Last weekend I was waiting in line at Trader Joe’s with my basket full of stuff. An older man lined up behind me, and he was just holding a quart of milk so I offered to let him go ahead.

Right away I felt this surge of cheer and goodwill and community. Oh happy day, isn’t everything wonderful? Which made me think of the concept of paying good deeds forward. But I’m not as interested in whether a small gesture like that will cause him to be more charitable with someone.

I’m wondering how much it encourages me to be more charitable. Because, you know, it feels good.

And before I give you the (wrong) idea that I’m always so gracious — Last week I was waiting in line somewhere else, and a woman lined up behind me, then gestured to her few items and asked if she could cut ahead. And while I let her, I’m not proud to say –  I felt some mild irritation that she asked.

And of course my irritation with her was ultimately irritation with myself for being irritated with her. And so obviously stingy. Not to mention irritable.

And now I’m wondering: Is that what made me more generous this time? Remembering how icky it felt to be so miserly last time? And um, how does that relate to the whole pay it forward idea?

Like… She annoyed me by asking me to be charitable, which then encouraged me to be more voluntarily charitable with someone else? Oh bleargh, my brain just scrambled.

Which means: Warning, I’m about to oversimplify things.

And why does being generous provide that surge of cheer? I’m guessing something to do with affecting the way we see ourselves. Which reminds me of something I remember being surprised to learn in college social psychology: People are more inclined to like you if they do nice things for you.

Not, If they like you, then they’ll do nice things for you. Other way around: If they do nice things for you, they’re more inclined to like you. Something to do with justifying our behavior to ourselves.

Counterintuitive, because I’d always assumed (people pleaser!) that the relationship went the other way. That it was my kindness on someone’s behalf that most affected the way they felt about me.

When really those gestures are affecting the way I feel about them even more. And apparently, the way I feel about myself. So back to the pay it forward thing… Who gets more out of it? Definitely me.

I would love to hear your ideas, because I’m obviously just figuring this out making this up as I go.

So yeah, I’m structure-resistant. And it’s not just about that pendulum swing of rigid productivity versus slacker rebellion. I think it also has to do with thinking I shouldn’t need help.

Because I want to be one of those people who is perpetually mindful and productive. And since I think I should already be there, I’m not allowed to ask for directions on how to get there. Not a helpful cycle.

So instead, maybe I can be someone who creates a safety net, like a sailboat, while I am mindful and grounded. Something I can turn to when I’m scrambling around all bijigetty and overwhelmed.

Instead of Structure: The rigid plan required to keep my attention-challenged inner slacker in line, I’m trying to build A structure, like a container. One that can hold space for the things that are important to me. And one that can remind me what those essential things are.

Because even when I’m doing something I’ve decided is important, I pretty much always have some nebulous sense that I should be doing something else. Some whispy guilt hanging around regardless of which action I choose.

Like, I know my day goes so much better when most of my morning is spent doing things that don’t look much like work. Things like journaling and Dance of Shiva and meditating and hiking.

Everything flows so much better from there. Stuff gets done. Things jive happily. Except…

Ozzie. Scary, right?

It doesn’t stop Lizard Brain Ozzie from unleashing a cacophony of frantic shrieking:

What do you think this is, Leisure World? We have a LOT to do. Hiking doesn’t pay the bills or save the world, you know. Sheesh.

(Once he got a load of how hilarious I found the coolest puppet on Earth Kelly’s assistant, Ozzie demanded his online debut. Not to be laughed at… No, no, no. To terrify all of you.)

Anyway, this vague, wispy, annoying sense of guilt is so counterproductive. And so widespread.

I know a guy who wants to spend more time reading. So he lets issues of The New Yorker and Atlantic pile up around his house. And, as a guiltifying reminder, actually carries heavy stacks along on his commute. To encourage himself to spend more time doing something he already wants to do.

There’s got to be a better way.

I think for me, it means stepping back and building my structure from way up high. While I’m centered and thinking clearly and have the perspective to say “this, this is important.”

And when Ozzie freaks out and yells: You shouldn’t be blogging, you should be working! You shouldn’t be hiking, you should be blogging! I can ban him from the bakery offer him a cookie.

And then maybe I can turn to the mindful part of me (the one who built the sailboat/bakery) for directions. Hmmm. Any ideas? Do you ever think you “should” be doing something else, even when you’re doing something that seems perfectly “legitimate”? How do you deal?

Even if you’re prone to seasickness. Or, erm, emphatically structure-resistant like me.

Maybe I should back up, yes?

