3 magic words

If any of you are like me -- and I have a feeling there are a few of you -- after reading the title of this post, you're likely scanning the text to discover as quickly as possible the three magic words of which I write. Well, this post doesn't work that way because the three magic words are unique to each person; no generic magic words to be found.

That's right. There's three for me, and there's three for you ... and you ... and you.

Let me explain: Many of you will remember my recent lament about not having epiphanies upon reading articles in MORE and O magazines. Though I've yet to have an epiphany, I did recently read a life-improving article in O, written by Martha Beck, O's goal-achieving guru in residence. The article, loosely translated, describes a new method for achieving one's goals. And since reading it, I've been a little less consumed with epiphanies and more focused on reaching my goals ... with the help of three magic words.

In the article (http://www.oprah.com/spirit/Goal-Setting-Strategies-from-Life-Coach-Martha-Beck), Beck tells the reader to imagine she's achieved an ultimate goal, to actually visualize what achievement of that goal looks like. The ultimate goal for me, the one I visualized in detail, was making my living off my words, through published books and my blog.

Yay for visualization. But that's not the end of the exercise.

Beck says to then think of three adjectives for how you would feel upon reaching such a goal, three words describing your psychological takeaway upon such an achievement. Beck's rationale being, basically, that it's often not the actual achievement we desperately seek, but the feelings and emotional payoff that would accompany the achievement.

In terms of achieving my writing goal, the three adjectives I came up with were creative, empowered and financially secure.

But wait -- that's still not the end of the exercise.

Beck continues by saying that instead of focusing so hard on that specific goal, you should focus on using those three magic words you came up with. She encourages you to engage in actions or tasks that would lead you to feel one or more of those words, even if the tasks aren't directly related to that original goal. Because, again, it's not the goal that soothes the soul, Beck says, it's the feelings we imagine resulting from that goal that we desire. The goals may still be achieved but they're no longer, in and of themselves, the end-all, be-all.

Believe it or not, I think Beck's right. Since doing the exercise, I've focused on tasks and activities that make me feel creative, things that make me feel empowered, things that contribute to being financially secure. Most of the tasks relate to only one of the adjectives at a time, and many of the activities have nothing to do with becoming a well-paid writer. Yet I feel more content about my career goals, my career path.

Because of my improved attitude about my career goals since this little exercise, I thought I'd apply it to another goal/dream of mine to see if it does the same -- the dream of having all my family living nearby ... my children and my grandchildren, all within easy visiting distance.

So I visualized the scenario, the goal, in detail, and I came up with three adjectives related to achieving it. Hence, going forward I will pursue activities that elicit feelings associated with my three new magic words: nurturing, intimate, memorable.

I've just set about putting my new magic words into action, so I'm not sure where they will take me. But I'm crossing my fingers that the three adjectives related to my family goal are as magically effective as those regarding my career goal have been. Even just a smidgen of the magic will be much appreciated if it can ease by the slightest bit the burden of having chunks of my heart living 815 miles away.

It's worth a shot, I believe. I'll share the good news of its effectiveness with you once I see that the magic's in motion.

Abracadabra, here goes!

Photo: Wikimedia Commons

Today's question:

Following Martha Beck's exercise, what is one of your three magic words?

Ramble on

Nothing incredibly profound here today, just a few of the ramblings rumbling 'round my noggin:

• Bubby has been honing his sense of humor and it's an unending pleasure to witness. Tuesday night's Skype session included Bubby telling PawDad and me the name of his soon-to-arrive brother. He got Mommy's goat by insisting again and again ... and again ... that the baby's name is Bubba. Yep, BUBBA. He giggled gloriously throughout the entire tease.

• One of the hazards of not working a regular job is the lack of face time with a calendar. With several physical therapy appointments scheduled with two different therapists -- appointments written on the calendar -- it's possible for one to think they have an appointment and show up for it only to be told that particular appointment is actually the following week. Same day, same time, just the next week. Trust me, it can happen. And did. To me. Yesterday.

• I just don't have it in me to Twitter and tweet enough to raise my Klout score. Tell me, do I really need Klout?

• Speaking of Ramble On, it used to be that Led Zeppelin rarely -- if ever -- granted permission for their songs to be used in movies and such. In the last few weeks, Jim and I have heard Zeppelin several times in the background (or foreground) in movies and television shows. The Beatles on iTunes, Zeppelin on soundtracks ... sheesh, what's the world coming to?

