Honesty

Most of us are not naive enough to believe that people are completely honest all the time.  And yet most of us will always proclaim that being honest in any given situation is always the best way to go.  Do we all agree?  Don't lie. 

I am not honest all the time.  I lie about stuff almost every day, usually about small things like "No, I'm not too busy to work on that," or "Yea, my day is going great."  We usually don't make too big a deal over statements like this, which are commonly referred to as little white lies.  And they are little, and pretty insignificant, and we usually make them without giving it a second thought.  It becomes natural to tell these lies to people we encounter everyday.  Because let's face it, does the checker at the grocery store really want us to go into detail on the terrible day we've been having?  I seriously doubt it, and on top of that I don't want to take the time and energy to talk about it. 

The thing about lying is that it's contagious, kind of like a cold.  We will do it to other people, spread it around as we see fit, until eventually it comes full circle and we are lying to ourselves.  

Lying to ourselves. 

It doesn't even really seem possible, does it?  I mean, how can a person lie to themselves about anything, when it's inevitable that they know the truth?  While this is a hard phenomenon to explain, the fact is that it happens every single day, and we all do it. 

What do we gain from lying to ourselves?  What purpose does it serve?  Ultimately it allows us to put off dealing with tough situations.  And it also means that we can continue to think of ourselves as practically perfect....because we can just lie away our faults, and skip over certain situations in our life that we aren't particularly proud of.  So maybe it isn't even the fact that we're lying to ourselves, but instead denying certain things and refusing to examine them in the correct light. 

I see this as a type of internal defense mechanism.  If we aren't honest with ourselves about certain things then we are inevitably sparing ourselves pain or potential awkwardness.  It's hard for us to willingly put ourselves in vulnerable situations, so we choose to go on the defensive and not face up to the facts.  

I always feel more guilty about lying to myself than when I do to other people.  Is this a sign of selfishness?  Is this a strange thing to feel guilty about?  

Unless we make a conscious effort, I suppose we can't help but always be on the defensive about our feelings and about the way we look at things.  I suppose the important thing is to eventually come around to being honest and facing the truth, even if it just takes a little longer.             

Productivity

A lot of us won't admit it, but there is a point during almost every work day, when we know for a fact that we will do nothing at all productive for the remainder of the day.  Sometimes there is no reason behind this, it just happens and we have to ride it out. 

Sometimes I don't even have to be at work and I will still find myself up against this conundrum.  For instance, I tell myself I'm going to sit on the couch and watch the remainder of a TV show.  This leads into sitting through another show, and another, until I look at the clock and decide it's too late in the day to start any other projects and I resign myself to sloth-like status for the remainder of the evening.   I'm not exactly proud of these moments, but I'm only human and they happen to everyone.

It is entirely my nature to be a productive person.  I don't feel truly at ease unless I have about five different projects happening simultaneously, and five more waiting on the back burner.  Usually when I get home from work my first move is not to sit down and relax but to do the dishes, walk the dogs, sort through the mail, anything to make me feel like I am being productive.

Ahhhh, productive.  How we love to throw that word around.  Doesn't it just elicit warm, happy feelings?  Doesn't it just completely reaffirm your self-worth?  Case and point: if you are being productive you are not being lazy, and if you are not being lazy you are not a worthless human being.  Yes, I would say that's an instant mood booster.

Of course, it isn't enough to just be productive at work.  Most of us will try to continue the trend into our non-work lives as well.  We pack our weekends with an endless list of To-Do items, we try to think of every little possible thing we have been putting off and decide that this is the weekend it's all going to get done.  We say this on a Friday, and when Sunday rolls around we think, "Well, guess I'll get to that next weekend."

Maybe not everyone faces this dilemma, but I for one feel strange when I am not being productive.  I find it hard to sit still, hard to turn my mind off and focus, hard to just.....relax.  

I fear I may suffer from over-productivity. 


Where does this obsession come from?  Is it a cultural thing?  A genetic thing?  Or do some of us just get a natural high from checking things off a list? 


A couple posts back I wrote about time, and the feeling I constantly have that there just isn't enough time in any given day to do all the things I want to do.  Perhaps these two feelings are connected.  If I am being overly productive, I am in a sense in a race against time.  I am getting things done even with limited hours, even with the clock bearing down on me and ultimately forcing me to call it quits.  Is this normal.....or slightly disturbing?


Whatever the case may be, I honestly feel that To-Do list or not, sometimes it's better if we allow ourselves the freedom to be unproductive.  To just be.  


For some us, being able to do that might be the best productivity of all.
 

New age reader

Last week I made a decision that will forever change the way I read.

I purchased a Kindle.

