The latest installment in an occasional series: how I unplugged over the weekend.

Wow. I haven’t been here for a month. And I kinda left everyone hanging in that last post about me and my unraveling sweater. What have I been up to? Well, knitting that new sweater. Which really means I’ve been doing lots and lots of thinking and planning and organizing about the coming year. And myohmy am I excited about what I’m cooking up (more to be revealed very soon).

My inspiration showed up in an urgent and compelling form. You know, when it’s almost like you aren’t choosing to work so hard to get it all down on paper, but that drive is coming from someplace else?

I’m deeply grateful for the inspiration, but making it real has been a lot of work – satisfying but exhausting (and apparently blogging-prohibitive) work. And by last Friday I was pooped. Pooped I tell you. I didn’t even bother to complete my what-do-I-need-to-finish-to-feel-good-about-this-week list. It felt better to just stop.

And I was so glad I gave myself permission to do so – then committed to doing absolutely nothing related to work for two whole days.

Basically, the past weekend was made up of lazy mornings and domestic chores and falling asleep watching movies like Young Frankenstein on TV. There’s nothing remarkable to report about it except the very experimental pear-grape crisp actually turned out to be pretty tasty – the grapes are like little plums. Oh, and we only had two trick-or-treaters, but they were the cutest little ninja and pirate you ever saw.

And what made it easier to not default to work-related tasks and keep my commitment was my growing Puttering Basket.

One of the trickiest things about unplugging is being so rusty at it. We are so much more practiced at doing our jobs. So, even when we give ourselves time to play and refill our professional wells, we don’t always know what to do with that time. And in the absence of something else compelling, we can find ourselves drifting back to work. Because it’s familiar and comfortable. Because this being-not-doing thing is awkward and weird. Which doesn’t make sense considering how much we crave it – which makes it that much more weird. Better just to go back to work where we know what we’re doing.

Except that’s hardly satisfying or sustainable.

So, in the spirit of creating a flotation device for myself that would support me in those awkward moments of not knowing what to do besides work, I made myself a Puttering Basket. Basically, my weekend rule is this: in a transitional moment when I’m not sure what I want to do next and I’m tempted to turn on the computer (which is off-limits), I have to go to the basket. I can do anything I like, so long as it’s in the basket. (Maybe that sounds confining and counter-intuitive, but having endless options is overwhelming and not helpful.)

So, obviously, it matters what’s in the basket. For the most part, it’s a toy box filled with fun stuff to do. So far, it holds:

• magazines, crosswords, playing cards and coloring books
• books to be read solely for pleasure and books for my soul
• the latest knitting project (or other crafty goodness)
• an iPod loaded with favorite music and podcasts (pairs nicely with the knitting), plus Leonie’s Dreaming Meditation in case a nap is what’s called for
• cards and stationery for sending notes to people I love
• blank paper for capturing random ideas

And here’s the most important thing I’ve learned: the puttering basket has to be stocked before the weekend. You can’t go looking for this stuff in that awkward moment of transition. You’ll just end up at your computer working. Or watching Very Bad TV. Trust me. You’re rusty, remember?

So part of my Friday closing-the-week ritual is stocking my Puttering Basket with all the fun little things I didn’t have time for during the week. The stuff I want to do, but never seem to get to.

In the end, my Puttering Basket is a good example of two of the basic organizing principles I live by:

• everything is easier if you start with a container
• everything needs two containers: storage + space on your calendar

Many of the fun little things that allow me to relax and refill my well now have a place to belong – in the basket and in my weekend. Which makes them much, much more likely to happen – and happen with ease.

What would you put in your Puttering Basket?

• • • • •

It’s Friday. Time for a round-up of the week’s Lessons Learned.

Except I am looking back on a murky week. There’s not much I can share with clarity. If there are lessons here, they are not learned – rather still very much in progress. But they center on this:

I let go of something this week. And it turns out that releasing something that represents an identity can bring up all sorts of unexpected weirdness. Or at least an unexpected level and quantity of weirdness. Totally did not see that coming and the space I would need to make for it.

I pulled on a what I thought was a loose thread and ended up unraveling half my sweater.

Which was mostly good. The whole point of the release was to untangle myself from certain threads connecting me to my past.

But as I kept pulling free, I found myself wanting to keep going. To unravel the ill-fitting parts of the sweater knit much more recently. Still good – ultimately – but again: did not anticipate needing to make space for that. It crowded out other planned activities in a way that was discombobulating. And left me feeling naked and vulnerable.