One of my prevalent life-sized patterns is to swing wildly from one end of a pendulum to another. Back when the main hitch in my giddyup was food and body-related, it looked like this:

Deprive self of favorite treat. White-knuckle it. Watch “helplessly” while grand mal gorge ensues.

And repeat. Ad nauseam. (Oh, and quite literally, add nausea.)

So when I left my corporate career, the one where I tracked my billable time in six minute increments, I abhorred the idea of enforcing a rigid structure to my work schedule.

In some wildly illogical diva moment, I decided I couldn’t be creative on demand. I needed boundless space and freedom to allow inspiration to strike. (Cue laughter. I know, Twyla, I know. I’ve seen the light. I’m getting to that part.)

Plus, I was still carrying some issues with the whole concept of productivity. Because when you’re doing work you don’t enjoy, ramping up your productivity just means doing more of it. Gag.

But then! When you start doing work that jazzes you up with energy and enthusiasm, there is so much you want to do! You wonder if maybe there’s something to this time-management brouhaha.

Because the lack of structure wasn’t really doing it for me. I had a swirling sense of time passing without anything concrete to show for it. Not to mention a swirling task list where Urgent, Trivial, and Important things got all tangled up until I couldn’t tell them apart. Recipe for dissatisfaction.

And that’s where having a sailboat is coming to my rescue. A wha?? A sailboat: A gentle, flexible structure to my day. Actually, Eileen’s time-management plan is a sailboat. My business is a bakery*.

(Cryptic much? Sorry. *Adds to list of eight jillion things to blog about in order to link to in order to blog about other stuff.*)

I’m happily discovering that creating structure is the exact thing that gives me freedom to create. Ah, darling paradox. And it’s not that I always follow the schedule perfectly. At all. But that’s okay.

Because while I’m immersed in some kind of flailing procrastination (check-check-checking perhaps) I know that I’m not doing something else. And, even better, I know what that something else is.

And, this is the important part, I know which activities I deemed essential back when I decided to craft this recipe for productivity in the first place. Ahhh, satisfaction.

Okay, more on this sailing, baking, producing stuff next time. Are you a structure lover or rebel?

I went hiking one morning last week after rain had left the canyon slippery and sludgey with mud. After ten steps, my tennies were caked and heavy and I was sliding and clomping. Um, anti-graceful.

And I had this fleeting thought that it was ridiculous to be hiking. Like I was doing something wrong. Guilt attack. Apparently I was going to somehow break nature or something by walking in the mud.

I’m familiar with this (little) girl in trouble gig. And since I’m playing with the idea that every little thought yanking at my attention isn’t unconditionally true, I wondered what this one was all about.

Because really, Monkey Mind? Break nature?

And what eased the wave of guilt was to play this thought all the way out. What if I had stayed home because of the mud? Then what would I be telling myself?

I’m pretty sure that if I had stayed home, the tune would sound more like:
What a baby. A little mud? Good one. Pathetic excuse for your laziness. Please.

Lovely. So the Guilt Monger will fight either side. And realizing that I can’t dissolve the guilt by choosing to act differently is counterintuitively freeing.

Fine, guilt. If you’re going to hang around either way, might as well do what I want.

So I went on another hike this morning, again after heavy rain. (Dear Divine Meteorologist, I live in Southern California for one very sunny reason. Thank you.)

Anyway, three minutes in, my foot sunk so deep you could hear slurping as I yanked it out of the hole, muddy to my ankle. Gross. And so funny. Funny because, again, not so graceful. But also because I had already out-philosophized some of that guilt.

So I feel guity when I hike in the mud. Dirty shoes and fragile nature. I feel guilty when I use mud as an excuse to skip my hike. And then noticing both dissolves the guilt so that I get to laugh.

Do you ever notice this teeter-tottering? Does it help you ignore the irrational resistance?

I woke up this morning thinking about taking the leap, choosing your own adventure, answering your hero’s call. And that it isn’t supposed to be easy.

People say living from your heart and steering toward your best life feels like paddling downstream.

You get this image of leaning back on your raft with the sunshine on your skin and a serene smile on your face.

Oh, Sweetie. The truth is you can’t even climb into the boat the first few times without tipping it over and soaking yourself in freezing water.

And you forget that paddling downstream still involves paddling. And it requires using different muscles. Muscles you’ve never used before which means tearing down and rebuilding. Upheaval.

Your stream is probably flat in places, and then you have to paddle a lot. And it winds through a canyon where sometimes the walls are so steep, you can’t see anything around the next bend.

Your vision is totally limited to this one single stroke.

Oh, and there are rapids. And eddies and holes full full of fear and doubt and what-ifs. You have to keep paddling. And bail water when your boat fills up. And scout the terrain ahead.

