We all think we know how it’s going to turn out.  We’ve already written our story and like how it ends:  We have a happy family, grow old together, watch our grandkids become adults and die peacefully in our sleep surrounded by loved ones.  But then a plot twist happens (i.e. divorce, fired, cancer, betrayal, bankruptcy, injury, pandemic) and nothing in our story looks likely anymore.  We don’t know what to do.  We get mad, angry, frustrated, worried, anxious.  Afraid.  How do we get our old story back?  How do we get to the ending we liked?  Or maybe we write a new story.

This is the month of shattered expectations.  March 2020.  As I think about my friends, family, myself and even strangers, nothing is turning out the way we expected:

weddings moved up, wedding receptions cancelled, college graduations scrapped, job offers rescinded, trips to places where borders are now closed, birthday parties with no guests, no visits from the grandkids, decimated retirement accounts, actual sickness from corona virus, in some cases death, the list is endless.

As I think about our cancelled year (because everything we had planned for the next six months is off the table), this came home to me most directly through our two oldest daughters.  (Don’t miss the videos at the bottom.)

Karina’s final semester of college fizzled as all her classes went online, commencement was cancelled and her college town turned into a ghost town.  We invited her to come home and stay with us until we all know what we want to do next.  Tuesday she decided to move home.  We bought her a flight for the next day and she is with us now.  We’re writing a new story.

Alison has been living in Japan for the past 17 months.  She was supposed to come home May 1.  We would all meet her at the airport with signs.  We would hug and kiss her and she would come home to a reception with all her friends and family, get a job and earn money for her fall semester of college.  Then the State Department issued a travel warning and told all U.S. citizens to get home or be prepared to stay abroad indefinitely.  Her and several thousand missionaries around the world migrated toward airports where their flights were rapidly being arranged.  Alison wore a mask for 24 hours as she flew from Tokyo to Detroit to New York City.  

Emily and I raced to pick her up.  Only Emily and I went.  No large groups.  No gatherings.  When we picked her up we couldn’t hug her.  We were under strict instructions for no physical contact and for her to quarantine for 14 days.  After not seeing your daughter for a year and half, you can’t give her a hug.  Who ever has that expectation? We stood there in the airport corridor and stared at each other.  Then we bowed, deep, long Japanese bows of honor, respect and love.  We were writing a new story.

As we live our stories, we want it to follow the script we’ve written for ourselves.  We want it to flow steadily from success to success, win to win until our life ends in peaceful triumph.  But for those of us that have ever read any book ever or seen any movie ever made, we know that’s not how it happens.  That’s not how a character grows.  There will always be a plot twist.  And it always comes out of no where.  

Why does there always have to be a plot twist?  Because a plot twist helps us learn what we really want and know how hard we’re willing to work to get it.  Why does that matter? Because that’s what life is about.  What do you really want?  And what are you willing to overcome to get it?  (“It” doesn’t have to be a thing.  It can be a lot of things, including a way of being.)

We left the airport and drove Alison to midtown.  Miraculously, a friend was out of town and offered for Alison to do her quarantine in his empty home.  Without touching each other, we got her groceries loaded in, her luggage up the stairs and made her bed.  We would see her again in two weeks.  We were writing a new story.

All over the world everyone is experiencing their own mini-drama of dashed expectations, unfulfilled plans, shifted realities.  I hope we can all be patient with ourselves and each other.  We’re all re-writing our stories as they unfold.  And re-writing is hard.  It forces us to think in different ways.  We have to see our selves, each other and the world around is a fresh way.  That can be daunting but also massively important.

We’re re-writing our stories as individuals, societies and even as a global family.  We’re letting our guard down.  As we conduct business, teach and stay connected from our living rooms and kitchen tables through laptops and smart phones, we’re seeing into each others lives.  We’re seeing each other in new ways, in new settings and new rhythms.  Remember when you ran into your elementary school teacher at the grocery store and you realized he or she had a life outside the classroom?  This is that moment, for the whole world.

So what do we do with our plot twist?  What do we do when our life goes off script?  The worst thing we can do is resist.  Like it or not, schools are closed.  Like it or not, borders are closed.  Like it or not, things will never be the same again.  

If you were in the movie/book/story of your own life, what would you want your character to do?  You are the hero in your story.  You decide how you will respond to this out-of-the-blue plot twist that has come between you and your expectations.  Only you can decide if this will discourage and defeat you.  Or will it make you stronger, more resilient, nimble and adaptable?  This is a beautiful opportunity for us to face our fears and step deeper into who we want to be.  We’re all writing a new story.  I can’t wait to see what story you write for yourself.

THE ORTON GIRLS WRITING A NEW STORY:

Karina and her friends created a mini-graduation ceremony just for her. The whole thing went down in less than 1 minute, but what a beautiful scene in her new story.

Picking up Alison was a roller coaster of emotions. That’s how plot twists work. But it’s what we do after them that makes all the difference. Here’s Alison arriving at JFK:

Here’s the full performance of the song “Bring it Home”. We love that it’s written by a band called American Authors, like us :)

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]]>Writing a New Story - Adapting to Change in a Coronavirus WorldEmily OrtonThu, 19 Mar 2020 15:00:28 +0000https://www.fezywig.com/home/2020/3/18/covid19-at-home-is-social-distancing-bringing-your-family-too-close52c34c3be4b02fca6772a5ac:52c34f41e4b073b4a438c47a:5e72744ddbc5156b755cb157Did your wishes for more family time just morph into too much togetherness?  That 45-minute commute with an audiobook or podcast is looking pretty good right now.

Widespread social distancing is keeping our loved ones close for who knows how long? Here are a few ideas to speed up and smooth the transition so you can make the most of your time together while it lasts.

Our family of seven bootstrapped a year on a 38’ sailboat. Erik and I wrote a memoir detailing our family dream; how we came up with the idea, what we sacrificed to make it possible and what we learned as we lived it.

Happy one-year birthday, Seven at Sea!

Writing the book was harder than living on the boat. We worked even more closely together – more time, more communication, more decisions. Our writing schedule required more coordination with the whole family.

Since then, we’ve traveled the world for the better part of the last three years sharing close spaces with our kids. Now, five of us are staying in our 800 sq. foot apartment to mitigate the spread of  Covid19 in New York City.

 Expectations

The first step to adapting to new circumstances is acknowledging that things are different. Gather with your family and say, “This is not what we were planning on.”  Identify and discuss all the unmet expectations.

•  What are you missing out on?

• How do you feel about it?

• Is there anything we can do together?

Our daughter, Karina, has been working towards her university degree for five years.  She was supposed to cap and gown her way across the big stage. Well, you know what happened there. No gatherings. No group celebrations. No cross-country trip to cheer her on. No cap. No gown. That’s not what we were expecting. 

Empathy

 Empathy is the foundation for understanding. Empathy will cultivate a spirit of unity no matter what size your family is. Karina had a brief emotional spike when the official email came canceling graduation. We commiserated. I suggested starting the hashtag #[schoolname]2020virtualgraduation for a digital convocation of sorts. Karina is making plans. She’s moving past disappointment. We all are, which is easier to do once you’ve acknowledged the unmet expectation.

What Next?

 Acknowledging disappointment clears the deck for imagining a new future based on our new reality.  Next, identify how you’d like things to go. 

 What makes your day feel successful?

What routines should stay the same?

What routines should we change?

 For example, lots of kids get their daily hugs as they leave for or return from school.  When are those hugs going to happen now? That’s an important ritual for parents and kids—even teenagers. Maybe daily hugs aren’t built into your current routine. This could be the perfect time to add them—or any other interaction, project, or division of responsibilities that might strengthen your relationships and serve your family needs.

We had this conversation with our at-home kids when Erik and I committed to co-write a memoir. Our roles, hours, and availability changed.  The whole family cooperated and coordinated to cover all of the necessary bases. Even though we spent more hours apart, participating in a common purpose brought us together in gratitude.

Keep Talking

After that initial discussion, keep talking.  On a 38’ sailboat, I learned that proximity is not the same as closeness and what my kids want from me most is to be heard and encouraged.  Our kids tease, “You don’t know my life.” It’s true. I learned not to assume that I had all the details because I am not a mind reader. 

 Lack of personal privacy is one of the first frustrations to arise in times of togetherness. You may consider carving out one-on-one time.  If “How are you doing?” doesn’t get to the heart of the matter, here are a few less invasive questions that may elicit some clues about your loved ones. 

• If you had a room all to yourself with everything you needed to make all of your dreams come true, what would be in that room?

• If you could instantly download any skills into your brain and be able to do them perfectly, what skills would you download?

• What do you want more of? What do you want less of?

• What do you want more of from me? What do you want less of from me?

• What is your favorite way to spend time with me?

• What is your favorite way to spend time as a family?

• When your life goes back to normal, what do you hope will be different?

Claim Family Time

One thing that surprised me most about moving aboard a boat is that family time didn’t happen automatically.  Sure, we’d prepared for years learning to sail. We prepared for months to leave our home, work, and community. Our goal was always to make memories as a family.  But even out there on a 38’ boat where we didn’t know anybody and we weren’t going anywhere, we had to schedule family time. If we didn’t, it didn’t happen. We drifted near each other or past each other.

Family time does not happen by accident. You have to decide on a time and place it’s going to happen. You have to let your family know. You have to remind them. Then you have to call them together when the time comes. If you want family time, you have to claim it.

Grace

The more your family is home together, the more opportunities for friction you will have.  It’s easy to get annoyed in close quarters over time-get snarky, sarcastic, or offended. Speak up when you feel this way or ask a broody loved one how they are doing.

Apologize quickly and ask forgiveness. You can’t choose how someone else will respond to you. But I haven’t seen anything calm upset faster than a sincere request for forgiveness. It’s equally empowering to share how you would like to feel.  For example, I’m feeling defensive and I want to be open; or I’m feeling distant and I want to feel close.

Celebrate

More time together means more time for the good stuff—more ‘a-ha’ moments and tiny triumphs. More inside jokes. More shared memories.  If you’re sitting out this virus together, you’re okay to give those extra high fives, fist bumps, and hugs.

My hope is that when the time comes to return to your pre-virus routines you’ll already be eagerly planning the next time you’ll be able to get your family together for a solid week or more.