• • • • •

Funny how you can do your best to follow the instructions yet still end up with something not-quite-right.

Bummer. But it happens. So you figure out where you miscounted or dropped a stitch, and go back to that point and begin again.

That’s really all these Lessons Learned are about: finding those places and beginning again, now knowing what you didn’t know then.

I suppose my sense of murkiness or confusion this week is just me trying to locate that starting point.

And wondering what to wear while I rework this thing – because I need something much more cozy and comforting than half a sweater.

Luckily, I have multiple identities and roles in my life – which means I have other sweaters to choose from. I just have to remember to go to my closet and put a different one on instead of needlessly sitting here shivering, feeling all exposed to the drafts of change, in this half-knit mess.

• • • • •

It occurred to me at some point last week that if an employer had asked me to work several weekends in a row, I would have insisted on some sort of compensation or acknowledgment.

Time and a half. Comp time. Kudos when annual reviews/raises/promotions came around. Something.

And whatever we were working on, it better have been something truly important and urgent.

So as my own boss, I’m wondering…

Was it important and urgent? Yes.

Will I be financially compensated for my extra effort? Short term/directly, no. Long term/indirectly, yes. I believe it will prove to be a good investment.

How can my inner boss acknowledge the extra efforts of my inner worker bee?

Comp time is appealing right now, but neither my inner boss nor my inner worker bee is comfortable just… leaving things be while we take a breather for a day or two. There would be consequences we are not so excited about. Or, to avoid those consequences, we’d have to do more organizing and managing than we’re up for.

But we can agree on a paring down to basics. No extras, just the essentials for the next week or two.

And a commitment to not running another marathon again any time soon.

At least not without asking these important questions beforehand.

In the frenzy of the moment, I don’t usually ask myself if the extra effort will be worth it – if what I’m pushing through is truly important and urgent, if what I will earn from it will be proportionate to the energy expended (not to mention if there will be space to replenish afterwards).

And I should.

As big a fan as I am of pacing myself and honoring my capacity, I know there will still be occasions when more than the usual effort will be required. But it’s still my responsibility to be choosy about when and how that takes place.

And it’s not just an energy question. It’s a money question. “Overtime” costs my business something one way or another. And even though it’s just me, myself and I here, I still need to make sure I’m spending it wisely.

• • • • •

How do you approach those “extra hours” you put into your business? Unavoidable? A worthwhile long-term investment? A jackpot of immediate returns? How do you view the cost of overtime?

• • • • •

Another installment in what is apparently an occasional series: how I unplugged over the weekend.

Occasional because I worked some portion of every day from September 7 to September 26. That’s 20 days in a row. That’s 20 days of me not being in alignment with my commitment to unplug on a regular basis. Which left me with nothing to report in the way of unplugging except that I wasn’t doing it.

At least I didn’t see it as normal. I recognized it as a choice. I made sure it was a temporary anomaly. But that didn’t really do much to make it less exhausting.

However, it did make yesterday’s play seem that much sweeter. A little time in the fresh air of the mountains with my sweetheart and my poochaloo. A little time to garden while the weather is still pleasant. Ahh. Was it all that I wanted? No. But it was really good.

And it was good without guilt or worry because I had hung on to a few new practices for the duration: I did my morning meditation, I got outside for walks with the dog, I closed the week on Fridays even though I wasn’t “finished” – and while I worked daily, I didn’t work crazy long hours each day. I put some things on hold, but I didn’t go to that panicked, driven place where I would have put everything on hold. I did little things to ground and pace myself along the way. Were they enough? No. But did they prevent disaster? Yes.

None of that would have happened six months ago. So, call it a lapse if you want, but I call it progress.

It’s Friday. Time for a round-up of the week’s Lessons Learned.

I think I should preface this whole post with an excerpt from the transcript of my mind chatter this week:

Hamster-wheel mind: “Wow! I’m so tired. I wonder why I’m so tired? I shouldn’t be this tired. But, wow, am I tired!”

Compassionate aware mind: “Um, honey? You’re tired because this is your sixteenth day of working in a row. So please let’s just take a nap already.”

So, while I can look back with satisfaction on the accomplishments of my week, they came at a price. And I am reminded for the umteenth time why I have rules about unplugging regularly.

Under these circumstances, it’s unrealistic to expect to be able to sustain the kind of learning I did last week. And to prove it – here’s the one lesson I am able to glean from my week.