• Ever wonder how the real Christopher Robin Milne felt about being the model for Christopher Robin in his father's Winnie-the-Pooh books? Probably much like fictional Luke Hayman did serving as the model for the even more fictional Luke Hayseed of "The Hayseed Chronicles" series in Mr. Toppit by Charles Elton, the book I most recently finished ... and enjoyed immensely.

• If you have money to spare and decide to purchase a few domain names from GoDaddy in hopes of later selling those domains for a pretty price, be sure to set the renewal option to "manual" so domains you haven't sold and no longer want don't renew automatically at a time when you no longer have money to spare. Trust me, it can happen. And did. To me. Yesterday. At a time when I no longer have money to spare. To the tune of $172.

• As I mentally prepare for the next semester as site coordinator for the Children's Literacy Center, I think about all the 7-pound-3-ounce curriculum books (true weight each, per my postage scale) I need to move from one site to another. Light bulb moment: I realize that it was after moving a bucket of 10 from the site to my garage at the end of the last session that the pain in my back intensified, initiating my call to the physical therapist. Light bulb moment #2: Mickey wasn't the sole cause of my current disc issues after all. So I hereby publicly apologize to Mickey for blaming him and calling him a cusshead. (But ... if he hadn't freaked in the face of the deer, my back likely would have been okay lugging the books. Maybe.)

• Which reminds me: An apology followed by a but is no apology at all. So amend that apology to "I'm sorry, Mickey, for placing all the blame for my cussed-up back on you."

• Where oh where is the humor in the fact after 20 years of writing picture-book manuscripts I finally, finally, finally get an agent for those books ... just as the death knell inarguably begins ringing for the picture-book market? There is no humor in it. Trust me.

• Three weeks from today I'll be flying to the desert to babysit Bubby for a few days while Mommy and Daddy attend a convention in California. The anticipation has addled my brain, rendering me incapable of formulating a coherent and cohesive post consisting of anything more than bulleted ramblings. I'll try again tomorrow.

Today's question:

What's at the top of your list of Thursday thoughts, rambles, rants?

Update

on 2011-01-13 20:10 by Lisa Carpenter

UPDATE on GoDaddy charge: Woo-hoo! I sucked it up, called GoDaddy and told them I'm stupid, and a wonderfully nice man named Bill told me "GoDaddy will take care of you" and reversed the $172.44! Yeah! GoDaddy rocks!

A crystal ball widget in my future?

On my browser home page, I have lots of little widgets: some serious, some fun, some newsy, some not really worth anything at all.

One that usually fits the "fun" category is my horoscope, placed near the bottom of the page since I don't often pay it much attention.

This is what it said yesterday:

CANCER by Rick Levine

It's easier for you to talk about what you're capable of doing today than to actually follow through and get concrete results. Accordingly, it may be smarter to spend the day engaging in meetings, phone calls and emails, rather than pushing your agenda forward by executing your plans. Figure out the best way to reach your goals and prepare to make your move.

Good thing I read it after I finished my most recent picture book manuscript and after I sent it off to my agent. If I had read it before, I'm pretty darn sure the manuscript wouldn't have been completed yesterday nor the e-mail sent.

Not that I follow the advice of my horoscope by any means, but I do regularly follow any excuse to procrastinate. And that would have been a good one.

Guess it's proof I should mentally move the horoscope widget from the "fun" category to "not really worth anything at all."

I think a crystal ball widget might be more useful at this point anyway -- to tell me if my recently completed manuscript will be THE one.

Wish me luck!

Photo credit: Wikimedia Commons

Today's question:

What's your take on daily horoscopes?

More than words

For the past few months, due to divvying up first my mother-in-law's household goods then her personal items, I find myself again and again considering the items my daughters will find once I'm gone or, as is the case with Jim's mom, incapacitated and no longer able to live outside of a nursing home. I've thought about the books they'll take for their own bookshelves, the knick-knacks they'll split between them, the family photos they'll add to their own albums and share with their own children to come.

It wasn't until reading the comment from Grams on my post about going through the very last of my mother-in-law's items that I considered things the girls might find that I don't want them to find. "It made us know how much we didn't know about our parents," Grams said about what she and her siblings found in their parents' belongings. Her comment made me think about my own tucked away possessions, items that will reveal to my daughters thoughts, feelings, traits I wasn't willing to share while living, ones I definitely don't want them to know once I'm gone.

I'm not talking about illegal activities, funky fetishes or stacks of money with which Jim and I played McScrooge. Pretty much everything I have is out in the open, available for inspection any time anyone wants to delve deeper into who I am, who I was. Pretty much everything, that is, except my journals.

