What's more, learn to listen for small negative comments. Envy comes in many shapes. "Constructive Criticism" is one of them.

I have worked with some vocal teachers who have had truly successful careers. In my experience, the more successful and happier they were, the less need they had to put others down. True experts teach with generosity. They understand how to encourage the next generation. They don't need to feel smarter than you and they delight in your progress.

So. Stay away from people where the vibe just doesn't match.

And only take advice from people who SUCCESSFULLY do what you want to do.

Can you see the problem with this description?

As far as descriptions go, it isn't the most inaccurate summary of me. That honour belongs to the shockingly recent "some twelve-year-old with a grudge" line from an unmentionable source. I am neither twelve, nor do I do grudges. The former is apparent from the deep wrinkles in my forehead. The latter is a desperate prevention attempt to escape more ghastly forehead wrinkles.

The problem with the above description of me isn't accuracy. It's that it includes the moniker "creative". As if "creativity" were some physical attribute right along with hair colour, dress size, and ear diameter.

It's not.

We say "being creative" when we really should be saying "making new things, you know, creating stuff, goddess style, out of rainwater, scraps, and thin air".

Creative is an adjective, but it really shouldn't be. It should only be a verb. And perhaps a noun. I mean, "creation" has a nice ring to it. "Look at my creation", you'll exclaim, pointing at your latest attempt at abstract cupcake art. Yeah. A noun would be helpful for moments like that.

But mostly, creative is a verb. As in "to create something (or even whole SOMEONE)". If you want to be creative, or even more grandiosely, "a creative", all you have to do is make things that were not there before. That's all.

You can be creative when you cook and add a new spice to the tomato sauce or do the laundry and add a dark sock to the whites. Both can yield unexpected results that can lead to delight or despair. You can be a creative by doing an activity traditionally associated with creating, such as writing, drawing, building things with legos or becoming a Minecraft nut. You can also be a creative doing anything else. You can apply creativity as a scientist, an accountant (an unexpectedly creative profession), a parent, a gamer...

The difference between "creatives" and "non-creatives" is merely that creatives make things while non-creatives don't. Sometimes they make whole new things from scratch. Sometimes, they add a little twist to something that's already there. They improve a process, decorate a hallway, or find a better way to play a healer 5v5s in World of Warcraft.

And as humans, it is almost impossible not to make things. It's what we do naturally. Even if all we make is just coffee in the morning and a particularly fluffy mountain of whipped cream on our dessert. We make things—all the time.

We create.

We are creative.

Sometimes, we just don't realise it.

I'm not interested in the glossy part of your ToDo list, though. It's pants down and show me the unsexy undies.

Yes, I know you got a lot of things done these past few days. The things on your "ToDo one day" list also look really conscientious: clean the fridge (what is it with me and fridges lately?!), tidy up in the attic, fix the door on the back closet.

But where there is one ToDo list, there are more. They breed like rabbits.

What about the ToDo list where all your high and mighty goals go to die? Care to show me that one? You know, the one where it says "write a book", "heal my relationship anxiety", "start a movement for more mental health awareness in schools".

That part of your ToDo list is more like a hospital wing full of comatose patients than a thriving garden of wishes and dreams. Things smell weird around there. There's no hope, no plan, no real spark, and certainly no coffee in the vending machine.

Nothing moves, neither the patients, the air, nor your not so sparkly anymore dreams that never come true.

Somehow, we have all accepted that it is normal to have a ToDo list like that. Burying our dreams or at least keeping them on a ventilator until further notice seems to be a rite of passage. You're not really a responsible adult unless you have added at least five patients to the ward. You know, giving up on enough "silly things" seems to be required to be admitted to the holy realm of picket fences and suburban gardening committees.

Fuck. That.

I am not saying that you need to make everything you dreamed of as a child come true. Some of my dreams were definitely bad ideas (hello, extreme sports), at least for me. Some of my dreams were downright impossible (I am looking at you, "fairy dust"). But some of them were really good dreams.

They don't deserve to die alone.

They might not become fully-fledged supernovas, but honestly, I can do better by them than just letting them rot. You know. I can visit them. Take them out for a walk around the yard. TRY them out again.

Perhaps I won't be a super famous singer, but I can still start a band and release my first songs at the ripe old age of 34.

What are you hiding on your ToDo list?

Maybe it's time to make the first step. Take a class. Write a poem. Catch a bird. Travel to the next village over all by yourself.

It made me queasy. Not because the house was awful or something.