To celebrate the 1-year birthday of our book, Seven at Sea, we are offering a $7 discount on all orders over $20 in our Fezywig Shop.  (Use code: 7OFF.) Let our new “What Could Go Right?” cozy mug cheer you up.

If you’re hunkering down for a quarantine (like us in New York City) it’s the perfect time to read a travel book.

$7 off orders over $20 Code: 7OFF

Valid in the Fezywig Shop through 3/25/2020

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]]>Covid19 at Home: Is Social Distancing Bringing Your Family Too Close?Erik OrtonWed, 11 Mar 2020 22:41:14 +0000https://www.fezywig.com/home/2020/3/11/e9s260ahehnf1e0kfjsv5s50fg4tku52c34c3be4b02fca6772a5ac:52c34f41e4b073b4a438c47a:5e694a07b2fdcb20f73d4880by ERIK ORTON

I always think it’s going to be that way, until it changes.

We drove through the Columbia River Gorge wowed by its lush beauty. Two weeks later it went up in smoke.

We visited Notre Dame and listened to the rehearsal of a Bach cantata. 4.5 months later, the roof crashed to the floor.

Our daughter was going to leave her apartment, until she couldn’t. Alison is in Japan and, for the past two weeks, has been instructed to stay inside. She is going on week 3 of quarantine.

We’re all scared of car wrecks, cancer, freak aneurisms, getting fired.  But I don’t often think about a pandemic. I take for granted I can attend a class, visit another country, go to church. Nope, nope and nope.

I went downtown today for a class at Google.  The receptionist informed me it was cancelled.  All classes were cancelled until further notice. We Ortons are supposed to go to New Zealand in May to house sit.  Or not.  That’s in limbo. I was planning on going to church this Sunday. Maybe not. So many things I took for granted.

And that, my friend, is my preamble to this post.  There are so many things I want to do in life.  I’m constantly reminded—by events like Covid-19—why it is crucial not to wait.  I never know when the Columbia River Gorge will burn, when the roof of Notre Dame will collapse, when Covid-19 will put me in lock-down.  Whatever matters to us, let’s stop waiting.

And now the post:

One year ago we packed into the Upper West Side Patagonia store for the book launch of Seven at Sea.  We were grateful for the friends, family, colleagues and curious Patagonia customers that joined us in this celebration.  Emily and I shared stories from our book, sang a few songs and did a quick Q&A.  One of the last questions was, “What do you want to do next?” My response: “I want to go to Patagonia.”  I swore it wasn’t product placement.  That was a year ago.

In high school, I had a picture of Torres del Paine National Park taped inside my locker.  At the time I didn’t know where it was located in the world, but I knew it was exceedingly beautiful and I wanted to go there someday. 

I lived in Chile for two years doing missionary service in the country.  I learned the language and loved the people but never left the city of Santiago. I left and never went back.  That was 25 years go.  

I dreamt of going back.  I dreamt of brushing up my Spanish and visiting old friends.  I dreamt about going south and climbing something big.  But I wasn’t ready. I was out of shape and I didn’t have the skills, or the time, or the money.

This is a broken record for me.  I’ve played this sad song for a long time.  It’s the same reason I never went to Yosemite, Finland or Europe after growing up there.  They felt too big to pull-off.  And if I did manage to pull them off, I secretly worried there would be disappointment.  Either the place and the people wouldn’t live up to what I’d remembered; or worse, I wouldn’t feel ready to enjoy all their goodness.  Either way, I would feel let down.

 At a time of travel-phobia, here’s what I’ve learned about “once in a life time trips”:

1.  Get over it.  I’ve held off on taking many a “once in a life time” trip because they’re intimidating.  I’ve put a massive burden of expectation on that one experience.  I want it to be perfect, so I wait for the stars to align. But they never do.  Time, money, traveling companions.  They never line up.  I’ve learned to not let those misaligned stars hold me back.  I tried for most of a year to find a climbing partner for Patagonia.  When nothing came together, Emily said, “Just go.  You can scout things out.  You’ll learn a lot and it will make it easier when we go next time.”  I like the way she thinks.

2. Assume you’ll be back.  We’ve been to a handful of places we thought would be once-in-a-lifetime trips.  Assuming you’ll be back improves a lot of things.  If you thought you’d only go to the grocery store once, you’d be a wreck.  One reason you can handle it is because you know you’ll be back.  You don’t have to experience everything in one run.  You can sample those glazed cake donuts next time. Trust the universe.  If you’re going to Fiji, don’t scramble around feeling like you have to see and do everything in one trip.  You end up doing everything and nothing at the same time.  If it’s as amazing as you hope it will be, you’ll figure out a way to return.  And it will be that much easier since you’ll know the ropes. Enjoy your time and—if you love it—plan on coming back.  You’ll figure it out.

3. Experiment with flexibility.  Some people prefer to have their whole itinerary planned and confirmed before leaving their driveway.  I, on the other hand, am a flexibility addict.  Although more demanding, I’ve found that “figure it out as you go” travel has some real upsides.  When SJ and I left on our Patagonia trip, we had a place booked for our first night only.  The rest we figured out as we went.  We stayed at 3 Airbnbs, 2 hostels, and 1 campground (4 nights) and crashed with friends in Santiago.  Our only booked transportation were our flights.  All in, we took a local Chilean flight, 2 long distance buses, a couple of taxis and rented one car.  It is a lot more work to stay flexible, but it’s also the best way allow pleasant surprises happen on your trip, and can save you some headaches.  I fell asleep in our lovely Airbnb in Puerto Natales.  However a dog started barking around midnight and didn’t stop until sunrise.  I was grateful I’d only booked one night there.  On the flip side, we decided last minute to rent a car instead of take a bus into the park.  If we’d stuck to our original plan, we would have missed out on all the other parts of the park that were difficult to reach by bus.  Try buying a one-way flight and booking only your first night.  You might be surprised where it leads. 

4. Scout it out.  Emily and I are big fans of scouting things out.  For us, scouting it out means going somewhere new, gathering information, getting exhausted from all the newness, and going home to rest and absorb.  We’ve found this helps us do bigger, more challenging things, because we don’t let ourselves get worn out or overwhelmed.  Sometimes we leave the kids (teenagers) in the car and scout out a new grocery store.  Other times, it’s a new country.  Alison and I did this with Yosemite several years ago.  That trip paved the way for two long-term stays in Yosemite with the whole family. Our hope is to go back to Patagonia with as many kids as we can next year.  It was scary before and it’s still daunting, but it feels more doable.  And that’s the point.

The hope is for me to climb Central Tower of Torres del Paine.  Emily and the kids will hang out in the valley and explore the rest of the park.  I’m really grateful to a wife who encourages me to go, even when I don’t have a climbing partner.  I’m grateful to kids (Alison and SJ, I’m looking at you) who are willing to be my traveling buddies when they know traveling with Dad can mean a lot of walking, carrying heavy gear and extreme cold or hot.  I’m grateful for the friends we meet around the world and how we all manage to stay in touch despite time, distance and limited financial resources.

I’m already so grateful for my trip to Patagonia and Santiago.  Mark Twain was right, “Twenty years from now, you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do.” 

To celebrate the 1-year birthday of our book, Seven at Sea, we are offering a $7 discount for autographed copies, available only in our Fezywig Shop.  (Use code: 7OFF.) All items are 25% off thru Mar. 17 (use code: BIRTHDAY) including our brand new “What Could Go Right?” cozy mug.  

If you’re hunkering down for a quarantine (like Alison in Japan) it’s the perfect time to read a travel book.

$7 off autographed hardcover book - Code: 7OFF

25% all orders - Code BIRTHDAY

What if your sweetheart has a different dream than you?

My friend got a surprise invite to join a group of guys in the Alps for a week of hiking Mt. Blanc, which lies along the French-Italian border and reaches into Switzerland. It’s not an adventure you can march into on adrenaline alone. You have to be fit to take on this terrain.  Fortunately, my friend has a habit of running five miles every day and lifting weights.  When the opportunity popped up he was prepared.  

He came home with stories.  There were some dangerous moments.  I was vicariously stoked. I imagined what I would do with the same opportunity.  I disregarded the fact that I only walk 2 miles each day and pump out 20 pushups 50% of the time.  The views would be stark and stunning.

I was all in…until I heard how his wife spent that same week. First of all, she had no interest in hiking Mt. Blanc. She wished him all the best and fully enjoyed having the house entirely to herself for a week.  She emptied all of the kitchen cabinets, cleaned and reorganized everything.

Ooooh.  That sounds good, too.  I might prefer the luxury of unimpeded home organization and non-stop podcasts to an alpine ascent.  Not that it was my choice to make—I have three kids still at home.  

My indecision surprised Erik. There was no contest for him. He’d pack his pickaxe in a heartbeat—if he had a pickaxe. Guess what?  We’re different.  People say that after so many years of marriage, I don’t know how many years but we’ve been married for 24, you start to look, sound, and act like your spouse. Erik and I are very different.

This month we had our Mt. Blanc moment.  Erik planned a trip to Patagonia. It’s been on his to-do list for 30 years.  I hoped he would adjust his vision to a location with fewer variables.  He wasn’t interested. These towers have been his phone screensaver since he climbed El Cap in 2018. If Erik makes a goal his screensaver, he makes it happen.

Rather than taking the entire family to slog it out in unpredictable weather, I suggested a scouting trip.  Erik took SJ as his figure-it-out buddy.  In the first week they learned by trial and error where to fly, when to take the bus, where to safely store luggage, where to rent a car, where to sleep indoors, where to sleep outdoors, and how to get a climbing permit. 

They met the owner of a rock gym who is currently writing a climbing guidebook for the area.  He gave Erik and SJ the latest topographical maps for the climbs he was interested in.  It rained a lot and they hiked so much that SJ can’t currently lift her legs without some assistance from her hands.

Meanwhile, back at the Awesome Factory, which is what we call our apartment, I’m reorganizing.  I repainted the kid’s room. Next, I’ll be sorting through all of my books, which are a lot of books because we homeschool our kids. I’m also doing the regular school, home and church routines with special emphasis on Eli and Lily’s favorite games and foods.  And I stay up too late reading without feeling guilty.

We don’t always share the same dream. We can show our love by supporting each other’s dreams. Resisting your partner’s dream could lead to resentment as Erik wrote in his post, Because Your Dream Matter. Supporting your sweetheart’s dreams can strengthen your bond. Here are a few ways I’ve learned to do that.