Working in this intense way is a roller coaster ride of highs and lows. Highs from the cool, exciting stuff. Lows from crashing from that stuff.

And being on a roller coaster makes it nearly impossible to engage in the maintenance activities that I find to be so stabilizing.  For me, maintenance activities – cleaning and laundry and cooking and dog walking and filing and whatnot – are the complex carbohydrates that keep me from crashing after the sugar highs. Maintenance normalizes things.

It wasn’t so much having such significant tasks on my to-do list that was so exhausting. It was how they squeezed out the seemingly less significant routine stuff that robbed me of small opportunities to recharge.

So, for the umteenth time, I am reminded to not set myself up for this. Way more lead time, honey, way more lead time…

It’s Friday. Time for a round-up of the week’s Lessons Learned.

In the successful-application-of-previous-lessons-learned category:

I’m using a little worksheet that I invented for myself in thinking about how to close my week on Fridays and unplug for the weekend. Love it. It’s just the right amount of structure to help me transition from work-mind to play-mind. It generates all kinds of good stuff – not least: it makes it much easier to write this post.

Systems are just one big experiment. So it’s super cool when you try something new and it works. And because it works, it’s not such a big deal to follow through with doing it more than once. That happened to me several times this week. I decided to make some tweaks based on a few “never again” lessons, and they stuck. Awesome. [Specific examples to follow in a future post because they are that good.]

In the new-lessons-still-in-need-of-a-flotation-device category:

I learned (once again) that it’s really tricky for me to reflect on my experience (i.e., write blog posts) when I am processing other big ideas (i.e., writing course content).

I learned that the endings and beginnings of classes bring up stuff for me.

I learned that I get pretty cranked up (I mean that in the best possible way) during class calls – then don’t know what to do with that energy afterwords.

In the just-plain-positive-lessons category:

I’m learning there is time to do it now.

I’m learning how to do the half-right thing when I can’t do the whole right thing.

I’m learning that I don’t need to keep checking.

I learned that meditating before I work turns anxious but-I-don’t-have-time-for-this energy into grounded, ready energy. There is a significant difference.

I learned I can nap when I need to with Leonie’s help. (Up till now, I’ve found taking a quick nap to be kinda pointless considering it takes me two hours to fall asleep for a half hour. Not any more.)

I learned it’s really hard to stay cranky about something when I am hula hooping.

I learned (once again) that letting go of a should is not only liberating, but incredibly clarifying. Feeling murky? confused? uncomfortable? There’s probably a hurking big should in there somewhere.

I learned I can make necessary changes in my business without fearing drama or disapproval. There is, in fact, a very good chance I will be supported instead.

I learned I’m finally ready to do something I’ve been putting off.

I learned that seeds I planted in the summer grew and ripened and can now be harvested.

I learned I’ve learned a lot this year.

• • • • •

What did you learn this week?

• • • • •

It’s Friday. Time for a round-up of the week’s Lessons Learned.

Except, in honor of Jen Louden’s week of Freedom from Self-Improvement, instead of compiling my usual list, I thought I’d clarify what this weekly post is about. And what it’s not about.

[ I'm a bit late to the party in sharing this event with you - today is the last day - but you can still get in on the fun. Jen is giving away fabulous stuff, plus today you could win a whole year at the Comfort Cafe - which, as I've said before, is what stands between me and crazy burnout. ]

I am not flogging myself with a wet noodle (as they say) here.

The phrase “Lessons Learned” has connotations that maybe aren’t so nice.

First, there is perhaps an association with the notion of “teaching someone a lesson” – defined as: to get even with someone for bad behavior; to punish someone so that they will not behave badly again; to show what should not be done.

As though my Lessons Learned are somehow punitive insights into my shortcomings that I beat myself up with. Which is so not the case.

No, my association with the phrase originates with where I learned it. I was introduced to the expression in a corporate setting. Fortunately, that was a long time ago and my Dilbert-esque connotations have faded and only the kernel of the idea – “stuff that didn’t go so well that we’d rather not repeat” – has stayed with me.

In that context, it wasn’t about “we screwed up” (the “we” was so huge and bureaucratic I don’t know that anyone really could grasp who the “we” was anyway). It was all about improving policies and procedures – systems – so things would go more smoothly and come closer to desired outcomes next time. They were engineers – a practical bunch – and weren’t much concerned with something as unnecessary to a well-functioning system as self-flagellation. And I’m not either.

This is about Doing. Not Being.