It made me queasy because I have never bought a house before. Or seriously considered buying one. The closest I ever got was "just taking a look".

My brain has a pretty easy time dealing with the idea of buying a house as long as it is just on Zillow. I love crunching the numbers and coming up with ideas for what to do with the house. I like thinking up businesses to run out of the garage of the house or deciding what would work best in the retail unit downstairs.

I like the hypotheticals of houses.

But when we go look at one, my heart starts racing and I never want to look at houses again.

Because what if I like it?

The house we looked at today...I liked it. I also liked the numbers on it.

But the next step would be to talk to the bank.

What if the bank hates me?

I think I am not afraid of houses but of banks. They are like those judgmental grandparents who really, really don't approve of you. Well. They could be. Theoretically.

I think what I am most afraid of isn't the financial commitment.

It's finding out if the bank would give me a loan.

What if they don't?

Meh.

But what if I do?

Better talk to the bank about the house for practice.

Besides, my grandparents are really nice.

When I am at my lowest, what I most want is to drop everything and "rest until I feel better".

The problem is that I never feel better when I do. "Rest" in this situation is code for hiding under the blanket, watching Sailor Moon until my eyes hurt, and consuming ludicrous amounts of comfort food.

When I feel bad, the last thing I need is rest. Only motion creates momentum. Only using my energy helps me create more of it.

Conversely, when I feel like I have a ton of energy, the FIRST thing I need is rest. It's hard to remember to build in some recovery when things are going well and I am breezing along on a wave of perfect vocal takes and witty banter.

I need rest most then because all that energy doesn't come for free. It feels like it does, you know, all buzzed up and excited. But just cause my spirits are high doesn't mean I suddenly turned into an extrovert (nope, just checked, a lot of people still make me crash and sleep after the emotional high). I love doing people things, especially when my spirits are high, but I also overextend myself when I am on the up because I don't plan for the downtime until my body tells me straight out that I need it.

Ah, listen to your body, they say. But sometimes, your body's signals are just a little late. Like, for example, did you know that when you get thirsty, you are already dehydrated? Yeah, better take a sip of water right now. There, all better.

Rest is like that, too.

Use your planning brain and make time for rest before you get an angry message from your body telling you that you need it. It won't prevent the ups and downs of your normal energetic cycle. You will still feel tired when it is time to feel tired (yeah, thank you period, love you too, see you in two weeks for 12-hour naps) but you'll still prevent some crashes along the way.

Quite the opposite.

After all, a proper adventure usually involves a long physical journey to some faraway cloud castle and at least one epic battle and a case of doubt about the better angel of your nature who has conveniently forgotten to plug in their phone.

Now Frodo's journey in The Lord of the Rings, that's a proper adventure. It is crawling with battles and dark nights (and knights) of the soul. There are lands strange and unknown, monsters, betrayal, elves, dwarves, big gates to somewhere where things are not alright, and struggles over struggles. In the end, Frodo makes it through, but things have changed. He has changed and the world has changed. His companions had their own journeys and have grown into slightly different versions of themselves also. Even Sam, who seemed unwavering and unchangeable throughout, comes home a little more Sam than he left.

What's more, it took more than Frodo to make the journey. And yet, in the end, he had to go the last bit by himself. Sure, everyone helped him along 99% of the way and he would not have made it without his companions. But in the crucial moment, he had to gather the very last bit of himself to make it through, thus making the whole effort worthwhile.

What a journey. What an adventure.

It very much sounds like the week I've just had.

Or the last year and a half.

Or the other day when it was laundry day and you were out of cheese.

Never mind the year we've just had or the decade the year will stretch into.

In the end, the epic tale is only the simple story of everyday life taken to outrageous extremes. We all have journeys like Frodo's over and over again. Our monsters are smaller, our wizard friends are handy with electronics, the knights in shining armour come in the shape of professional cleaners while Galadriel's gifts look suspiciously like the screwdriver we use to tighten the loose bits in the dishwasher to make it run smoothly again.

Our life is made up of one epic tale after another. Over and over, we venture out to overcome the circumstances that threaten the summer-dreaming, merry peace in our personal Shire. We leave to make things right and we come home slightly changed. Slightly more of ourselves. Slightly weary but with a deeper appreciation for uncle Theudebald's Apple Cider and the soulfilling restfulness of Rosemerries backyard.

We'd never give ourselves the same credit we give Frodo. It's just a simple life, after all.