Three Ways to Love Your Spouse

When You Don’t Share Their Dream

 1.  Hold your peace

 After expressing your legitimate concerns, if your loved one still wants to do this dream, don’t make negative comments about it.  This includes sarcastic comments—joking not joking; nagging—continual reminders that you lack trust; belittling the dream to your loved one or others—calling it crazy, hare-brained or dangerous. This is not where love grows.

2.  Give your blessing

 Praise your loved one’s commitment.  Let him or her know that you’re glad they are doing something that’s important to them.  Let him or her know it’s worth tapping your shared resources to make their dream happen. Help them prepare. This is where love grows.

3.  Show up

If your loved one is halfway around the world, like mine, you can show up in daily texts.  Even when Erik and SJ are off-grid I send positive messages daily.  If you can be with there in person—be there.  Bring a sign to the marathon. Make a sandwich for the writing author. Take pictures of the performance.  When you post, pick the picture that makes your loved one look good.

 To the Dreamer

Express your gratitude for your spouse’s support in-person and text messages. If you’re on social media it’s a nice touch to shout out your loved one for supporting your dreams there, too.  Most important, when the shoe is on the other foot and your partner has a dream that’s not your specific thing, hold your peace, give your blessing and show up for them.

 Disclaimer

If your spouse’s dream requires a move, job change or redefinition of your relationship, that’s a bigger discussion.

Before we turned in the final manuscript for Seven at Sea, Glen asked me if my skin was thick enough to handle all the criticism that would come when our book was published. My answer: Nope. Erik and I kicked off 2020 with Glen Nelson of The Center’s Studio Podcast where we dug into the story behind the book. And how the lessons we learned living on a sailboat continue to unfold. We’ll hope you’ll enjoy this conversation.

As Seven at Sea approaches it’s first birthday, we are so grateful to everyone who has messaged us about how this book encouraged or inspired you to live more boldly. Thank you for reaching out. And special thanks to those who have shared reviews on Amazon. We’re humbled to have 76 reviews holding steady at 4.5 stars. Wow. Your words mean so much to us. Thank you for sharing. If you haven’t left a review yet, please do. We’d love to hear from you!

Have you ever felt your dreams being shut down, from lack of time, money, your physical surroundings, your physical condition or even just someone’s opinion?  Have you ever resented obligations to work, friends or even your own family?  Have you ever felt guilty for resenting those obligations?  

If so, you’re not alone. I’ve said yes to every one of these questions at various points in my life. I’d love to share what I’ve learned, and continue to learn, about why our dreams matter.

I just re-watched Free Solo, the movie about Alex Honnald’s no-rope ascent of the 3,000 foot cliff, El Capitan.  The first time I watched it, I was intrigued by the scene where Alex and his girlfriend, Sanni, talk about his dream of free soloing (climbing with no ropes) El Cap.  It got me again.

Alex decides—after years of dreaming, planning and preparation—he is going to attempt to free solo El Cap the next day. Although his dream is shared by almost no one, including his girlfriend Sanni, his conversation with her illuminates why our dreams matter. Sitting opposite each other in the van, they talk:

Sanni:  I want to have this more holistic approach that you have where you’re like, “We’re all gonna die.  Might as well do what we want to do while we’re here.  And it’s okay when people die.”  But I feel like I want you to meet me half way and, when you solo, to take me into the equation.  And then… 

Alex: Is there a question?

Sanni:  There’s going to be.  

Alex:  Okay, yeah.

Sanni:  Would putting me into the equation actually ever change anything?  Would you actually make decisions differently?  

Alex:  If I had some kind of obligation to maximize my lifespan then, yeah, I’d obviously have to give up soloing...

Sanni:  What is me asking you [to maximize your lifespan]?  Do you see that as an obligation though?

Alex:  Uh, no. No.

Sanni:  Oh.

Alex:  But I appreciate your concerns and I respect that, but I in no way feel obligated.  No.  

Sanni:  To maximize your lifetime?

Alex:  No.  I don’t know.  But I mean you saying “be safer,” I’m kind of like, well, I mean I can’t. You know, I’m already doing my best. So I could just not do certain things. But then you have weird simmering resentment.  Because it’s things you love most in life have now been squashed.  You know what I mean?

[Sanni nods]

I think this scene can be disturbing, but also insightful. Does Alex love soloing more than he loves Sanni? If Sanni really loves Alex, would she ask him to give up his dream? How would Alex feel about Sanni if she encouraged him to pursue his dream? Riveting questions for a therapist, but let’s get to the point:  

I have zero desire to solo El Cap, and I’m guessing you don’t either.  But I’m guessing you want something.  What is it?  What is that something that calls to you; that risky, scary, uncertain, maybe even unreasonable thing you want to do that you haven’t done yet?  Hold that in your mind or write it down.

Back to my original questions:  Have you ever felt your dreams shut down by external circumstances like time, money, location or someone’s feelings or opinions?  Have you ever resented your obligations to family, friends or work?  Have you ever felt guilty for resenting those obligations? 

Again, if I’m honest, at various points in my life, I can say yes to each of these questions. Whatever our dreams are, burying them can turn into “weird simmering resentment.”

We can resent our spouse, our children, our work, our church, our school, our friends and even ourselves.  When we have a seed of something aspirational inside ourselves—something that will help us learn, grow and progress—and we set a rock on top of that seed, the seed isn’t killed.  It transforms into a seed of bitterness and disappointment that can fester throughout our lives manifesting itself in all kinds of unhealthy ways.  It ruins health, careers, marriages, communities, financial well-being, relationships and—ultimately it can take lives.    

Under the best of circumstances, we say, “I’m sacrificing myself for someone else.  I’ll give up my dream for someone else’s happiness, safety or peace of mind.”  This is noble.  This is the virtue of selfless-ness.  After all, selfish-ness is not the path to happiness, right?

This is the parent who works three jobs so their child can go to college.  This is the child who’s aging parents can’t maintain the family business so he or she moves home to take up the torch.  This is the older sibling who takes care of the younger special needs sibling after the parents have died.  These are the best among us.  What about their dreams?

Does noble selflessness mean denying your dreams? 

What if the most selfless thing you can do is pursue your dreams?  

Here’s what I’ve learned: 

For me, the greatest gift (e.g. service) I can receive is encouragement.  (My oldest daughter literally gave this gift for Christmas several years ago.)  

Then I have to ask:

Q:  How can I best encourage someone as they strive to tap into their own unique gifts and talents?  

A:  I have to lead by example.  

I have to do it for myself first.  I have to know what it means.  Then I am equipped and credible.  My encouragement means something.  I cannot lead where I am unwilling to go myself.

Q: How did you learn to talk?

A: Your parents learned to talk.  You watched and listened to them and fumbled along until you could do it too.

Q: How did you learn to walk?

A: Your parents and others learned to walk.  You saw them walking. Someone probably helped you as you tried.  Eventually you learned to do it too.

Q: How did you learn to tap into your innate strengths, pursue your curiosity, explore your talents and turn your dreams into reality?

A:  [crickets?]

Did you parents model it for you? If not, can you start?  Can you model it for your children?  What would that do for them?  What kind of gift would that be, for both of you?

Children are always learning.  They learn from what we do and don’t do.  If our children only see us living for them, that’s what they will do.  They will only live for their children.  And their grandchildren will learn the same thing, and on down through generations.  What if we showed our children how to live their best life by living our best life?

How much happier could we be in our work, our marriages, our relationships, our financial, physical and mental health if we did the public service of becoming our best selves?  

How much better would the world be if we let the light of our true interests, values, hopes and dreams shine into the world through our efforts, actions and accomplishments?

 It may be over-quoted, but that’s because it’s true:

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

- Marianne Williamson

Could pursuing your dreams be the most nurturing thing you can do for others?  Could it set other people free?  Could it be the best way to teach your children, strengthen your marriage, and improve your physical and mental health?  Could it be the best path to financial prosperity, intellectual fulfillment, and spiritual enlightenment?  There’s only way to find out.

Emily and I have spoken with thousands of people this year as we launched our book, Seven at Sea. As we’ve heard from people around the world, it has become clear to us that dreams really do matter.  Your dreams matter.  The dreams of people you care about matter.  After reading our book, our reader said to us, “I don’t want to live on a sailboat, but I have my own mountains I want to climb.  Reading your book helped move those mountains closer.”  We’re so grateful this person felt encouraged.  If you’d like to give the gift of encouragement, consider giving Seven at Sea.  Our publisher has made this kind  offer and we’re thrilled to share it with you.

Give the gift of encouragement

Because Your Dreams Matter

We’re also thrilled to share our latest podcast interview, this time with the generous and insightful Jessica Honegger on her Going Scared podcast.

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]]>Because Your Dream MattersErik OrtonTue, 08 Oct 2019 00:17:37 +0000https://www.fezywig.com/home/2019/10/1/one-thing-led-to-another52c34c3be4b02fca6772a5ac:52c34f41e4b073b4a438c47a:5d9389af553fb55c3ba7cc25We’ve spent the last three months on the South Island of New Zealand.  We arrived via one-way flights to visit friends with our bags packed for the wrong season.  One thing led to another and we ended up living on a farm birthing spring calves.

One of my favorite comedians, Brian Regan, says: “I hate the phrase, ‘One thing led to another.’ What kind of lazy writing is that? Isn't it your job as a writer to tell me how that made this happen? ‘Adolf Hitler was rejected as a young man in his application to art school. One thing led to another and the United States dropped two atomic bombs on the sovereign nation of Japan.”

I’ll do my best to do my job as a writer and tell you how one thing led to another. 

Emily details the first part of our journey in her post: Unexpected Road Trip.  Here’s the quick version: While we were house sitting in Hawaii, we realized—because the Southern Hemisphere was heading into winter—it was the cheapest time of year to fly to New Zealand.  We bought one-way tickets to Christchurch. 

Before we left Hawaii, we knew we’d want to stay a while in New Zealand, but no matter how welcoming our friends were, sharing a three bedroom house with four adults, seven kids and one bathroom could only last for so long.  We looked for nearby house sitting gigs online.  We found a small farm 13 miles north of our friends.  We Skyped with the owners.  They liked us a lot and we liked them.  We made a virtual handshake.  We would look after their two horses, eight sheep, chickens and dog.  With plane tickets and place to stay for our first six weeks (two weeks with friends and a four week house sit), we got on a plane. 

