ranks who had a reputation for being "inconsistent." Inconsistency could mean rarely having a clean short program and a clean long program in the same competition, or it could mean doing a particular jump well in practices and in warm-up, but rarely executing it in competition. Or, it could mean mentally giving up in a program, once an element was missed. I knew I would never join the ranks of elite skaters, but it finally occurred to me that I could do one thing as well as, or even better than, the top international skaters: I could focus. In fact, I could have elite-level focus. "Championship focus" became a personal catch-phrase and the goal of all my performances. Everything else flows from championship focus.

If it works, and it does work really well for skating, can championship focus be the cornerstone for success in other areas of life? Is championship focus a good substitute for that vague-but-you-know-it's-awful "whatever it takes"? I believe it can. I work from home, and the dirty dishes can be a distraction. Will championship focus help me ignore them for a couple hours? Of course. Or, I have a writing deadline to meet. Can championship focus keep me off the internet? Absolutely. In fact, championship focus feels successful in and of itself. Focus produces targeted activity; targeted activity produces success (eventually). Championship focus is mastery over the self, and once the self is in hand, it really is possible to do....whatever it takes.

The Lesson of Refrigerator Art

It's happening...
I'm occasionally hearing my mother's words coming out of my own mouth
(and why is it never the "good stuff"???)

I can still remember teen-age me responding poorly to some variation of
"After all I do for you...", but now,

I catch myself thinking, "After all I do for you..."
(I don't think I've actually said those words out loud.   At least, I hope I haven't.)

Of course, the children respond poorly to any statement that implies gratitude would be a great response,  but what's more interesting to me is the flash of anger I feel, when one of them is willing to take my setting my own schedule aside as a matter of course, with no acknowledgment, but feel free to complain about their quality of life.

And that brings me to refrigerator art.

We still have lots of it on the 'fridge (beats cleaning off fingerprints).
Childish efforts, presented with pride, and accepted with gushing enthusiasm. 

Nothing I asked for, no specifications given, just "I did this for you."

I would never dream of crushing their spirits by saying "I didn't ask for this."  Or,
"Smaller would have been better." 
It truly is the thought that counts. 

After my last go-round with Number One Son, I got to wondering...
at what age do people not mind if their "Look, I made this for you!" efforts are casually swatted aside. 
"So?  I didn't ask you to do that."

Is it teen years, when the young man sends flowers (old-fashioned, I know) to his crush on her birthday, only to see them tossed aside?  Does he mind?  Of course he does. 

Maybe it's early marriage, when the wife surprises her husband with dinner reservations, only to have him complain about the restaurant.  Might that crush her spirit a little?  Probably.

Maybe middle-age people don't mind, when they arrange a trip for an elderly parent who only wants to talk about how bad the food was.  But...I'll bet they do mind.

Which brings me back to that flash of anger.
When I decide to do something nice for the children "just because," and either get the brush-off, or "I didn't ASK you to do that" (true enough),  I don't think it's so very different than a little one making a Welcome Home Mommy sign in squiggly letters, taping it to a piece of re-bar, standing it in the driveway and waiting eagerly to see if I noticed. 

It's not really anger...it's sadness.  That quick, casual, spirit-crushing dismissal of my "refrigerator art", my "Look!  I made this for you!" 

I don't think we ever stop making refrigerator art, in whatever form, for those we love.  I'm hoping I can somehow teach the children that, as they get older, it's important to recognize the refrigerator art coming their way...no matter what form it takes.  And...to handle the spirit of the giver with care.

The $32 Mascara & The Sonic Toothbrush

Things that make us say, "Hmmmm." Next up: Value. What does that even mean? Does it mean quantity? "Value-size" products are larger. Does it mean quality? Maybe. I have seen "New package, same great taste!", which presumably refers to the contents and not to the box itself. When I hear, "It's too expensive", I wonder. If I can buy even more so-so tasting cereal, or ineffective body lotion with my hard-earned money, is that value? If the cosmetology student will cut my hair for cheap, is that value? I'm not talking economic necessity, but purchasing marginally desirable products or services and labeling that transaction "value", based solely on the amount of money spent. Enter the thirty-two-dollar mascara and the sonic toothbrush. For years, I resigned myself to having thin lashes and trying this and that mascara to help "bring forward" my small eyes. The only time I've had a really good mascara experience was when a cosmetics rep did my eyes, and who could hope to replicate that at home? So, I continued to shell out ten dollars or so for mascara that didn't really do what I want it to, but with no hope of better quality results at home, I didn't want to pony up any more.