I have resisted the e-reader craze for quite some time now.  Being a purist at heart, I couldn’t bring myself to trade the feel of a book in my hands, with actual pages to turn, for something that I essentially figured was akin to reading off a computer screen (which I hate). 

Of course, I also couldn’t deny the fact that my already overflowing bookcases were not going to magically expand, and while I knew there were probably some paperbacks in the collection I could bear to part with, others I knew would be with me for life.

So I researched, polled my friends, and in the end decided the Kindle was the way to go.  I am more than halfway through my first book on the device, and so far I have zero complaints.  I am honestly amazed at how well I have made the adjustment from printed to electronic word.  I am very impressed with how closely the typeset on the screen resembles that of a real book.  Much easier on the eyes than your run of the mill computer screen, that’s for sure.  And of course, the accessibility to literally thousands of titles with a less than 60 second download is quite enticing.  It’s the kind of instant gratification I have been yearning for my entire reading life.  

However, my new-found love of the Kindle has not diminished my appreciation for the printed word.  Books, real books, have always been such an important part of my life I don’t think I could ever completely trade them in.  Sitting down in the evening with a book in your hand, hearing the quiet rustle of the turning pages, this is a timeless experience that will never be able to be fully duplicated by an e-reader.  There’s something about the weight of the book, the smell of the pages, the anticipation that builds as one nears the end of a story, it’s that something that has shaped my love of reading from a very young age, and I will never be able to let it go.

But, in the interest of reducing clutter in my house and still being able to indulge in near obsessive reading habits, I have a feeling my Kindle and I are going to be the best of friends.   

Urge to explore

As a kid growing up, I was big on exploration.  Lucky for me I lived on a farm out in the country so I had literally miles and miles at my disposal.  Out in back of our house was a farm equipment graveyard.  Old combines, trucks, headers, not to mention several old, dilapidated sheds.  I can't begin to put a guess to the number of hours I spent back there looking through these old treasures.  Not in search of anything in particular, yet secretly hoping for a grand discovery, the key to a long forgotten mystery, something that would in some way alter my life. 

Probably the most exciting thing I ever found in those old sheds was my dad's old go-cart, and while exciting in its own right, it wasn't quite the fabulous discovery I had been imagining. 

However, my lack of great discovery never diminished the excitement of the exploration.  With each new trip out back and beyond there was new possibility, and that alone made me hunger for more.  

During my sophomore summer of high school I went to Europe with some other kids from my school.  I was young, too young to really know what to expect in regards to traveling overseas.  My first couple days I was consumed by homesickness and overwhelmed by the enormity of being an entire ocean away from my family.  

Then something happened.  

I allowed myself to forget about home and focus on the here and now.  I asked questions.  I talked to locals.  I rode a giant Ferris wheel with two boys from Scotland whose accents were so thick I could barely understand a word they said.  I stopped being sad and started being curious.   
I got lost in the Louvre, was rendered speechless by my first sighting of the Coliseum, and listened along with thousands of others to the Pope as he spoke from his balcony.

I wandered, and I explored. 

Both of these examples, at their core, share the same moral of exploration, of discovery, or at least the possibility of discovery.  And lately I have felt a familiar urge begin to stir.  The urge to open doors and see what lies in the shadows, to visit a place I have never been before and learn all there is to know about this vast world we live in. 

The urge to explore, to learn, never leaves us.  And while sometimes we yearn for the familiar, every now and then we should do ourselves a favor and embrace the new, the unfamiliar.

The unknown. 



 

 

Dinner for two

Like most young adults, I didn't start cooking until I moved out of my parent's house.  I would on occasion bake at home, but cooking meals was something I never actively participated in.  Now I cook a lot, probably at least 4 days a week on average.  For the most part I find it enjoyable, my least favorite part being the dirty dishes that accumulate by the end of the process.

I am also a pretty nonjudgmental eater, meaning that I love all kinds of food and am willing to try all kinds of food and different recipes.  And while my husband is not too picky, there are times when my "different" dinner ideas get shot down for something more conventional. 

This is the dilemma one usually faces when having to cook for two.  But who really has the most control over the situation?  The cook or the complainer?

Usually I only get my way on certain meals if I stomp my feet and throw a mini tantrum.  It's shameless, I know.  But when dinner ideas clash someone has to come out on top, and there are some nights when I will do everything possible to make sure it's me. 

If I lived by myself I would eat pasta like it's going out of style.  All different kinds, with all different sauces, and all types of meat/veggie combinations.  Dean tires of pasta rather quickly, so I have to be strategic when working it into the weekly menu.  On the other side of things, if he had his way we would eat Mexican food seven days a week.  I suppose everyone has their niche. 