When we landed, we splurged and stayed in an AirBnb our first night.  The next day we shopped for used cars online and found a super cheap used minivan.  After a few trips to the ATM we’d withdrawn enough cash to pay for the car.  The next morning we drove our new-to-us minivan four hours south to visit our dear friends in Dunedin.

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We had an amazing two weeks with the Wards and our other NYC friends, the Herricks, who also flew in to visit at the same time (so that made it 5 adults, 10 kids, 1 bathroom).  I wrote all about it in The Pocket Lint Theory and Update from New Zealand.

Yet it was time to move on to our house sit at Tayler Point.  We drove up and met the owners in person. They are AirBnb Superhosts but from time to time they visit their children in Europe.  They were headed overseas.

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We learned how to take care of their beautiful animals and home, and enjoyed our time there immensely.  Our kids wanted to stay as long as possible and so did we, so we looked for another house sit.  We found a small home an hour south of Dunedin that needed house sitters for a week.  This home included one horse (a retired race horse named NASA), a bunch of egg laying chickens, a cat named Pip, and a dog named Bo.  Between House Sit 1 and House Sit 2, we would crash with our friends and hopefully do a little camping together.  We wanted to see the island and didn’t want to overstay our welcome with them. The South Island is cold and rainy in the winter so we thought an RV would be the best way to camp and see more.  Now all we had to do was find an RV. In the meantime, we took some fun day trips.

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We also wanted to rock climb.  One early morning, between House Sit 1 and 2, Emily and I drove out to a nearby beautiful spot called Long Beach to scout the cliffs.  We didn’t bring rock climbing gear with us, but we’d joined the local “Tramping Club” at the nearby university.  For the price of membership ($20) and a refundable cash deposit ($50), we could check out climbing gear for free.  We had everything we needed to climb except rock climbing shoes.  While at the beach, I noticed an older gentleman by himself. He seemed to know what he was doing but he was alone.

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“Excuse me,” I said.  “We’re here climbing for the first time.  Do you need a belayer?”

He didn’t.  He was setting up a fixed rope to do some solo climbing.  He could not have been nicer so we got to chatting.  He offered to set up a top rope for us and show us some of the better routes.  

I learned Dave Brash was seventy years old.  He rock climbed two to three times per week.  I wanted to be him when I grew up.

“By the way,” I said, “we’re hoping to do some road tripping around the island.  If you know anyone that owns an RV they might be willing to rent out, we’d be interested.”

He sort of smiled.  “I’ve got an RV.  I’d need to check with my wife, but I can let you know.”  Sweet!  Or as kiwis say, “Sweet as...”  As we walked back to our cars the sun set. Dave told us could probably help us get some rock climbing shoes.  What?!

We planned a road trip to Milford Sound with our friends, the Wards.  Turns out Dave lived just around the corner from them.  His wife said ‘yes’, he got the thumbs up from his insurance company and we rented their RV (campervan) for a few days.  

Milford Sound was stunning. I’ll let the pictures do the talking.

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Home from Milford Sound, we headed to Milton for House Sit 2.  It was a small home being renovated by its owners.  We built a fire every night to keep warm, collected the eggs and ate them for breakfast and to make cakes.  We snuggled down to get some work done.  We also needed to figure out our exit strategy back to NYC.  SJ wanted to move to New Zealand.  

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A new kiwi friend, Ange, referred us for another house sit.  This one would be more ambitious than either of our previous two house sits. It would involve:

• 8 horses

• 5 donkeys

• 30+ cows

• 6 calves

• 12 dogs 

• 10 chickens

• 5 cats

• 6 goats

• 1 rabbit

• 1 pig

It might be easy to gloss over 12 dogs, but yep, that is twelve dogs, a barking dozen.

We agreed to House Sit 3, a 64-acre farm near the town of Timaru that would go through early September.  Between House Sits 2 and 3 we would have a two-week gap. We decided to rent Dave’s RV again and do a longer road trip around the entire South Island.  Once again, we thought we’d see some country while giving our friends some space to do all of their we-live-here routines.  SJ moved in with them while we road tripped.

We headed north through the port town of Timaru to the thermal pools of Hanmer Springs.  

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From there we continued to Nelson and Abel Tasman National Park.

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We drove up to the north end of the Island: Golden Bay and Farewell Spit.

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We continued to Westport where we camped on a beach and went to church the following Sunday Morning.  And every now and then you have to empty out the holding tank in the RV. Sunday is a great day to get rid of all the crap in your life ; )

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We continued down the west coast to a gathering of small houses known as Charleston.  We camped along a river bank and went rock climbing the next day.

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We continued down the West Coast and cut back across the New Zealand alps via Haast Pass over to Queenstown where we skied for an afternoon and camped along the shore of Lake Wakatipu. 

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The following morning we drove back to Dunedin and returned Dave’s RV.  We jumped back into our minivan and drove to Timaru where we commenced House Sit 3.

It was a big job. While we there five calves were born.  We’ve roved the hills on the ATV checking on the new moms and calves.  We had to put down one sick cow.  Emily wrote about it in Life, Death and Technology on a Farm.

We fed all the animals everyday except the horses and cows which were out to pasture.  It was a stretch for us but extremely satisfying.

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We managed to sneak away for an afternoon to get in some climbing at the serene Elephant Rocks.

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We arrived in New Zealand the week of the MidWinter Festival and marked the shortest day of the year. We left on the cusp of Spring, with calves and lambs being born everyday, grass pushing up through the soil, the sun arcing higher in the sky and daffodils opening their yellow petals. 

To recap:  We found some cheap flights to New Zealand.  One thing led to another and we ended up living on a farm birthing spring calves.  Truth be told, the cows do all of the work.  We mostly stand around with our mouths open, taking pictures and giving them some food afterward.  Even so, we’ve spent a whole winter in New Zealand.  Now we are back in the U.S.  

It’s a new season.  I’m curious how that will play out.  My in-laws picked us up at the airport.  One thing led to another and ___________________. 

How would you complete this sentence:  The first day of autumn arrived.  I was reading a blog post and decided to __________________.  One thing led to another and __________________________.

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]]>One Thing Led to AnotherEmily OrtonTue, 17 Sep 2019 18:38:00 +0000https://www.fezywig.com/home/2019/9/19/life-death-and-technology-on-a-farm52c34c3be4b02fca6772a5ac:52c34f41e4b073b4a438c47a:5d8079f1cfc39b45b4c1355aby EMILY ORTON

We found a cow lying in the mud. She couldn’t move. We couldn’t move her. Erik and I weren’t qualified to assess the situation. We’d only been cowhands for a week. This was our third farm sit in New Zealand (basically housesitting on a farm) and our first time caring for cows. The owner was in a charity horse race across the Gobi dessert in southern Mongolia. She was off-grid for at least 10 days. We needed back up.

Earlier in the week Erik discovered two baby goats, dead. We knew what to do. Every farm has an offal—it sounds appropriately like “awful.” It’s a big pit on top of a hill for disposing of decomposing animal flesh. Rainwater recently filled the offal but we could still see a year-old cow carcass half floating on top. We gently scooped the small goats into a giant dog food bag and put it in the offal.

Fortunately, Neville, our next-door-neighbor was a professional farmer. Our written instructions advised consulting with Neville on any concerns outside our experience. We showed him a video of the downed cow and hoped he would recommend some way we could revive her.

He bluntly dashed our hopes, “She’s too far gone.” The cow needed to be shot.

It was early spring in the southern hemisphere and four calves were born that same week. Farm sitting gave us a front row seat to cycles of life and death. A couple of months earlier, Erik and I learned to catch, kill, and butcher wild chickens in Maui. It taught us great respect for our food. This suffering cow was a whole different matter.

“We don’t have a gun,” Erik said.

“I don’t have a gun either,” Neville said. “I saw an ad in The Courier for an abattoir. I’ll put it in your mailbox on my way into town.”

I’d never heard of an abattoir. Neville said the abattoir would shoot the cow and haul it away. Erik and I wondered what that would cost, who would pay for it and what the owner would think? We gave the cow some feed and water and hoped she would pep up…despite Neville’s prediction.

The next day we got the advertisement for the abattoir.  It meant slaughterhouse. They didn’t charge for their services. Sometimes they paid. They used the meat to make dog food. It was a business I’d never considered but it was important in farm country.  

We rode the ATV to the tallest hill—the only place where we had cell reception— called the abattoir and set an appointment. 

“How would you feel about asking Eli to watch?” I asked Erik.

“You mean when the abattoir comes to shoot the cow?”

A week earlier, I would not have considered that a good idea.  I still wasn’t totally sure.  

I had started a subscription to Family Tech University—a series of online courses that prepare kids and teens to use the Internet wisely—like Driver’s Ed. for screens. They curate the most pertinent articles, podcasts, and videos explaining the latest research on kids and screen use. They package it into easily digestible modules that facilitate family conversations. Everything about the program is positive, encouraging, and respects our ability to make good decisions.

Eli completed a module where he considered the question—What is real?  This is when I realized that Family Tech University, while based in current research, is also founded on Christian principles as taught in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.  That works for me.  If that’s not for you, I’ve included a great secular resource later.

After Eli read some excerpts from a speech about the importance of experiencing things in real life and the value of the whole body—not just the mind—as an instrument for learning, we had a conversation. 

On this farm, Eli drove an ATV for the first time.  He loved it. Ordinarily, I would have merely considered it a cool experience.  Because of the Family Tech University module, it became a teaching moment. We discussed how different actually driving was from playing Mario Kart.

Eli also plays Fortnite and Cuphead—both games where he shoots other characters. There is nothing realistic about either of these games.  There is more disappearing than death.  I’m not condoning these games.  I’m not sure how I feel about them.  It’s an ongoing conversation in our family.  

I hoped this rare opportunity to witness the inevitable death of a suffering cow could have a clarifying impact on our son.  I didn’t want to scar him or scare him. I wanted him to see this truth about life and death. I wanted him to see that shooting is real. It isn’t a joke and it isn’t funny.

Erik agreed that it could be helpful. Parenting is a gamble. Every choice is made with the best intentions but the consequences are outside of our control. Together, we explained our reasoning to Eli and Lily and invited them to join us. They accepted.