And of course you knew all of this. You chose this route precisely because the landscape is rugged and pristine and freshly carved. Which equates to uncertainty and confusion and many wrong turns.

You don’t choose it because it’s easy. You choose it because you can’t not.

And so you say yes to your hero’s call and you leap into your saga. And you find yourself repeating the mantra of my teacher Martha Beck: This is a lot harder than I expected, and that’s okay.

A lot harder. And all worth it because you’re moving downstream, in the direction of your life. Your life. The one full of serendipity and freedom and growth. And possibly a sprinkle of bliss.

And you feel this incredible relief when you remember that it’s okay for things to be hard. You stop taking the challenge personally. You meet yourself where you are. You say yes to this moment.

Except once you allow it to be hard, then you enter into this twilight space. Where Hard and Easy pull some ridiculously impossible kung fu manuever and dress up in each other’s clothes.

Sure, the old you might think this is all a bit reckless. But the new you knows that there’s nothing harder than drowning in abandoned hopes or suffocating from lack of inspiration and possibility.

This is all exactly the kind of absurdly obvious epiphany I’m always having from Dance of Shiva.

The kind of truth you can read about and you can hear people you admire explain 793 times. But none of it matters until you hit that moment when your jaw drops and you suck in your breath.

OH! I get it.

And you try to explain it, but people just roll their eyes because you can never express the intensity of your new understanding with the corresponding eloquence. And so you just keep saying:

No, really. It’s supposed to be hard. And it’s all so perfect. And isn’t it absolutely glorious?

Yeah, this is about changing my coffee drinking habits. But of course it’s kind of about everything.

Okay, so this habit changing stuff is hard. Also exciting, interesting, confusing, enlightening. At least if you’re doing it somewhat consciously. At moments I’m actually have fun with the process. Fun! I know, I’m weird. Seriously. And then, of course, other moments are chock-full of resistance.

Let’s let the resistance play its record first. The songs go something like:

Oh, here we go again. Depriving yourself of everything you love. We know how this one will end: Coffee in the morning, coffee in the evening, coffee sprinkling down like rain. Gooooo Coffee!

Then there was the day in the coffee shop that the lady in front of me ordered a 6 shot americano. To which my mind* said: See? We really aren’t that bad. Let’s treat ourselves to a triple, shall we?

(*The irrational part of my mind who loves to make excuses 6 ways from Sunday. The part I’m giggling at. And (stumblingly) learning to take lightly. If 6 shot americanos are your thing, rock on.)

Next up: Well if you’re going to do it, then get it right. Just give it up, and get it over with. Go big or go home. If you have so much as one sip, you totally suck. (You suck anyway.) All or nothing, sister.

Sister? Yeah, when that All Or Nothing tune starts playing, I notice that I kind of forget about the reasons I want to ease off the caffeine in the first place. The lack of sleep, the jumbleyness of my thoughts, the trouble focusing on creative tasks.

Suddenly, giving up coffee becomes something I get consumed with excelling at. Let’s achieve decaffeination! Recipe for disaster that culminates in flogging myself for every single stolen sip.

Then there’s this funny part of me that feels like I’m faking any withdrawal symptoms, dramatizing the whole thing. It goes something like: Okay, I know science says that coffee is a stimulant. But really. Get over yourself. This whole “I’m tired” thing is complete bull. Suck it up, get to work.

So there are all of these old interwoven patterns of belief and behavior wrapped up in this seemingly simple coffee habit. The enlightening part is noticing all of it, without necessarily believing every song the resistance sings.

I’m just trying to be curious: Oh, so that’s where I tripped myself up every single other time. Huh.

And then. And then! There are all of this incredible perks of changing a habit. Little bonus changes and shifts that snowball and lead to those invigorating aha moments I’m constantly coveting.

For example, by 4 pm yesterday, I felt like I was swimming through cotton. (So, you know, please excuse the spelling errors and overall rambleyness.) I responded to some e-mail, tried to read a bit.

Finally I set my work aside and decided to go for a hike in the canyon behind my house, hoping that maybe some fresh air would help me relocate some of my own natural energy. (Apparently there is such a thing: Being powered by sunshine and nutrients and all that. So they say.)

And, wow. All of the rain we’ve been having decorated the hills with lush, soft, baby green grass and little purple flowers. I had no idea. I’d been so hopped up in my highly caffeinated afternoon activity frenzy, I hadn’t even noticed.

A few weeks ago I mentioned that I’ve been trying to change up my morning routine a bit. My goal is to push back e-mail and other time-wasting online activities, to start my day in my own hula hoop.