My overall observation here is that it's kind of interesting what aspects of your life change or are altered when you are in a committed relationship.  Especially if you happen to live with the person.  I wouldn't go so far as to say I have given up certain foods because my husband doesn't like them, but I definitely don't indulge in them as often.  Would this be different if i were single?  You betcha.  

It also leads me to wonder how much this principle applies to other areas of our lives.  For instance, aside from dinner choices, what else do we adapt to, alter, change, even give up when we are in a relationship?  Sure, we all say that you should never have to give up or change anything about yourself in order to be with someone else, and while this notion is most definitely grounded in truth, it still happens.  Not always in big, outlandish ways, but definitely on a more subtle scale. 

Part of this is compromise.  Part of this is learning how to make a life with someone in the midst of work, school, hobbies, friends, and family.  And all obstacles are never completely solved, even after marriage.  Situations come up on a daily basis and sometimes we know we have to make the decision that will work for the betterment of two people, and not just ourselves. 

Kind of incredible how a post about cooking dinner can veer off into a deeper tangent, isn't it?  

And by the way, spaghetti is on the menu for dinner tonight.  Isn't compromise a wonderful thing?       

The value of time

On a daily basis I usually get the feeling that I don't have enough time.  The hours of the day will either rush or creep, but the end result is still the same.  

There just isn't enough time to do all the things I want to do.  

More and more in my life I have come to appreciate the value of time, and having more of it at my disposal.  A day off from work means hours of endless possibilities, where I will finally have the chance to accomplish all those things I am always putting off, saving for a rainy day if you will.  A weekend with no set plans means two days of freedom to lounge around and read a book, or tackle a time consuming (and scary) home project such as cleaning out my closets.  

Just having the option of time is a luxury I no longer take for granted.  Because what I have found to be true, especially since entering the world of working full-time, is that things come up.  Responsibilities are always looming.  And sometimes whether you like it or not, your work follows you home. 

I encourage all of us to embrace the hours that belong solely to us.  To view the free time we have earned as an opportunity, an adventure, or a much needed escape.

The days of our lives are long, but the years are short (thank you, Gretchen Rubin).  And within those days that make up those years we have nothing but time.  Time to work, play, love, cry, and contemplate.  Time to plan, to dream, and to achieve.  There are some hours, some days, that may not belong entirely to us.  But for those hours and days that do, we would do ourselves a favor to embrace them.  To relish them. 

To live them.  


 

Small moments

Last night one of our beagles, Frank, was going through a bit of a stressful spell.  Pacing, panting, shaking, Dean and I were both concerned and unsure how to help him.  So we decided a walk might cheer him up.  It was 9 p.m., about 20 degrees outside, and the outside world was covered in snow and ice.  I couldn't think of anything I would rather do than take the boys for a stroll.

So we harnessed up the dogs, threw on several layers of clothing, and headed out into the night.  Our journey led us up to the high school softball fields, where the snow was deep and as of yet untouched and pristine.  

Then we were off.  Running through the fluffy whiteness, holding onto the leashes for dear life as our dogs dragged us helplessly along.  We finally stopped, gasping for breath, feeling the burn in our legs, and suddenly not feeling quite as cold as when we first started out.  But our small break was short lived, for soon the beagles caught a scent and we were once again off to the races.  Racing along behind the dogs, I laughed at the way their floppy ears flew back behind them as they ran, or how they had to hop like rabbits in order to navigate through the deep snow.   At our next stopping point Dean and I smiled at each other as the beagles buried their noses in the snow, sniffing at scents only their hyper active noses could detect.

It was a small moment, an easy moment.  Just one of many that will make up the larger portion of my life.  And it was a happy one. 

Sometimes it's easy for us to get caught up in the overall big picture of our lives.  We lose ourselves to big outcomes and huge events, forgetting that the entirety of our lives are made up of small moments, and it's only when we string all these moments together that we arrive at the huge end result. 

It's easy to forget, to dismiss, the small events in our lives.  The brief moments when we smile, laugh, or share a moment with someone special.  How often do we put on the blinders to times like this because we are too busy, too preoccupied with something bigger to appreciate what is going on right in front of us?   I feel like all to often we don't believe we will be happy until something big happens to us.  Until something truly monumental comes our way.  And yet it's the simple things, the daily and seemingly meaningless occurrences that will sometimes bring us the greatest happiness.

As we walked home last night from the softball field, covered in snow and rosy cheeked from the cold air, I knew this was one of those small moments.  Just another night, just another dog walk, but a moment filled with effortless happiness.

And by the time we returned home, Frank was back to normal.  Perhaps beagles are able to appreciate these moments as well.