The abattoir’s truck couldn’t get up the muddy hill so we hiked to the cow. Unmoving, she followed us with her giant brown eyes. The kids and I said a brief prayer. I patted the cow’s forehead then stood back as the abattoir approached with his rifle. 

“Does your boy want to shoot it?” he asked. I looked at Erik. We looked at Eli. Eli took one step backward and waved off the opportunity with both hands.  

“Okay.” Pop. Slash. The cow was shot between the eyes and his throat was slit. It was fast, quiet, and shockingly mundane. The abattoir didn’t get any benefit from this cow. We thanked him for coming and watched as a very real, very red pool of blood formed under the cow’s head.  

This is a common reality for rural families all over the world but a rare experience for an urban or suburban kid. It certainly wasn’t suggested by Family Tech University, but prompted by our discussion about what is real and what is fake. Now, we’ve had half a dozen conversations about the difference between this real experience and the games Eli plays.  

One thing I like about Family Tech University’s approach is I know my child has already listened to, watched, or read thought-provoking content and made comments. Those comments are emailed to me along with questions to move our family dialogue forward. What we decide to do about what we learn is up to us.

When it comes to screens—filters, restrictions and controls do have their place. Ultimately, each kid will be his or her own final filter. It’s helpful if they’re prepared to choose what serves them and what doesn’t. I anticipate more meaningful conversations with my kids about what role they want technology to play in their lives.

In the time we’ve subscribed to Family Tech University, Eli has chosen to have his Internet browser restricted to only allow specific websites. He has spent less time on his Nintendo Switch. He’s playing more in real life—jumping off the high dive and rock climbing at the local rec center (uncharacteristic for him). He’s shooting hoops, jumping on the trampoline, riding a bike, and he even skateboarded for the first time. 

Neville came by later with his tractor to move the carcass to the offal. Two more calves were born that week.  Eli caught one birth on video. Watch to see his response. That’s real

Film credit: Eli Orton

 Family Tech University gave us a free subscription in exchange for an honest review. 

 If you’re interested, use code EMILY15 for $15 off at familytechuniversity.com

If you’re looking for parenting tech tips without a faith component, try Tech Talk Tuesdays free weekly email. I am a subscriber.

Sometimes I feel like I’m in this Netflix series called Drama World.  It’s a spoof on K-drama (i.e. Korean dramas) where the main character keeps waking up in a new show.  The settings and situations are different but the cast is always the same.  In real life, my family is always together, but we keep waking up in different countries and different seasons.  Usually, it’s no big deal, but sometimes it’s trippy. (That’s a travel pun).

In the past couple of years, our family has traveled outside of New York City waaaaay more than any of us anticipated. We’ve been to several different countries on a couple of continents. We’ve lived on a sailboat, in a van, out of tents, and most recently, on a farm.  We’ve visited ancient ruins, museums, and dressed up for an immersive evening of Regency period battles, dinner, and dancing.

When we’re traveling, most of life is still just life.  It’s the stuff we all sort out—eating, cleaning, helping kids with school, work, emails, and finally that blessed moment when we get to sleep.  I’m increasingly convinced that travel is just visiting somebody else’s ordinary.

In another country, somebody else’s ordinary is exotic, sophisticated and culturally expansive.  I feel awake and open. I’m curious. I point out the different colored street signs.  I note the unfamiliar height of the light switches.  I take photos of grocery store foods—like frozen octopus or buffalo mozzarella.  

But it’s just their way of doing things—often the same way they’ve been doing it for hundreds of years. Finns don’t gush to their friends about wool socks and wood-burning saunas. It’s mundane in Finland.  Greeks don’t snap pictures of street signs written in Greek. It’s everyday in Greece. Germans do not swoon over massive pastries in their bakeries. Well, maybe they do.  The point is those pastries are always there.  

This is true for historical people as well. We love seeing somebody else’s ordinary.  Every year hundreds of thousands of tourists hike around the lost city of Pompeii. In Pompeii, we are literally oohing and ahhing over the corner soup shop, wheat grinders, and the road.  

Seeing what we have in common with other people creates connections.  Seeing how we are different causes contemplation. Why do I do what I do? Is different better or just different? Do I want to make some changes? Is there something I want more or less of in my life? 

This month, travel has me contemplating a new question:  Why is it that when we visit a new nation or engage with a new culture, we’re impressed and curious, but if an individual person in our life does things differently than us, we get annoyed?  

Michael Pollan wrote, “Culture… is a fancy word for your mom.” As the mother of five children, I know that our diversity goes even more granular than family units. Individually, we are all different.

What if we brought the same curious, accepting approach home to our families that we bring to our travels? What if we brought our openness to work, sports, or politics? Or even, heaven help us, to the Internet?  

Wherever we are, we’re in micro-cultures of other people’s ordinary. They are exotic to us and we are exotic to them. What if we noted our similarities and differences with the same energy and delight as discovering a new city? 

What if we were more patient navigating the unfamiliar terrain? What if we were brave enough to say, I’m lost, will you help me? What if we learned how to speak a few words in their language?

That would be exotic.

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]]>Somebody Else's OrdinaryErik OrtonTue, 02 Jul 2019 03:51:11 +0000https://www.fezywig.com/home/2019/7/1/the-pocket-lint-theory52c34c3be4b02fca6772a5ac:52c34f41e4b073b4a438c47a:5d1ab4a1a83de90001aef4a7

by ERIK ORTON

We’ve had some pretty epic experiences lately as we’ve transitioned from house sitting in Hawaii to farm sitting in New Zealand (pictures below). But the thing that’s been on my mind a lot is pocket lint.

When traveling internationally, little things can matter a lot. Some examples include: having cash in the native currency, having cell/data service, knowing the right word (“togs” = “swimsuit” in NZ).  I suppose it should come as no small surprise that I was really struggling when my phone wouldn’t charge. I rely on it a lot. I use it for maps, finding a grocery store, buying bus tickets, and communicating in real time, just to name a few. So when my phone stopped taking a charge, I was distressed.

At night—if I connected with our best lightening cable and set it ‘just so’ and didn’t touch it all night—it would charge and be ready for the next day. But then I couldn’t count on charging it throughout the day because I couldn’t leave it ‘just so’. I had to be out and about using it. So I would resort to “low energy” mode first thing in the morning. I would switch to Airplane mode while driving.  And I was judicious about turning off Wi-Fi whenever I knew there was no signal. These are all fairly standard energy saving techniques when trying to extend a phone’s battery charge throughout the day. So then what?

My first-world-problem distress was further compounded by the fact that we’re in South Island, New Zealand and—shockingly—there are no Apple stores here. Right?! I knew getting a new charge cable would not solve my problem, because I’d already tried several. And I would have to fly to a different continent to get it serviced. And I didn’t want to pay for a new one. My refurbished iPhone 6S that is two and a half years old should still work, despite “planned obsolescence” (don’t get me started on this last bit). So I went to the internet.  My first few searches came up empty. But then I came across what I’m calling the pocket lint theory.

The Pocket Lint Theory: you keep your phone in your pocket. Over time pocket lint creeps into the charging outlet of your phone. As you plug in your phone to charge, the cord packs the lint into the base of the charge outlet. Enough of this makes it impossible for the charge cord to seat properly and connect with the charging nodes. Everything else with the phone can be working just fine, but a little pocket lint can get between me and a fully charged phone.

I found a small bladed knife and scraped at the base of my phone charging outlet. I was surprised how much black and grey crud crumbled out on the desk where I was performing this crude surgery. I scraped until I’d fully scratched the itch. Then I warily connected a charger to my phone. Had a just ruined the charging outlet? Was I a victim of another YouTube conspiracy? Was my phone actually more damaged than I thought?

Right away, my phone lit up with a green battery. Whoa! I couldn’t believe it. It worked. I unplugged it and tried it again. It worked again. I went to the car and connected it to the charger in the car. Same success. 

I’m ashamed to admit the wave of relief that swept over me. I am pathetically reliant on this little device for so much of my connection to the world. That said, I was reminded that, no matter how powerful the device and everything it could access, a little pocket lint could shut the whole thing down. It reminded me to attend to the small things. Keep things clean. If there is crud accumulating in my life, whether it’s a relationship, my work or my health, let alone my technology, a little time to clean it up can make all the difference. Now I can truly enjoy New Zealand! (just kidding)

Here are some highlights from our time in New Zealand thus far:

And in case you missed it, we were thrilled for Seven at Sea to get a shout out in The New York Times. It was listed as the top travel book in the Summer 2019 Book Review.

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]]>The Pocket Lint Theory & Update from New ZealandEmily OrtonThu, 06 Jun 2019 11:14:25 +0000https://www.fezywig.com/home/2019/6/5/unexpected-road-trip52c34c3be4b02fca6772a5ac:52c34f41e4b073b4a438c47a:5cf7ab21d39b6c000199f921by EMILY ORTON

It’s road trip season. After house sitting in Hawaii for two months, I thought we would fly to Utah, visit our daughter, Karina, and road trip home to New York City. That was Plan A. Erik and I were content with Plan A.

We were also open to an alternative route. Plan B was New Zealand. We have dear friends in New Zealand, which makes it high on our list of places to visit. It’s winter in New Zealand, which means tickets from Hawaii were inexpensive—cheaper than a domestic flight in the U.S.

Our youngest, Lily, is happy everywhere.  We weren’t worried about her. We wanted our teenagers, Eli and SJ, to feel some measure of control over their destinies. We let them decide between Plan A and Plan B.  

Eli, does not like warm, sunny weather. Hawaii is not his happy place. Every time it rained, he put on his shoes and enjoyed a chilly walk. The promise of overcast skies, coats and gloves temperatures, and regular rain in New Zealand appealed to him. SJ doesn’t like Utah. But she does like kiwi accents. Seventeen-year-olds sometimes generalize like that.  

They picked Plan B. We got one-way tickets to New Zealand. We don’t know where our journey will take us, which airport we’ll want to leave from, or precisely where we’ll go next.

 I wasn’t sure we would be allowed to enter New Zealand with one-way tickets. The immigration website was unclear, so I called. The immigration agent said it would be up to our individual border control agent and recommended we at least print out a bank statement proving we could afford to leave.  