With the chaotic stream of chatter out there, the possibilities for getting distracted are endless. And changing this habit is about combining the right external information, advice and such, with the clues I pick up about what works (and also important: has no shot at working) for me.

My sweet friend Elizabeth, the fairy godmother of my Monday mornings, sent me a note about the Golden Hour, that fertile hour or so after you wake up. Brain research shows that we are most receptive at that time of day, meaning the impact of seed-planting and intention is amplified.

Which makes it pretty clear why my old habit of opening my eyes and immediately peering into my blackberry to check for grenades was such a bad idea.

Bonjour anxiety! Wanna hang out with me today?

Maybe this information isn’t new, but receiving it through the right filter made a huge difference. Even though I knew it didn’t work for me to dive into the internet first thing, there was still too much check-check-checking. And then things would get all fuzzy and squonchy. Yes, squonchy.

Now that I have this science and research (nerd alert), my intention to connect with myself first feels more substantial and worthwhile. Having that piece of external information helped me get super clear on my own reasons for wanting to change up this habit in the first place.

And my desire to set the right tone for my day is so much greater than my impulse to see what’s going on out there. Which means I’m not having to squash the impulse to hop into the world’s hula hoop. Good thing, because impulse squashing sucks. And hurts. Ow!

And, now it’s also less common for me to get hooked later in the day. Oh, that must be a benefit of the seed-planting! And, the other helpful thing? The partial decaffeination project. Nothing fuels the check-y-loos like three shots of espresso.

Any thoughts about this habit or your ideal morning routine? Or do you notice that sometimes it takes hearing some external information from just the right angle to make a difference?

I’ve been toying with the idea of cutting back on my coffee intake. Not, mind you, giving it up altogether. I’m not quite ready to abandon the yummy elixir that (jump) starts my morning.

Know that I don’t have an opinion about the shoulds or shouldn’ts of coffee drinking. Not a value judgment thing or claim about healthiness. I just started to sense that my afternoon jolt of espresso was maybe not my happiest habit. What started as an occasional treat became a jitterrific crutch.

I started picking up some clues from my wound up nervous system, which feels kind of shot. And my sleep has been all wonky. And those frantic internet check-y-loo urges? Quite possibly connected.

I think the desire to cut back stems from a growing sense of consciousness about what my body feels like. Not to be confused with self-consciousness about what my body looks like. (How I spent the better part of my adult life.) No, this awareness is much different. As in, not rooted in loathing.

I’m becoming much more aware of the sensations and tension in my body. Suddenly I’ll notice that my shoulders are hunched up around my ears. Or that I’m sitting on the edge of my seat with my stomach clenched. Or that my jaw is clamped shut and I’m holding my breath. Pleasant, no?

So I take a deep breath and try to soften a bit. And these clues feel like a gentle tap on the shoulder: Hey, you might want to investigate what’s going on for you right now. Maybe my body has a valid reason for rejecting whatever is happening in the moment, even if my brain is totally clueless.

So maybe as part of that new awareness, I’m noticing how the effects of copious iced espressos fuel feel in my body. And, the caffeine drip just might have something to do with all of the hunching, clenching, clamping.

Another thing that tipped me off to the issue… I was feeling slightly defensive, and even a touch defiant, upon hearing about someone else giving up coffee. Okay, well maybe coffee is a problem for them, but I love it and I’m not giving it up. And besides, I think I’m handling it just FINE.

I don’t know about you, but declaring just how fine I’m handling something is usually a good indication that things are actually far from fine. Plus, fine is kind of a sucky aspiration.

So this desire sprung up pretty spontaneously, organically. Not out of some overall healthification, detoxification, Betterment of Briana Plan. Just a small hunch that grew into a decision.

And this is not a done deal. Right now I’m looking around for some implement to prop my eyelids open. But I’m experimenting, trying to be curious. Noticing what comes up for me in the process.

This habit grew for a reason. After all, I like the taste. I enjoy the afternoon break. I dig the coffee shop vibe. So what’s coming up for me is a bucket of resistance. More on that tea party next time.

I’m not sure there’s a a right or wrong decision about coffee drinking that will serve me forever. But this is what feels right to me right now. Well, not right now right now. But you know what I mean.

Wanna talk about it?
People seem to have some pretty intense opinions about this stuff. And I would love to hear your thoughts and experience. Again, this isn’t about right or wrong. Because people vary, and all that.

Last week I listened to the loveliest, most delightful interview with Dr. Stuart Brown of The National Institute for Play.