Then...I had an epiphany. A light-lashed friend suddenly was sporting a thick, black fringe around each eye. "Did you notice my mascara?" she asked. As a matter of fact, I had, and when I realized she had applied it herself, I knew I had to have some. "It's thirty-two dollars, which is ridiculous," she continued. Maybe, but I didn't care. Here was a product that did exactly what I wanted it to do. Not a cent of that thirty-two dollars would be wasted. I would shift some things in the budget and finally get value.

I had heard a trusted resource singing the praises of his sonic toothbrush, but I didn't really pay attention. I used chew on my toothbrushes, so each one lasted about a month, and spending more money on chew toys didn't make sense. Then, I won a sonic toothbrush at the dentist's office. After three uses, I understood what the fuss was about. My teeth felt dentist's-office clean and polished. I couldn't chew on a vibrating toothbrush anyway, and it used less toothpaste (put a big glob of toothpaste on a sonic toothbrush, turn it on and see what happens). "We have got to get a toothbrush head for each one of us," I told my husband. "This thing is great!" Would I have ever spent ninety-some dollars on a toothbrush? No, because I didn't understand its value. Here was another, hitherto unknown, product that did exactly what I wanted it to do. If I had purchased the toothbrush myself, I would have recovered my investment within a year.

There is a difference between spending money and purchasing results. I sometimes choose to just spend money (kitchen tablecloth) and sometimes choose to purchase results (mascara). But I don't confuse one for the other, and I know when I'm getting value and when I'm choosing to set value aside. At the very least...I feel smarter!

Embracing The Suck

This is a tough one.
Embracing a poor performance?  Why would anyone do that?  There's no benefit to embracing the suck...right?

Actually, there is, if it allows you to get started.

I struggle with this in my skating.

Several times a week, I practice with girls who are my children's age, and ultra competitive.
My skills and my program are pathetic, by comparison.
That's ok, but it makes it hard to put my music on.

I also have on-and-off problems with asthma when I skate.
Knowing that I'll probably feel like someone filled my lungs with gasoline, set it on fire, then stabbed me in the chest also makes it hard to put my music on.

But...the only way to improve is to work through the sucky part.
I haven't found a good way around it (and believe me, I've looked!)

A couple years ago, I noticed that when my coach told me to do my program in a lesson, and I replied, "Ok, but it's not going to be good," my performance was always much better than I thought it would be.
I wondered why this was.  What about the self-fulfilling prophecy thing?

Why would I perform better, after saying I would do worse?

Now, I think I have the answer.
When I say, "Ok, but it's not going to be good,"  I'm really saying, and telling myself, "It's not going to be good...and I'm doing it anyway."

Meaning, "I'm getting this bit of incompetence out of the way today, on the way to better things.  I'm not avoiding it...I'm going to run right at it."

When I run right at that poor performance (of anything, work, sports, whatever), I get a little bit of learning, a little improvement.  It may suck, but it's not a waste of effort.

It's still tough.  It takes a LOT of focus to go full speed into a likely-unpleasant experience. And then again.  And again.  And one more time.
Even after all that, maybe the performance isn't great, it just sucks less.

The International Judging System (IJS) of figure skating, and my sons' Boy Scout Troop both understand the value of "it sucks less."

Under IJS, all elements in a program have a "base value", consisting of a certain number of points.  Harder elements have a higher base value.  Then, the judges can add or deduct up to 3 points, in the Grade of Execution (GOE).  So, a -3 is bad, -2 is less bad, -1 is less bad, and zero really is ok.  +1, +2 and +3 are gravy.  Working toward zeros is solid.

The scouts have a system of deciding who goes camping together in a group.  -1 scouts need someone to assist them, 0 scouts can take care of themselves and +1 scouts can take care of themselves and help a -1.  The whole group should equal 0.
I was so proud, and said so, when each of mine stopped being a -1 and became a zero!

Embracing the suck isn't the same as slacking off or settling for less than my best.  It's just acknowledging "Hey, this is where I am...tomorrow, maybe I'll be closer to zero!"

As long as whatever I'm doing is moving in the right direction, it's all good.

Nice Recovery!

This happened recently, giving me a fast case of emotional whiplash:

My teen son plays pipe organ.  He sometimes plays for church services.  He's been doing this on and off for six years, and he seems to have mastered the art of performing (which is different from technical skill...although ideally the two travel together). 

Very recently, my son was charged with providing most of the music for a church service.  Things were going well, until he got to the second or third piece, a hymn. 

He began the short introduction.  The first three notes might have been correct, but none of the remaining notes and chords were.  I don't know if his hands were just out of position or what the problem was, but as he continued playing, keeping correct rhythm and tempo.  I could feel myself curling up in embarrassment for him.

Then, something happened:

My son finished the introduction, and while holding the last chord with one hand and his feet, reached around with his other hand and gave the congregation a big thumbs-up.  Those who could see him started laughing.  My son gave himself a tiny shake, then launched into the hymn.  No problems.