 Once we decided on New Zealand, we had to figure out lodging. We used kiwihousesitters.co.nz to find a house sitting opportunity near our friends. We found a wonderful match and sealed the deal with a Skype interview.  We’ll be caring for two horses, eight sheep, and a dog.  We’ll be chopping wood to fuel the daily fire that will keep us warm.

 Sometimes housesitting includes transportation, but not this time. Erik recently wrote about people who make things sound easy. Some of our new friends made it sound easy to buy and sell a car in New Zealand. They told us, Lots of people buy a vehicle for their vacation, drive all over New Zealand, and sell the car when they go home. We decided to try it when we arrived.

 When we checked in to our flight in Honolulu, the first thing the airline agent asked us was, “Do you have exit tickets?”  

 “No.  Immigration told us to bring a bank statement.”

 Seventeen hours later, our border agent didn’t ask for exit tickets or a bank statement. Once he made sure we didn’t have weapons or drugs, he only asked us to enjoy New Zealand for less than 90 days-the max allowed on a US passport.

That was easy.

 We arrived at our Airbnb in a clean safe suburb of Christchurch at 2 a.m. Monday morning. We heard cars would be cheaper than in Dunedin, where our friends live. We hoped to find one there, but no guarantees. We hedged our bets and bought refundable bus tickets departing Christchurch at 2 p.m. Tuesday afternoon.

 I didn’t wake up until 9 a.m. on Monday. Erik had already been to the grocery store, purchased three meals worth of staples, and cruised trademe.co.nz looking for a car for us. He even sent some queries. We all ate Milo (chocolate) cereal for breakfast. 

 The kids, ages 11, 14, and 17, chose to stay warm inside together while Erik and I layered on most of the clothing from our duffel bags. We ventured two and a half miles into town looking for beanies, gloves, and thick socks to augment our family’s Hawaii wardrobes. We found the New Zealand equivalent of Walmart – The Warehouse.  Seven pairs of socks, three pairs of gloves, and two beanies later we emerged.  

 That was easy.

 We used the store wifi to download the app for Lime scooters. New Zealand, like most British Commonwealth countries, drives on the left side of the road. This was my first time driving on the left side, and my first time riding a motorized scooter. We power-scooted through the neighborhood at eighteen miles per hour. The scooters made it feel more like a date than an errand—a six-and-a-half-minute date. Wahoo!

 Erik’s car queries were fruitful. We focused on a twenty-year-old minivan. The ‘buy it now’ price was less than what it would cost to rent a car for three weeks. Erik and I walked to the ATM to withdraw cash—in case we liked it. Then we hired an Uber to the seller’s home.

 First, we got to meet a cool kiwi family. It never fails. All over the world, people are working hard, playing hard and taking care of their families. Then came the test drive. It was the first time Erik had ever driven a real car on the left hand side of the road. 

 That was the most awkward loop around the block of my life.  Erik flipped on the windshield wipers every time he meant to signal for a turn.  I held onto my door handle going left around the roundabouts.  My brain kept telling my stomach that we were in the wrong lane and would probably die soon.

 We were not in the wrong lane. We did not die. The van worked perfectly except the windows didn’t roll up and down. Who wants their windows down in the winter? Not me. 

 The sellers wanted the old minivan out of their driveway. We had one day in town to find a vehicle. We gave them cash and they gave us keys. There is five minutes worth of paperwork to fill out.  

 That was easy.

 Monday night, we had spaghetti and broccoli for dinner. Tuesday morning, Erik and I took our morning walk through the local cemetery. We all showered or bathed. I like to start a road trip smelling fresh. Erik cancelled our bus tickets and packed our new-to-us van.

 We had downloaded music, all the ingredients for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and a five-hour drive ahead.  We made one stop at Cookie Time, New Zealand’s number one cookie factory, to buy giant bags of discount broken cookies.  

 Then we eased into the left hand side of the road and Erik flipped on the windshield wipers. He was going for the turn signal but it worked out because it started raining.

 “Are you happy about this weather, Eli?” Erik asked.

 Eli smiled.

Monday, we entered New Zealand with one-way airfare, a summer wardrobe, and five bus tickets. Past me would have been too panicked to move forward with so little in place. I worried like it was my full time job. As a Mom, I felt it was my job.  

 Experience has taught me that worry is wasted energy. Worry muddies my thinking. Worry leads to bad decisions.  Worry holds me back. I still worry.  

 Now, I recognize worry as that nervous energy telling me that whatever I’m about to do is really interesting or really important to me. If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t worry. Worry tips me off that the possibility presented matters to me. Then I lean into wondering how I will answer the questions and solve the problems that arise.

 Sometimes our journeys take us across a geographic distance.  In my experience, every kind of journey is internal, creative and risky. Elizabeth Gilbert, world-famous author, personified her worries and wrote, A Letter to Fear.  

 This letter helps me stay calm in the face of Fear.  And Fear is always showing up no matter where I go.  Fear is not going away.  Maybe this letter will help you on whatever road trip you’re taking this season.  

Dearest Fear,

 Creativity and I are about to go on a road trip together.  I understand you will be joining us.  Because you always do.  I acknowledge that you believe you have an important job to do in my life and that you take your job seriously.  Apparently your job is to induce complete panic whenever I am about to do anything interesting.  And, may I say, you are superb at your job.  So, by all means, keep doing your job if feel you must.  But I will also be doing my job on this road trip, which is to work hard and stay focused.  And creativity will be doing its job, which is to remain stimulating and inspiring. There is plenty of room in this vehicle for all of us so make yourself at home.  But understand this—creativity and I are the only ones who will be making any decisions along the way.  You’re allowed to have a seat and you’re allowed to have a voice, but you are not allowed to have a vote.  You’re not allowed to touch the roadmaps.  You’re not allowed to suggest detours.  You’re not allowed to fiddle with the temperature.  Dude, you are not even allowed to touch the radio.  But above all else, my dear old familiar friend, you are absolutely forbidden to drive. 

                                                                        --Elizabeth Gilbert, Big Magic

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]]>Unexpected Road TripErik OrtonMon, 20 May 2019 23:20:24 +0000https://www.fezywig.com/home/2019/5/20/true-experts-guides-that-genuinely-help-you52c34c3be4b02fca6772a5ac:52c34f41e4b073b4a438c47a:5ce32c36427d850001421007by ERIK ORTON

I’ve learned that I like spending time with people who make me feel like things are possible.  This is especially true for things that feel complicated, intimidating or beyond my reach. 

Last week we went to Maui to see the island but mostly to spend time with new friends. They’d invited us over after a video chat a few weeks prior. They made complicated things sound simple.  

It was an illuminating experience. Our friends grow their own fruit and vegetables on their modestly sized property. In Hawaii growing things is pretty simple. Stick a seed in the ground and let it grow. They grow bananas, oranges, tangerines, figs, pomelo and various other fruits and vegetables. They run their cars off used vegetable oil they collect from restaurants.  

I saw how our friends collected the vegetable oil, filtered it and then stored it in a large container with a fuel dispenser hose attached. They essentially have their own private gas station in their backyard.  How simple is that?

The Hawaiian islands are also filled with wild chickens. Our friends’ younger kids were put in charge of catching the chickens in a simple homemade trap with cheerios for bait. The captured chickens were then kept in a coop until enough were gathered. They were then killed and butchered for eating. They taught us the process for killing the chicken, removing the skin with all its feathers, discarding the intestines and keeping the edible organs. This was all done thoughtfully and carefully. Ultimately we carried the chicken meat to the kitchen where it would be prepared as chicken curry. No Styrofoam and Saran wrap in the freezer section.  For those of us who have ever eaten a chicken sandwich, this is where it comes from: chickens.  Simple.

I’ve realized that people who want me to feel intimidated, overwhelmed or scared are usually “experts.” The complexity, intimidation and anxiety they create justifies their existence. I’m wary of experts. A bad realtor makes home buying complicated. They “earn” their commission by creating confusion and then taking care of it all for you. The bad stock broker makes buying and selling stocks feel incomprehensible. They earn their commissions by explaining how complicated investing is and how they’ll take care of it for you. The bad climbing instructor tells you the summit is impossible without their help.  You will need to hire them if you ever hope to reach the top.

I find the best guides and mentors simplify the process, make you feel capable and put you in the role of protagonist.  People that do that are true guides.  They are mentors.

Example 1

When Emily and I went to the Caribbean many years ago for our first big water sailing class, our instructor, Matt said, “Who wants to be at the helm?” There were four of us students living together on the boat for a week. It was our first day. We hadn’t even left the dock yet, and here he was putting one of us at the wheel. He had nothing to prove. He was there to guide us through every step, but from the very beginning he was the guide, not the hero. He was not there to show off how much he knew. 

In contrast, I was recently in New Hampshire with a friend. We’d gone up to the White Mountains and hired a guide to learn how to ice climb.  Our guide went to great pains to make sure we know about all of his climbing accomplishments, all the famous climbers he knew and all the routes he’d established. He wanted to be the hero. He would show us how something was done and then quickly move on to another concept. He hardly let us practice or try. And—frustratingly—we never actually ice climbed. He deemed the conditions not right, despite it being a beautiful day with cold temperatures and clear skies. But what do I know? I’m not the expert.

Example 2:

Last year I wanted to do a big wall climb in Zions National Park. We walked into a climbing store to get some last minute pieces of gear. The owner of the shop began to grill me on details of the route.  Did I have this? Did I have that? If I didn’t have this one piece of gear, I’d never get up the route. My confidence began to falter. After taking a class from him (he’d intimidated me enough to justify his existence as a guide) he laid out a road map of several years that would allow me to some day climb El Capitan. I’m glad I didn’t listen to him.

I contrast this with my friend who has climbed El Capitan over a dozen times. He told me, “You could totally do it. It’s not rocket science. You just have to think clearly, be steady and keep moving up.” The guide in the gear shop spends most of his day selling gear. My friend climbs a big wall a couple times a year. In fact, he just climbed El Capitan again last week.

Why do I want to overcomplicate things?

So when someone starts to explain to me whey something is difficult, I immediately get suspicious. What are they selling? They may be selling a product. Or they might just be selling their own ego. Either way, they want me to buy it.  I know I’m guilty of this. When people ask, “How do you write a musical?” I’m tempted to delve into the frustrating years of blood, sweat and tears the process requires. But I could say, “You can do it. You just have to be steady and write songs and a story that have a beginning, middle and end.” That’s all it is. Why do I want to overcomplicate things?