My coach once pointed out that we’re not trying to be better (“You can’t be better, you were born perfect.” she said) – this about doing better.

The distinction has made a huge difference for me. It allowed me to uncouple wanting change from my self-worth, from my understanding that what is happening right now is okay and enough and exactly as it should be.

And all the noticing I’m doing about what is happening, all the evaluations I’m making and conclusions I’m drawing from it, are about what I need to do to make it easier to be me.

Not change me. Be me.

The “lessons” are changes I want to make in the environment and circumstances I create for myself, so that being my true self is a cakewalk.

As often as not, it’s about removing what’s getting in the way. A simplification. A paring down. An elimination of unnecessary rules and shoulds.

It’s not so much fixing as a refinement of all that is already going well, of what is working (though I may not always list that stuff, trust me, it’s there).

It’s a polishing of what is already good and sufficient.

Polishing is optional. And yet it’s not.

I really like learning. And I’m not sure I could stop myself even if I wanted to.

It seems to me we are created to learn. It’s one of the basic things we are born to do. Why else are we walking around with these big brains on the top of our bodies?

And we seem to learn best from trial and error, from our so-called “mistakes.”  Our fallibility has been ideally designed.  Our imperfection is perfect.

To try to eliminate it from our being (or our doing) through “self-improvement” – even if it were possible – would rob us of the best way we have of genuinely improving our lives.

Not by being better, but coming to understand what we can do to make it easy to just be who we are.

And sometimes we don’t need to do anything at all.

Please join Jen and me in giving yourself a day off – and enjoy a little freedom from self-improvement today.

It’s Friday. Time for a round-up of the week’s Lessons Learned – and what a week it was.

Change is in the air.

For many, fall is the true beginning of a new year. It’s unquestionably a time of transition. From one thing to the next. From endings to beginnings.

For me, that means trying new stuff. The only question is: what changes will stick?

Starting with tweaking my schedule. The light is changing. Classes are starting. The timing and sequence of things needs adjusting. That’s normal. But recently, I’ve been immersing myself in Waverly Fitzgerald’s writing about honoring the seasons and holidays – which I love – and it’s added a whole new dimension to this quarterly task. Oohlala.

I’m so lit up about seeing the connections between all the rhythms and rituals I’ve been seeking and experimenting with lately – the relationships of work and play, fall and spring, waking and resting, doing and being. Answers to old questions I’ve been asking – how? – are appearing. And that’s deeply satisfying.

I’ll have to write a separate post about it. There is so much I want share, but it’s still taking shape and is far more than I can synthesize on a Friday afternoon. Suffice to say, this Time Disciple learned a lot about Time this week. Insight for which I’m deeply grateful.

What epiphanies lit you up this week?

• • • • •

Oftentimes, people bring the task of sorting stuff to Bite the Candy. It’s not surprising – sorting stuff is something we all procrastinate about doing from time to time. Even if we’re pretty vigilant about what we acquire and clean up our messes as we go, there are still piles that inevitably accumulate.

And what came up in last month’s session is just how stubborn and surprisingly emotional some of those piles can be to sort through.

One of the best insights I’ve ever come across about why we hang on to our stuff is that we associate particular objects with our identity.

For instance: in the process of cleaning out the garage, you might realize you should really let go of those water skis – you haven’t used them in years – but you can’t bring yourself to do it. You were really good at the sport and had a lot of fun doing it. It’s not just fond memories of people and places you loved, it’s the recollection of skill and pride that keeps you holding onto those skis. In letting them go, you fear not only losing those memories, but also any chance of water skiing or being a water skier again. So they stay.

In my own case, I have a devil of a time sorting through any kind of accumulation of art supplies or unfinished art projects. In part, it’s a habit acquired long ago as an art student. In that context, I never purged what might be useful. I couldn’t afford to. But beyond that, letting go of materials feels like letting go of who I am. To pass on that gouache is to relinquish all that I became when using it. Never mind that I never learned to like the stuff and haven’t used it in years (for all I know it’s dried in the tubes). Yet I can’t let go of it because then I wouldn’t be an artist.

Same with the student flute that’s been kicking around since high school. I never really enjoyed playing it in the first place, but to let it go would somehow mean never playing music on any instrument ever again.

It’s illogical, I know. But that’s how our minds work.