(!! Yes, that is apparently a thing. I know!! And a little note to my current clients: When he realizes how much I support him and his playful endeavors and decides that The Institute can’t go another day without hiring me, I will probably go. But I will do what I can to squeeze you guys in. Also, if that doesn’t work out, I am willing to take him on as an adoptive grandfather. Imagine the fun!)

Mmmm, science.
He talked about the importance of play, obviously. And he was so very thoughtful and scientific about it. Highly helpful when you’re trying to convince a bunch of intellectual, achiever-bees that play makes everything better – creativity, connection, productivity, everything.

He explained how playtime engenders empathy, problem solving, resiliency… all kinds of good stuff. We have actually evolved to be playful; we need play as a powerful form of learning and relationship building.

On a non-scientific and random personal note.
I keep thinking about his explanation of the way animals play and roughhouse in the wild. Monkeys and lions and the whole wondrous kingdom. And he said that one thing that differs between wild animals and humans is that the monkeys and lions aren’t competitive when it comes to play.

They will actually handicap their own ability and let their playmates catch up in order to allow the play to continue. And this is maybe probably okay, definitely me oversimplifying and making excuses for my own behavior… But, I couldn’t help but think that we have evolved to root for the underdog.

So that’s why I cannot bear to watch the end of a sporting event. Especially any game where the victory depends on just one person – a goalie or tennis player or whatever. I get so overly empathetic, imagining how sad they’ll be and how they’ll beat themselves up. It slays me entirely. I usually have to leave the room, the stadium, the court.

And now I know why. Because animals evolved to keep the game going for the sake of fun and meaning and growth. Not to beat each other. Not to strip each other of dignity.

Anyway, that’s my new (ridiculously oversimplified) theory. And I am inappropriately hopeful that the sports-fanatical guys I’ve dated get a chance to listen. And to hear this: I am not the crazy one!

Anyway, I recommend listening to the interview – it was fantastic. I had a wheelbarrow full of epiphanies and I plan to listen to it again. Is play something you prioritize? Or is that an oxy moron?

For years and years people have been describing me as sweet. Which never fails to surprise me. And has kinda rocked my proverbial boat because I’d gotten all used to wearing my snobby suit. Cramping my stuck up image and all.

In Sarah’s latest series about online rockstar-dom, she wrote:

The point, after all, isn’t to change yourself so that people will like you. The point is to gauge how accurately you are voicing your truths.

Ahhh, yes. That’s where 16 year old me got things very wrong. I’m pretty sure I was all about changing myself to get people to like me.

I definitely thought I should be sweeter. My best friend since fourth grade is actually Sweetness Incarnate. Also, supermodel beautiful. And lovable in a Homecoming Queen Every Year of Our Life kind of way.

So you might think this was part of my complex. But no. It was actually incredibly reassuring to have Earth’s Sweetest Girl as my childhood sidekick. (And dear friend, today… Hi!). Because she’s not going to choose to be best friends with some troll/ogre, right?

But her suchness was how I defined sweet. Not mine. I, after all, was stuck up.

And I had so readily incorporated the attribution of snobbery into my sense of self that being called sweet today usually makes me feel like a complete impostor. See, you do the dramatic reconfiguration of your suchness, but then when it works you feel like a total fraud. Crap.

I’m realizing that maybe sometimes, you’re trying to be something you already are. Only you just don’t see it yet. And maybe if something’s getting in the way of voicing it or expressing it, no one else can see it either. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t there.

Sometimes being misunderstood probably has to do with me.
And if my sporadic introversion occasionally comes across as holier-than-thou, that is so not my intention. And I want to be willing to see myself and sometimes choose to act differently.

I would never be purposefully insensitive or cold. And I would hate to make someone feel jilted or left out. At the same time, I can’t make anyone feel anything. And I don’t want to try by wrapping myself up in some artificial candy coating.

And sometimes, it has to do with them.
Back in the day, when people called me stuck up, I would take on the whole thing. I let their description make the entire interaction (or lack of interaction which I’m guessing is what people really had a problem with) about me and my flawed character. My stuff.

But I didn’t have the  perspective to see that it wasn’t all about me. When people describe you as stuck up, chances are good that they’re not acknowledging any of their own stuff.

Which is totally understandable – it can be hard to look at the fact that, for whatever reason, someone doesn’t want to be thisclose to you. Still, I don’t have to take on the whole thing.

I’m just now learning to recognize and express the sweet that’s actually part of my suchess. And to understand that even if the dramatic reconfiguration failed, the quality was there all along.

And yes, if you’re a recovering snob or you have experience with the Candy Coated Cape, I would love to hear all about it.