I love being around people who are capable and competent and would rather set me up for success than set themselves on a pedestal.  I trust people when they say, “Oh, you can do that,” especially when they’ve done it themselves.  They often then go on to explain simply and clearly how it’s done. The rest of the noise and complication is either an expert trying to validate their expertness or myself trying to justify why I can’t or shouldn’t start.

On Maui we stayed in a house that was beautiful and basic. The walls were single layer wood. There was no air conditioning. The doors and windows opened to allow the trade winds to blow through and keep it cool. The stove and hot water ran off a propane canister. The water heater was mounted to the outside wall and clicked on when hot water was called for. The electrical wiring was simple and straightforward. The whole house had four breakers.  It had a tin roof and ceiling fans. It felt like a house that didn’t require an expert. 

I worry that I’m forgetting my to trust my own capabilities.

When I was young, my dad taught me how to change the car oil, replace brake pads and I even helped him replace the engine in our big Dodge van. I did all the maintenance on the old VW Rabbit I’d bought with my own money. My dad designed our second story kitchen extension and three layer deck. I helped him build both. We planted our own trees, put up our own fences, repainted the house and even grew a small garden. This was in the suburbs of Washington D.C. After twenty years in NYC I’ve gone a little soft. I don’t even wash my own car. Someone else changes the oil and we call the super when something breaks. Not good.

This past weekend I was pleasantly reminded that we are smart and capable. We can figure things out. We can grow our own food. We can prepare our own poultry. We can build our own homes. We can find our own fuel. Experts can be helpful, but they have their place. I most trust experts who instill me with confidence and who clearly and simply convey their knowledge and wisdom. If they can’t convey it simply and clearly, I don’t trust they really know what they’re talking about. A true expert can distill something to its essence so it can be shared.

So where does all this lead us?

One of the things our friends explained was how they lived in New Zealand twice.  It wasn’t complicated. You just had to do this, this and this. We’re not planning to move to New Zealand, but we are going there to visit. We’ve been wanting to go for years. And we’ve had plenty of excuses in our heads. We were making it complicated. We now have airfare, a house sitting gig and we’re figuring out the rest. So far, things are shaping up nicely.  We’ll be sure to keep you posted on how it all goes.

In Maui we spent time with true experts. I want to fill my life with true experts and mentors and see where it leads us. And I want to be an expert and mentor for others.

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]]>True ExpertsEmily OrtonSat, 04 May 2019 10:41:00 +0000https://www.fezywig.com/home/2019/5/4/is-fun-for-the-whole-family-even-possible52c34c3be4b02fca6772a5ac:52c34f41e4b073b4a438c47a:5ccd50496e9a7f37d5265917by EMILY ORTON

I held our first baby for the first time knowing nothing about her except that she was ours, she had soft brown hair, and she was healthy.  Then the nurses whisked her away for a bath. Erik sat at my bedside, elbows resting on his knees, hands together.  He looked me in the eyes. 

“You want to follow her and see her first bath?” I said.  

“What if she doesn’t like any of the things that we like?” He asked.  

“We’ll love her anyway,” I said.

Every child is a gamble—a perfect stranger at birth.  We welcome them into our lives with no guarantees. Erik and I have done this five times. With so much shared genetic material, you would think we’d all be more alike.  We have some things in common with our kids, but they are all very different. They have different abilities, different preferences, and different personalities. 

Maybe that’s why Karina, our firstborn, says, “There is no such thing as ‘fun for the whole family.’” 

Every moment of family life is affected by this chemistry of similarities and differences.  Every endeavor has to be coordinated before and analyzed after.  And by “endeavor” I mean getting our shoes on and walking out the front door. To me, relationships matter most, so it’s worth it.

Typical Day at the Beach

For example, here’s how a typical day at the beach goes down at our house:  

Erik (Dad):  Okay everybody; let’s load up for the beach.

Eli (Son): [Stone face.]

Erik:  You knew we were going to the beach today, right?

Eli:  No. 

SJ (daughter):  You were there when we talked through the plan last night.

Eli:   

Erik:  Get your trunks on. We need to get ahead of the traffic.

Eli:  [maintains glower until home from the beach]

Belonging vs Fitting In

I recently watched Brené Brown’s new Netflix presentation, A Call to Courage. She said the opposite of belonging is fitting in. Fitting in is adjusting yourself to be acceptable to the group. Belonging is being accepted by the group as you are.  

Fitting in will never satisfy our deep human need to belong because the group isn’t embracing who we really are. I want all my kids to know and feel that they belong in our family. Its worth figuring out how to function even when we don’t like the same things.  

Awareness

My first step is recognizing and acknowledging that Eli does not enjoy the beach.   

“I noticed that you were glowering and hunched up when we were at the beach.”  

Gather Information

I look for a one-on-one opportunity to ask him about it. If I ask while we’re all standing around toweling off or driving home, it may feel more like an inquisition with some why-can’t-you-be-more-like-me judgment from siblings.   

·     What are some of the things about going to the beach that you don’t enjoy?

·     Are there any parts of going to the beach that you like?

·     What are some things you like to do as a family?

I can only embrace my son the way he is if I actually know who he is.

I can only embrace my son the way he is if I actually know who he is. What’s going on in his mind and heart? It’s inefficient to imagine and it can be destructive to assume.

Now We’re Talking 

I learned that he doesn’t like freckles. He doesn’t like sunscreen. He doesn’t like getting warm or hot. He doesn’t like saltwater in his eyes or mouth. He doesn’t like how it feels when it dries on his skin. He doesn’t want sand getting inside of his drawing case. He also doesn’t want to get in the way of the rest of the family doing something we enjoy.

He likes taking a nap. He enjoys taking photos of us. He likes it when we check in on him. He may even enjoy boogie boarding or paddle boarding if one of his close friends is there, too. He likes it when we stop afterward for a Costco hot dog.   

Fitting In 

I want to bring balance to the idea of belonging as Brené Brown describes it. A family is not a democracy or even a self-selected group. Erik and I lead our family as benevolent dictators. We love our kids. We want them to explore their interests and cultivate their abilities.  

We have family counsels, both informal and formal. Erik and I discuss and incorporate the kids’ feedback. We work towards consensus. We make final decisions based on what we think is best at the time. Sometimes we ask the whole family to support an individual member. Other times we ask an individual to support the family.

In a family, sometimes we have to fit in to function. We’re don’t ask our kids to pretend they are someone they are not. We ask them to choose to accommodate another individual (Give her some space, she’s having a tough day) or the group (Will you sing with us this time?). That’s what families do.

Life’s a Beach

Beach days—and all our days—are more fun when we all give a little.

Ways we try to improve Eli’s experience:

·     Have Eli repeat the beach plan back to us, so we know he knows

·     Beach umbrella

·     Beach chair

·     Full-sleeve rash guard

·     Long boardshorts

·     Sunscreen that doesn’t smell bad and is easy to apply

·     Camera for taking pictures

·     Water and sometimes a “good” snack

·     Occasional Costco hot dog or Mt. Dew afterwards

·     Checking in on him

·     Appreciating him for watching our bags

·     Acknowledging his calm or cheerful demeanor even when it’s not his favorite

·     In Hawaii, we go to the beach 3x+/weekly – we ask Eli to come 1x/weekly

·     Let his attitude be his choice and choose not to get frustrated

Ways Eli tries to improve his experience:

·     Bring a book

·     Bring a podcast

·     Take a nap

·     Invite a friend

·     Be involved by taking photos and videos 

·     Talking to us about our surfing session that he watched

·     Recognize this as an act of service that strengthens family bonds

·     Compare number of hours spent doing what he likes vs doing what he doesn’t like

·     Sometimes get in the water to boogie board or be friendly

·     Choose a calm attitude

·     Rinse in fresh water 

Belonging

Family dynamics and relationships don’t hinge on one vacation or one activity. We have to put the challenges in context. Outside of those beach trips that Eli finds so annoying, there are lots of times we’re doing things he does enjoy. 

I used to read the kids a picture book about a perfectly fair family where every child got the exact same treatment. When a new baby was born, every child had to wear diapers and sleep in a crib. It was exaggerated, but it established a compassionate case against total equality in a family. It didn’t end all complaints of, “That’s not fair” in our house. It did help our kids realize that each child has different needs. And different can be better than equal. 

I’ve made similar accommodations for each of my kids. Each one needs to be known, considered, and cared for as individuals in context of the whole family. It’s not always fair in a family. No matter where we are or what we are doing as a family, this is how they know they truly belong. 

A friend of mine invented the computer code that makes online stock trading possible.  He thought broker-based trading was unfair so he did something about it.  You can do that?!   

A friend of mine bought a vintage barn and moved it across town to his backyard so he could cover his fixer upper sailboat (which he’d trucked 740 miles inland from San Diego to where he lived) while he refurbished the sailboat.   You can do that!?

His next door neighbor bought several industrial ovens and started an artisanal bread baking business out of his garage which advertises exclusively on social media and they only hand deliver.  You can do that?!  

A friend who is a generation older than me told me how he bought businesses, fixed them up and sold them again. He’d studied business.  I’d studied music.  You can do that?!

I remember the first time I rock climbed at night.  My partner and I were hanging from a few bolts several hundred hard-won feet up.  It was either repel down with 200 pounds of gear, sleep hanging in our harnesses or climb up to a ledge in the dark.  He said, “You want keep climbing?”  You can do that!?

I climbed with a guy in Yosemite, Will, who came to the U.S. from Finland via the Caribbean.  He worked as crew on a sailboat to get passage and save money.  He lived in a one-man tent and traveled the country—carrying all his belongings—on a bicycle.  His biggest expense was food.  You can do that?!  

We’re going to Maui next month to spend some time with new friends who live off grid with their five kids for less than $1,000/month.  They fuel their cars with vegetable oil and eat produce that grows naturally all around them and every now and then they cook up one of the many wild chickens that come across their property.  You can do that!? 

I’ve been reading Multipliers by Liz Wiseman and I’ve been really intrigued by these three words:  behavior follows assumptions.  Again:  Behavior follows assumptions. So what intrigues me about this?  A handful of things.  I want to know, what are my assumptions?  What do I do just because I assume something is the way it is?  And what are things I don’t do because I assume things are the way they are.