Here’s another. During a quick purge of my closet a couple weeks ago, I tossed a couple pairs of jeans in the outgoing pile of clothes – but with a twinge. I was getting rid of them because I never liked how they fit to begin with, but they are also a size too small. And whenever I give up clothes that are too small I feel like I am giving up on ever being a healthy weight again – that I will somehow no longer be a healthy person.

Again, it’s illogical. Those pants don’t have anything to do with what I eat or how much I move from this point forward. But my mind nevertheless associates the two.

It’s the same when our schedules become too crowded with stuff.

Activities pile up and when we go through them to sort out what we no longer need, we come up against things we’d like to give up doing or change in some way – but they are so strongly associated with how we’ve come to see ourselves, we can’t release or shift them. At least, not without some struggle and introspection.

The client work found when your business had a different focus than it does now.
But I’m still one heck of a _____.

Administrative tasks that would be better handled by someone else.
But organized people can do it all themselves.

The care-taking no longer needed by older children.
But a good mom is always there for her kids.

The spaces that have become too high-maintenance.
But responsible homeowners have nice lawns.

A family tradition that doesn’t feel appropriate anymore.
But if I don’t bake the cookies, no one else will.

The friendship that has drifted.
But you stick by people no matter what.

A spiritual practice that has lost meaning.
But a faithful person always attends services.

The TV habit that isn’t relaxing anymore.
But I’m tired!

The yoga class that hurts your knees.
But I’m not a quitter.

Change this stuff up and suddenly you’re no longer an expert, self-sufficient, a good parent or neighbor, loyal, a believer, helpless, or disciplined. So, much the same separation of the thing from one’s identity is required to let go of activities as the physical stuff. Reframing it might look like this:

Now I’m one heck of a _____ > and a ____.

Organized people > know they can’t do it all.

A good parent > will always be needed by her children, just in different ways.

Responsible homeowners > cultivate native, low-maintenance plants.

If I don’t bake the cookies > I can pass the torch and allow someone else to contribute.

You stick by > the truth no matter what.

A faithful person > seeks the light wherever it is.

I’m > committed to restorative forms of self-care.

I’m not > afraid to listen to my body.

Ceasing activities that no longer light you up or serve their intended purpose does not undo past accomplishments or prevent future ones. In fact, just as with removing clutter, clearing unwanted activities creates space for those desired experiences to come into your life.

So, the next time you find yourself doing something you don’t really want or need to do, ask yourself how you can let it go and still be the person you want to be.

• • • • •

If “Will I still be me if I stop doing X?” is the sort of experiment in rule-breaking that appeals to your inner-rebel, please join us for the fall session of The True Discipline of Time Management. Registration closes Tuesday, September 8.

It’s Friday. Time for a round-up of the week’s Lessons Learned from my daily sheets – in no particular order.

Early in the week, I had a little epiphany about finding more joy in being corporeal (aka: not neglecting my body in favor of my mind). It has to do with broadening and deepening my sensory experience – which is very shallow. I have multiple senses – taste, touch, sight, sound, smell – most of which share space in my head with my brain but get much less use. I expect I’d enjoy them more if I gave them more to delight in. And it’s not like my brain wouldn’t get anything out it.

As one’s clarity lessens, one’s pain returns. Applies to more than ouchie arms, I’m thinkin’. Whatever else you do, make sure you can still hear the feedback.

As Charlie says: commit or quit. Monday morning I tweeted, “It’s not a doing sort of day. It just isn’t. Entertaining the idea of not only being okay with that, but letting myself *enjoy* it.” I should have done more than entertain the idea. I didn’t do much. And I didn’t NOT do much either. Very unsatisfying. And surprisingly tiring.

On a more practical, system-y note: somewhere in the annual scheme of things there needs to be a quarterly review of copy like my sig block, bio, confirmation notes. That stuff can get stale fast without you even noticing. And when you realize it, you feel like a dork. But you don’t always have time at that moment to do anything about it so you feel like a shmucky dork. It’s a feeling I would prefer to avoid.

Similarly, there are little notes about the timing of routine tasks and giving myself reminders for them and collecting all the info I need for classes in one place strewn throughout the week. It’s time to update the manual (isn’t it always?). Because stuff is falling through the cracks or just taking too darn long.

Lastly, remembering that Twitter is like bar, I’ve learned one drink is enough. It’s okay to be a regular, but not a lush. Which means not going nearly so far back in the stream and limiting my morning visit to, well, the mornings. Turns out too much tweeting leaves me too shnockered to do anything else very well. I’m goin’ on the wagon, people.

• • • • •

What have you learned this week?

• • • • •