I've always thought the published journals of famous people, long after they're dead and gone, paint an inaccurate picture of the person, put them up for analysis, speculation and scrutiny based on limited information. If they're anything like me, those famous folk wrote in their journals when their hearts were heavy, when they were at their most vulnerable, most sad, most confused, most sick and tired of spinning the wheels of a daily grind that wasn't the life they originally imagined. But those worries, fears, complaints scribbled in private are not truly representative of the person as a whole.

And that's what I worry my girls would find in the many journals I've kept, journals written from the time I was a teen up through about four years ago. I rarely -- if ever -- write in a journal anymore, but all the angst, fears and probably a good share of self-pity of the past sits locked away in a trunk in the closet. The words written long ago are only a portion of who I was, who I am ... at my darkest.

I'm not sure why I've held on to those journals. It seemed better than the alternative, though, better than throwing away all the years of pouring out my heart onto paper. I've lost the key to the trunk in which they're stored, and that's been okay with me. I have no need, no reason, no desire to relive all those old thoughts, so knowing they're in a trunk which I can't open has seemed reasonable, safe.

But upon my death, I'm pretty sure the girls won't let a lock without a key keep them from finding out what's inside the funky blue trunk in the study. So I'm considering what to do with that trunk. Do I pitch the thing in the garbage, locked and unopened? Do I pry it open and scan the journals to see if my concerns are unwarranted? Or do I leave well enough alone, leave it locked, leave it in the closet, leave it until I'm dead and gone and the girls can do with it what they will?

Like I said, I'm considering it. I don't really know what to do. Or when to do it. I'm at a crossroads, feeling a little anxious about the whole thing.

Maybe I need to go journal about it. Commit words to paper in hopes of coming to some sort of resolution, some sort of answer. Just as I did in journals in the past.

First, though, I need to find a hiding place for the new journal. One that doesn't require a key. Better yet, one that will self-destruct after a short period of time so I don't have yet another journal causing me such consternation.

Photo credit: Stock.xchng

Today's question:

Do you write in a journal or diary? If so, what do you do with them once filled?

The secret to a successful marriage

Today I'm in the desert visiting Bubby. Yesterday -- the day I wrote this post -- I was preparing to leave for my visit with Bubby and was short on time.

In light of that, and in light of the wedding anniversary Jim and I recently celebrated, I thought I'd share with you one of my more popular articles from the past several years.

I wrote this more than 10 years ago, but it still gets published as a reprint here and there. In fact, you currently can find it HERE and THERE (where it was originally published).

No need to click to other sites, though, as I've posted the whole thing right here on Grandma's Briefs.

Dear friends, I give you:

The secret to a successful marriage: Don’t share (at least not everything)

In order to make our marriage work, my husband and I decided to split up. The bickering and blaming had gotten out of hand and something needed to change. Luckily, our solution didn’t require breaking up the family or maintaining separate domiciles.

No, what saved our marriage was opening separate bank accounts.

Individual Accounts, Individual Bills

My husband and I have very different approaches to managing money. He balances the checkbook – to the penny – on a weekly basis. I prefer rounding figures in my head and am perfectly satisfied if the account is balanced quarterly.

Budgeting and balancing sessions are now virtually non-existent. He maintains his account and I maintain mine. We do have joint access to both accounts in case of an emergency.

Moving away from shared finances required each of us to commit to ownership of specific household expenses. Because my husband makes more money than I do, he pays a larger share of the bills. Paying those specific bills are his responsibility and my bills are my concern.

We decided in advance who would pay for irregular expenses such as Friday night pizza, extracurricular activities for our children and doctor’s office co-payments. Holiday shopping is fairly divided, and emergency situations are handled as they arise.

Extended Separation

Once we realized the positive results of our financial separation, we applied it further. We now hold separate gas and credit cards, too. Again, the accounts are actually joint for practical reasons but we use different cards exclusively.

We never see one another’s statements, so questions regarding particular charges or overspending don’t exist. Honesty about the status of accounts is a given and we’re both conscientious about maintaining an excellent credit rating. Such an arrangement would not work if partners took out any hostilities toward one another through financial means.

Private Places and Spaces

Reflecting on the success of our marriage, I realize that separate finances aren’t the only reason we’re still happily together after so many years. Another reason is that we’ve never shared a bathroom.

We both come from large families with communal bathrooms and agree that flossing and flushing is something that should be done in private. What goes on behind a closed bathroom door should remain a mystery, in our opinions.

Another area in which we prefer separateness is in our e-mail accounts. It may sound trivial but addresses like JillJackHill@connectedhips.com make me crazy. We have separate interests and separate online friends so we have separate e-mail addresses. We don’t worry about what e-mail the other is sending or receiving. It’s not a matter of naiveté; it’s a matter of trust – and our computer being centrally located and accessible to all eyes at any time. Secret e-mails from online lovers are not likely in a household of nosy occupants.