Steve Jobs famously talked about how malleable the world was.  

“When you grow up you tend to get told that the world is the way it is and your life is just to live your life inside the world. Try not to bash into the walls too much. Try to have a nice family life, have fun, save a little money. That's a very limited life. Life can be much broader once you discover one simple fact: Everything around you that you call life was made up by people that were no smarter than you. And you can change it, you can influence it… Once you learn that, you'll never be the same again.”

What might be blinding me to possibilities in my own life?  These can be called blind spots or (if you’re into business books) black swans. What are the things that don’t even enter my head? If you’ve seen The Matrix, you get it.

And there’s a flip side to this idea of blind spots or assumptions and that is this:  the fish is the last one to discover water.  Liz Wiseman also talks about this concept in her book Multipliers.  There are some things we each do well, effortlessly and willingly, because they come naturally to us.  And we don’t even realize they are a strength or skill because we assume they are common sense or common place to everyone around us.  I imagine a heist movie with the team assembled.  Every member of the team has a special skill that comes naturally to them. In their case, they’ve identified their special skills and are putting them to use.  They know the water in which they swim.

My daughter Lily can introduce herself and talk to anyone, without fear.  If the Orton family were a heist team, I’d call her The Ice Breaker. She assumes people will like her and that she will like them.  Behavior follows assumptions.  And yet she doesn’t think this is a special skill. The fish is the last one to discover water. 

I’m trying to figure out what my assumptions are as well as my natural skills. What are my blinds spots and what is the water in which I swim.  I’m creating lists for both areas.  Will you help me? If you’re wiling to respond to either of these questions, and help me identify both blinds spots and water invisible to me, I would love to hear from you.  (hello@fezywig.com. Try to be nice : )  And I dare you to make your own list and ask someone you trust both of these questions. I’d love to hear what you find out.

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]]>You Can Do That?!Emily OrtonTue, 16 Apr 2019 00:03:39 +0000https://www.fezywig.com/home/2019/4/15/tax-existentialism-unexpected-insights-this-tax-season52c34c3be4b02fca6772a5ac:52c34f41e4b073b4a438c47a:5cb4f8004785d34720ffd78dby EMILY ORTON

Taxes have generated grief for millennia.  Jesus was born in a stable instead of at home with friends and family to help out because of tax season.   In a 1789 letter, Benjamin Franklin wrote, “Our new Constitution is now established, and has an appearance that promises permanency; but in this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes.” 

 If you’ve been here very long, you know that I love thinking about death—not in a macabre way.  The uncertain timeline inspires me to live more consciously—somewhere between navel gazing and BASE jumping. Existentialism is my jam.  

Existentialism is a philosophy that emphasizes individual existence, freedom and choice. It is the view that humans define their own meaning in life, and try to make rational decisions despite existing in an irrational universe.

 Even though I’ve been a taxpaying existentialist since 1990, this was my first year viewing taxes as an inventory of my life—my personal values and credibility—not just my financial ebb and flow.  You could call this a tax existension. Existential + Extension? I don’t have to be a dad to tell dad jokes, right?

Full disclosure—Erik is the one who prepares the taxes at our house with an assist from Turbo Tax. I prepare what I call a “tax bake,” which basically means I provide brownies or cookies for the guy in the chair. We’re currently both happy with this arrangement.  I know because I offered to prepare the taxes this year and Erik was like, “Uh…no.”

We sat at the same kitchen table.  We tapped our collective memory about old expenditures.  What we spend our money on tells stories about us. 

·     Remember Taco Time in Idaho last year when we first sat down with Alison’s (now ex) fiancé?

·     What’s this charge in Hawaii last year?  That skateboard for SJ—she paid us back on Venmo.

·     Why do we have back-to-back charges at this same gas station?  Oh yeah, renting two cars in Finland was cheaper than getting one big car.

·     Remember that pizza shop outside of Pompeii when we could barely take another step?

·     Remember buying stamps at the Vatican post office and Swiss Guard told us not to sit on the steps?

 “Metrics are determined by what you measure.”   

My wise friend, Whitney Johnson

Whether money is part of your personal success metric or not, where we put our money is one indication of what we value.   A big fat return would be nice.   Either way, preparing taxes guarantees that we all get real data about our personal choices—a year in review.  No life coach required. Though, if you have an LLC, you could probably deduct that…

Did we put our resources where our values are?  Or do our taxes reveal a different story about what really matters to us?  We’ve all heard of credit scores, but how is our personal credibility score?  Are we putting our money where our mouth is?  This year, I hope you discovered you are more walk than talk.

Many happy returns!

This Easter week, we’d like to share a recent podcast where Erik, and I each tell a story. No interview. It’s not about our book. Just funny, poignant, personal stories where real life and faith meet. This is the Gospel

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]]>Death and Taxes - Unexpected Insights this Tax SeasonErik OrtonTue, 09 Apr 2019 21:25:35 +0000https://www.fezywig.com/home/2019/4/9/my-word-of-the-year-again52c34c3be4b02fca6772a5ac:52c34f41e4b073b4a438c47a:5cad02ea15fcc04b02010783I’m thinking a lot about how to make things happen.  I’m reading The Happiness Paradigm by Richard Eyre.  He contrasts the Western way of pursuing focused goals with the Easter philosophies of being present and aware in the now.  I’m very Western, but I’m drifting East.

Richard talks a lot about Serendipity:  “that quality of mind which, through sagacity and good fortune, allows one to frequently discover something good while seeking something else.”  It’s this last part that really gets me:  “discover something good while seeking something else.”

I’ve always thought it’s important to visualize a goal and get increasingly clear so I can achieve it.  But what if my focus blinds me to something even better?  The trick is to discern between something truly better and a mere distraction.  Richard spends a good bit of time exploring these nuances.  But for the sake of this post, let me keep it simple:  what if, in pursuit of something good, I come across something better?  I often try to force things to happen.  I double down.  I keep my nose to the grind stone.  I stay disciplined.  I think these are all virtues and have their place, until they’re not.

Light in the Wilderness by M. Catherine Thomas beautifully explores this topic. I don’t have the book with me here, so I’ll paraphrase.  ‘What if the best way to improve ourselves is to relax into an awareness of things as they are, rather than trying to force things into what we wish they would be?’ The idea is replacing pushing with peace; release rather than force.  We can still move toward progress and change, but in a way that is serene rather than stressful.

When I rock climb, if I am tight, worried, fretful and tense, I climb terribly.  I may get up the route, but when I do I am exhausted, spent and usually mentally agitated.  This is the inevitable beginner state.  I don’t trust the rope, I don’t trust the holds, maybe I don’t trust my belayer and I certainly don’t trust myself.  I live in a state of worry and anxiety and therefore everything around me is a threat and an obstacle.  But when I am calm, relaxed, trusting and limber, I move more freely. The same tasks and problems present their solutions naturally. I simply observe them and move through and up. When I am tense and rigid, I feel stuck, blockaded and frustrated.  Answers do not present themselves and I end up overlooking the elegant solution and pave over it with something clunky and ugly.  When I start from a place of peace, the same problems are solved—still requiring energy and awareness—but they are solved smoothly and calmly.

Perhaps that example is murky.  Most people don’t rock climb.  Maybe we should talk about money.  Everyone deals with money.  Recently Emily and I tested out the idea of offering a financial class; sharing how we manage our money.  In a preliminary questionnaire, we asked people how much money they wanted.  They all wanted the same amount.  Each person wanted enough so that they didn’t have to worry.  Everyone wants to not worry.  

I’ve worried about money plenty.  I’ve lost lots of sleep and, if I was lucky enough to sleep, I ground my teeth in my sleep (just ask Emily) and I’ve worn new creases between my eyebrows.  What I know for a fact is that I did this all with varying amounts of money in the bank.  Each bank balance brought with it a different kind of worry.  What I’ve come to realize is that we’re not after a dollar amount.  We’re after what we think that dollar amount will buy.  We think it will buy an emotional state.  We think a certain amount of money will buy us peace of mind. The bad news is that will never happen. The good news is what we all really want costs literally nothing.  We can choose to worry or not.

Please don’t confuse eliminating worry with solving a problem.  The problem may not go away, but how we approach it can change everything.  

If I approach a financial problem and I’m tense, rigid, fretful and worried—which I do often, my thoughts will be stilted.  I will be distracted and jumpy.  My movements will be jerky, exhausting and—in this case—probably expensive. However, if I can gain the presence of mind to accept the situation as it stands, gather facts, face them directly, detach from all the catastrophe my mind is trying to forecast, my movements will become smooth.  My efforts will become efficient.  Solutions will present themselves, and they will usually be better than my own initial thoughts and ideas.  Which brings me back to serendipity.  In the pursuit of something good, we may discover something better.

I won’t recap it here, but the time I forgot the van keys and missed my flight was one of the prime experiences that taught me the power of serendipity.

Again, there’s a lot to say on this topic and how to open oneself up to it, but let me say this for now:  I believe serendipity is a reality and I believe it is an experience that can be cultivated.  And here’s why: because it has nothing to do with forcing or changing external circumstances.  It has entirely to do with altering my inner state, by humbly adjusting how I perceive the world around me, and allowing myself to open up to the full spectrum of truth and possibilities.  Easier said than done.  

I still struggle with worry, frustration, and anxiety.  In fact I didn’t sleep well last night because I had a dream some border guard was wrongfully trying to steal my ID, which would mean I could no longer fly.  I’m sure there’s some kind of subconscious message in there, but I’ll save that for another therapy session.  The point being, I often look outside myself to solve my problems.  If only I had __________ dollars in the bank.  If only so-and-so treated me differently.  If only my neighbor, the government or the weather behaved differently.  In the words of the band OKGO, “There’s nothing that’s dumber than pinning your hopes on changing another.”

I’ve picked a new word for 2019 (and it’s not serendipity).  I’ll keep that word to myself for now.  But for 2018 my word was: “Limber” and I rather liked how my year turned out.  I’m grateful to Richard Eyre for articulating this concept of serendipity.  I still have a lot to learn.  I believe it’s important to pursue our goals (as we Westerners love to do) and yet I believe we have much to learn from the East about not letting the goal of arriving distract us from all the possibilities and treasures of the present. 

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