But without us, it wouldn't happen.

I have had battered shrimp and calamari before and I know what sauteed onions taste like. I like both of those things. And yet, until today, I always passed on the onion ring when someone waved one at me. It just looked dubious to me.

Of course, the onion ring was perfect. I don't know how I lived this long without them.

And yet, even though I knew the individual parts that make an onion ring, I was not prepared for how good the ACTUAL, for real thing would be. I couldn't imagine it and I would NEVER have tried an onion ring had my husband not insisted I close this gap in my American culinary experience.

It was soo good that I skipped the battered shrimp instead just so I could eat more onion rings.

What a revelation!

We have altogether too high expectations of our everyday revelations. We think that we have to know exactly what we want before we're five years old or that our purpose will rush into our lives like a thirsty lover who's been lost at sea for a decade.

A life's purpose. That is such a monumental, grandiose statement. Only the cheese log at aunt Mae's barbeque has more gravity. Seriously. At aunt Mae's, everyone heads to the table where the cheese log is like it's salvation spread on a cracker. Perhaps it is.

A life's purpose. It should feel big, shouldn't it?

It should drop on us like a ton of bricks. If angels wanted to sing along, we'd take those, too, because who doesn't like a choir of heavenly voices announcing that we have finally unlocked the path to divine happiness. You know, yoga influencer style.

So we wait.

And we think.

We fret.

And we watch inspirational content, hoping that one of those ah-ha moments s going to be "it".

But clarity doesn't work like that.

The way to bake the cake to end all cakes is to bake many, many cakes and make adjustments each time. The way to figure out if you like onion rings is to try them.

The way to find your favourite foods is to try many foods and slowly inch closer to what you like.

The way to find your purpose is to do things with your life and inch closer to what feels like that onion ring. The yummy small things will lead you to the yummy big things. That's how you get from a single onion ring to a whole platter of deep-fried goodness, cheese, and a life's purpose.

You put things together and then give them a go.

Very present, in the front of my mind, is the realization that I need more sleep than I think I do and that Gin and I will never be friends again.

Both come as a bit of a surprise. The sleep and the Gin, I mean. The "you are not using your potential thing" is just like, well, duh, none of us is really using EVERY LAST BIT OF OUR AWESOMENESS.

The nature of potential is that it is infinite. Potential is kind of like the end of the rainbow, you never quite reach it. The pot of gold will never be yours but perhaps you'll still find some worthwhile treasure along the way. It's how I came into my favourite fluffy slippers and the mascara that makes my eyes pop every time.

While "reaching my potential" and I hashed things out years ago, the thing about the gin is really unfortunate because I only discovered the holy grail of pepper and cucumber in a Gin and Tonic recently. Our parting is way too soon.

On the list of big AHA moments, sleep, though, is a stranger thing than I realized. I know that sleep is massively important. I once even read a whole book about how important it was which subsequently made me worry so much that I didn't sleep well for two weeks. Honestly, reading books about "this stuff is important" is good for the information, but not so good for the nerves. I almost quit coffee over THIS picture...(Maria Juana is looking good, tho!)

Anyway, sleep is important.

So I make sure I get my eight hours or more. But lately, it has been more. Not just a few minutes or half an hour more, but a whole 90 minutes more. I need a whole soccer match of extra shuteye every night.

Somehow, that is more than thought I needed.

But I really do seem to need it. I don't have trouble falling asleep the next night, I don't wake up with a headache, and I feel reasonably rested throughout the day. So I guess that's just what is good right now. Perhaps, I'll get a few months as a hyperproductive lark once I am through my perma-hibernation.

So, sometimes, you need more sleep than you think is reasonable. Don't beat yourself up about it. Just add a soccer match.

That's hard to hear. It also sounds suspiciously self-helpey and I totally understand that you just want to puke every time you hear "oh, but you need to figure out your pri-OH-rities".

The problem with self-help is that there is too much of the help (meaning: advice) and not enough of the self (how to get enough headspace to use any of the advice). The reason we don't get things sorted out right then and there is usually that our "self" is decidedly absent.And without the "self" to go do things, the "help" is just a big pile of "stuff you should do" that adds to the internal guilt trip that has turned into a 79-year-long voyage with 1.265 stops along the trail.

When we are too busy, our "self" goes for a hike. Sometimes, that hike turns into a 76-year-long trip along the coast of Hawaii with 1.265 stops for more drinks along the way. And frankly, who can blame the poor "self"? If the autopilot never budges out of the seat, why would any self-respecting conscience bother sticking around? There are more fun things to do than wither in a self-driving bag of worries. Even when you are just a personification of someone's voice in their head.