As soon as I saw his thumbs up, I knew it was going to be ok. 
He hadn't freaked out.  He wasn't questioning his ability to play.
He just made a mistake...and immediately put it behind him.
I was even more proud of his recovery, than had he played error-free. 

Embracing the idea failure as a temporary and transient thing takes amazing mental discipline to develop.  I know...I continue to work at it in my own figure skating.  I've had bad falls I was able to mentally shake off, because I understood they were just flukes, and minor falls that bothered me for weeks, making me hesitant and even more prone to mistakes.

I know belief can't overcome lack of technique or knowledge, in any realm.
"You just gotta believe in yourself" isn't particularly helpful...or true.
But, I also know belief can take perfectly good technique, skill or knowledge, and slam-dunk it right into the trash.  "She lost her nerve."  or "He lost his focus."

I'm keeping the image of that thumbs up "pinned" to the front of my brain, for the next time I start to talk myself out of something I actually can do. 

It's a great reminder that past performance (even just seconds in the past) is no guarantee of future (right now)...failure. 

You Never Know When...

Pearls of wisdom show up in the oddest places...

Agatha Christie has been one of my favorite authors since middle school.
I couldn't read Nancy Drew mysteries before bed, but Agatha Christie murders never bothered me.

That said, none of her writing ever struck me as "words to live by" (no pun intended), except...
these few sentences from Towards Zero, where a man who tried, and failed, to kill himself, hears this from his hospital nurse:

"It may be just by being somewhere--not doing anything--just by being at a certain place at a certain time--oh, I can't say what I mean, but you might just--just walk along a street someday and just by doing that accomplish something terribly important--perhaps without even knowing what it was."

Wow!  How powerful is that??
But...why?
I think this bit of fictional conversation strikes two chords:

First, it seems everyone, at their core, has a deep, primitive longing to believe"my life matters."  It's a reason to get out of bed, to struggle through tough times, to take satisfaction in completing a task.  One's life doesn't even have to matter to another person.  It could mean caring for an animal, creating a beautiful garden where birds flock or promoting a cause. 

The effects of "my life doesn't matter" are easy to spot:  depression, despair, anxiety, addictions (to put reality on hold for a little while), and even suicide.  Conversely, believing  that one is needed, even just a little, by someone or something, is enough to keep people plugging along through pretty desperate circumstances. 

Second, there is boundless hope in the idea that, just by going through the motions of daily life, one might make a dramatic difference for the better.  "Even if I didn't accomplish anything today/this week/this month, just walking along the street tomorrow might accomplish something terribly important."  And if the idea of not knowing is ok, it's perfectly possible to believe one really is changing the course of history (in a very small way!) every day. 

Think of all the times you've heard, or said, "It was nothing, really."  Sometimes that patently isn't true, but other times...maybe it is.  Perhaps picking up a few groceries for a friend, along with your own, or smiling at the bus driver, or handing someone the mitten they dropped has an effect far beyond that moment. 

It's kinda cool, when you think about it.
You just never know when... 

The Problem With Knowing Everything

Have you met The Person Who Knows Everything?

I have.

It should be a wonderful thing, to have a real-live "walking encyclopedia" available to answer all the "What do I do now?" and "How do I do this?" and "What's the best solution for...?" questions.

But it's not.
Not really.

Because, along with complete conviction of having the correct answer to everything (even when it patently isn't so), comes arrogance.

And with arrogance comes anger.

And with anger...comes inability to learn.

That's the REAL problem. 

To the person who has an all-encompassing lock on the truth, no one else has any new information to offer, no relevant insights, no compelling opposing point of view.

A Person Who Knows Everything is trapped inside the confines of their own (limited) knowledge.  They can't become bigger/faster/stronger/smarter, because no one can help them improve. 

I think most teenagers go through a Knowing Everything stage (it's those years when the parents' IQs reportedly take a severe dip, before recovering when the teenagers reach their twenties!)
Mercifully, most of them snap out of it, with a little assistance from Real Life as An Adult.

Most of the churches I've been a member of have a summer youth outreach program, often consisting of a week-long trip to Appalachia, or some other impoverished section of the country, to do some basic construction/building maintenance work.

On their return, a portion of the Sunday service is devoted to their report.
Every time I've listened to a group of these youth taking turns describing their week, at least two of them say something along the lines of:

"I learned so much from the people we went to help."
"They taught me about life."
"I thought I was helping them, but they were really helping me."

Hmmm.

I'm learning that humbleness, or willingness to say "I don't know...but I can find out", has gotten an unnecessarily bad rap.  Humbleness isn't about being weak or unintelligent.  It's about having a life-long ability to learn new things, to change directions if one desires, and to not waste time balancing on a self-created pedestal.  A Person Who Knows Everything has no place to go...but down.