Not for Everyone

Separation in a relationship is not for everyone. Luckily it works for my husband and me. As we move toward our third decade as partners, we realize that our efforts at being separate have made us happier to be together. And on that point we stand firmly, together.

Today's question:

What do you have the most difficult time sharing with others?

My answer: I don't like sharing the driving. I very much prefer driving anywhere we need to go, even on long trips. I'm a control freak and want to control the driving and the driver so it's much better for everyone involved if I'm the one behind the wheel instead of in the passenger seat.

White rabbits

Long, long ago -- okay, about 25 years ago -- I read writing advice from a popular writer about capturing fleeting thoughts that may possibly be the spark of something intriguing, an idea worth writing about or adding to a story or article. Paraphrasing (because I don't really remember the exact quote), the writer advised all novice writers to immediately write down random thoughts, wherever you may be and whatever you may be doing, as those random thoughts are like wild white rabbits that hop away, never to come 'round again, gone in the blink of an eye.

So long, long ago I started writing down all those fleeting "white rabbit" thoughts I had, jotting them on Post-It notes, the backs of old business cards (a great use for the hundreds that remain once you move on to a new position), wacky notepaper, whatever was handy. For the longest time, I filed those thoughts away in a decorative tin I kept on my desk, just in case I was ever in need of inspiration or ideas.

My snippets of white rabbit thoughts eventually filled the tin to overflowing. So I purchased a nifty decorative wooden box that looks rather old-fashioned and unique (even though it came from Hobby Lobby), moved all my thoughts into it and placed it atop my desk. Other than stashing a note here or there at the front of the box -- never having the time to place it correctly into the index-card-divided categories of the type of writing that may come from the idea: picture book, greeting card, general interest, etc. -- I've not looked at my notes in several years.

Until yesterday.

As I sat doing my very important computing for the day, I looked up, saw the box, and decided to peruse those snippets of paper to see how deep those years-old white rabbit thoughts may run. Here are a few examples of what I found within my nifty box o' thoughts:

"People naturally steer clear of others with obvious yet harmless psychological problems (ie Bruce Harper and his inability to be himself and his Elvis impersonations)."

What? I have no idea what that meant. Worse yet, I have absolutely no recollection of anyone named Bruce Harper ... who does Elvis impersonations.

"I've never seen an animal talk with its mouth full until Sadie just did tonight."

Sadie was the coolest cat ever and has been gone now for nearly 10 years. But did it really matter that my prim and proper Siamese once talked with her mouth full?

"I used to be a mountain goat when I was younger, grandma said."                                      

Did I overhear this? Did I imagine this? What is this?

I get what that well-published author was trying to get across to newbies all those years ago, but has she ever gone back and read some of the snippets she so carefully jotted down and honestly found a nugget of a novel, a smidgen of a spark of a successful story or article?

I don't know about her, but from the looks of things deep inside my box o' thoughts and all the inspirational good it's done me, the majority of my white rabbits would have been far better off remaining wild, left to hippity-hop away, never to be seen again.

Today's question:

What is the most important thing you'll do today?

My answer: Refill my dog's estrogen prescription.

Flushing Grandma's potty mouth

I don't swear a lot, but I do swear. Probably more often than I should. Most often of the H-word, S-word, D-word variety.

I never ever use GD, and the F-word only flies in my head ... when I stub my toe, poke my eye with the mascara brush or get really, really, REALLY angry at Jim. But like I said, it's only in my head.

I do try not to swear around Bubby at all, but I'm thinking that I should probably just clean up my language a tad so I don't have to consciously consider what's coming out of my mouth when around him. Yeah, he's 819 miles away, but eventually I'll have grandkids nearby that I see more often and being a potty-mouthed grandma isn't what I aspire to be.

So I've decided I'm going to follow the lead of George Clooney ... as Fantastic Mr. Fox. He cusses all the time ... but he uses the actual word CUSS in place of the cuss words. Take a look:

How cussing cool is that!? I think I even picked up on an F-word replacement here and there. Which means I can actually tell Jim what I'm thinking at those times I'm really, really, REALLY angry and I'll still be a relatively clean-mouthed grandma!

So if I start using the "cuss" word around here, you'll understand, right?

Oh, and if you've not seen "Fantastic Mr. Fox," what the cuss are you waiting for?

Today's question:

What cuss word do you say most often?

My answer: The one most often flying from my mouth is the H-word ... and it's not when I'm reading the Bible.