In the depth of self-help and self-exploration, finding "the self" or revitalising it always involves DOING things. There are yoga and mediation, art classes, retreats, consciousness-raising hikes in blue underpants, spirit quests, and all sorts of other GREAT stuff. And don't get me wrong, it's great.

But it is also a way to get distracted and lost. Again.

When we set out to find our "selves", instead of doing less to add some space, we swap one relentless to-do list with another. Perhaps, we stop volunteering for every PTA activity, stop trying to win every bake sale (yes, you do have the best cherry-colada-fudge squares) and let the dishes pile up on Saturdays. But we quickly make up for it by adding precisely 21 routines, meditations schedules, and yoga plans to our lives.

Self-help, we learn, has to do with DOING the right things instead of the wrong things we have been doing before we found the right book. You know, the one that vibrates with your aura and makes everything sparkle in rose lavender puke.

I think that self-help has a lot more to do with doing fewer things than with doing the right things.

It is a little bit like how an extra walk a week will not do as much for your health as if you quit smoking.

Instead of asking "what can I do", perhaps, we need to be asking "what can I NOT do?"

If we create that kind of space, perhaps, he "self" will show all by itself, no help needed.

There is a real, albeit very small, chance that you will die tomorrow. That would suck. Mostly for the people who are not dead, of course. They will have to deal with all the embarrassing passwords you use and find a way to get rid of your non-matching socks. You will be blissfully ignorant when you are dead. Come to think of it, being dead, really is not your problem at all, but I digress.

Aside from being dead, there is also a real and much larger chance that you have more time than you think you do whenever you tell yourself that "it's too late for that stuff". "I am too old" is everyone's favourite excuse from the ripe old age of five. Age has nothing to do with it. It doesn't factor into my fascination with glittery stationery and it certainly doesn't keep me from anything I REALLY want.

Instead of talking yourself out of your life (literally and metaphorically, I don't know that sinking into the couch is an actual life...) just start something and keep it up for a few years.

Something will come of it.

I have never once done anything for a long time with nothing coming of it. Good things and bad things, of course. But still, the stuff you keep doing has a way of paying off in your life.

Sometimes, the things that you stick to seem unlikely at the time. Or the people you meet don't look like candidates for the "longest friendship award". Looking at my friends today, I am not sure I would have pegged half of them as "keepers" when I met them. In turn, some people I thought would be my friends forever are not a part of my life anymore.

Things come and go and often, the results are different from what you imagine. Kind of like...you get what you dreamed of, but in a different colour.

It's extremely unlikely that your life is not going to change drastically over the next two decades. I mean just look at me, a lot has changed since I was fourteen! So, if it is going to change anyway, you may as well nudge the change into a direction that you actually enjoy.

You still have time. You just need to start.

My experience is that it's best to have parties (and Mint Juleps) whenever it suits me? There isn't anything more jubilant in turning 50 than in turning "50 and 112 days". My joints, I am sure, will ache just the same.

Sometimes, it seems as if we feel so guilty about having fun that we can not help but over fixate on "the big anniversaries". We pile up all the expectations, candy bars, and enjoyment inside our grubby fun-drawer of unmentionables and never let it out. Except for when the right suitor...or anniversary comes along. Then we open the drawer and—much to our horror and disappointment—realize that the moths got in and our favourite silky things are not just unmentionable but also unwearable.

We don't air our dirty laundry, but we also don't air our joy and delight. And yet, both are practices very much worth having. Both for yourself, and as a kindness to others.

As the mother of a teenage boy, I can tell you EXACTLY what happens when you do not air out the dirty laundry.

I think joy works the same way, even though it is much more pleasant than my son's sweatpants. If you don't let it out, it just gets smelly and rots. I am not saying that cheerfully flaunting your joy and delight every day except Sunday will fix all your problems, but I am sure that your closet full of despair could do without the extra joy rotting in the corner.

So, take a page out of Alice in Wonderland and celebrate. Without any special reason whatsoever. Just because.

At first, it will feel strange. You will feel a bit guilty. You know, like you feel when you take a bubble bath in the middle of the day. It feels SO good, but somehow, you still have this nagging feeling that things should not smell of rose bubbles and make your skin so soft before 7 PM. Certainly not while you still have other things to do.

You will also get some weird looks from other people the first couple of times you casually suggest an unwarranted celebration in the middle of February. They will keep asking you what the occasion is and then harrumph a little when you blithely tell them that there is none.

After a few of these baseless celebrations, though, the people around you will get used to it. At worst, they'll think that you are a bit eccentric (my brother still shakes his head in awe every time he has a direct encounter with my "let's just celebrate for no reason"-thing), at best, they'll join you and you'll save them many, many sour-faced birthdays.

Either way, there will be more Mint Juleps in your life. Definitely a win win.

I love puppies the same way I love toddlers. For a while and only when I can give them back to people in charge of them. I never want to change a diaper again if I can help it. I never want to give the sofa yet another cleaning because something went wrong with all the fur-ball excitement.

Of course, the new puppy is beyond adorable. Right up to the point where it dashes over to our door like a furry lightning ball, loses its mind with excitement over "IT'S A DAY!!!!!" and pees on our doormat.

There is something about the doormat that attracts the puppy and then catapults it into a state of such elation, that it loses its shit. Or its pee. Or everything.

I have been thinking about a fence. Good fences make good neighbours and, what's more important, good fences make for fewer puppy incidents in front of the door.

Then again, putting up a whole fence just to keep a furry baby from having accidents in an inconvenient spot seems to be overkill. The puppy will grow out of it. At least I hope it will. It will learn manners over time and one day, the excitement of the world will perhaps not lead to spontaneous incontinence anymore.

Much like puppies, we can forgive toddlers and teenagers for their spontaneous outbursts even when the outbursts come at inconvenient times. "They'll learn to do better", we mumble, as we push the schoolbag out of the middle of the hallway and give the weird spot on the carpet one more cleaning.

Alas, at some point, people are neither toddlers, teenagers, nor puppies anymore.

That's when you need to start thinking about fences for real.

If grown-up puppies or people still have not learned how not to shit on your rug—both metaphorically and literally—there isn't much hope that they will grow out of it. What's more, if you keep cleaning up after them, all they will learn is that it is ok to leave smelly turds on your rug or in your mind. Cause hey, no biggie, you'll clean it up.

If someone keeps leaving their baggage with you, messing up your day, or dumping their "stuff they just need to vent about" on you and they don't stop when you tell them, get a fence. Get a fence even if they look at you with puppy eyes and whine softly. Make them wait by the door. Let them know that they are not welcome in your house (or your life) until they can keep their shit together.

But so is sitting through the night with your feverish toddler, consoling your teenager when the first heartbreak arrives or realising that you can't fix everything for your children.

"Hard", despite all belief to the contrary, is quite fuzzy. It has a clear reputation, but when you look closer, you see that that reputation holds up about as well as the cheap toilet paper in the school restrooms. The word's meaning is flimsy to the point of uselessness.

When we compare the crosses that we bear to the cross the next person over, we often focus on the clearest meaning of "hard". We think about "am I doing more than she is" or "have I done more backbreaking work than the guy down the line". We think about the physical meaning of hard.

But there is a whole other meaning that "hard" also has. It can mean "difficult". Of course, "difficult" is almost as fuzzy as "hard". What is extremely difficult for me might be a breeze for someone else. There is no universal scale for difficult things. We all struggle with one thing or another from time to time.

Across all its different meanings, though, something is hard when it requires effort. In the case of rocks, they're hard because they require effort to break. In the case of lifting elephants, that's hard because it requires effort to do.

Sometimes, hard is what is invisible. It's the transformation from nothing into something.

Perhaps, the hardest thing for all of us isn't doing the stuff that we already know how to do. You know, the piles of laundry, the stacks of dishes. The hardest thing is looking beyond what's already there and coming up with the stuff we are missing. It's like the difference between picking something nice out of the clothes that you already have and the style-saving realisation that a simple black sweater is what is missing from your wardrobe.

The sweater in and of itself is simple. Getting it is also simple. And yet, finding that it was what would suit you better than anything in your pastel-coloured wardrobe was hard.

Of course, a personal stylist might have known immediately that a classic black sweater was the perfect thing for you. To THEM, it was easy, because they already knew about the sweater. While you had to come across its existence through an allnighter on Pinterest, all the personal shopper had to do was consult her mental inventory and pick from what was already there.

Hard isn't doing more of what you know, moving around the things that are already there, or making your way through your ToDo list.

Hard is finding the black sweater when you'd swear up and down that baby blue is the only colour that suits you.

Then again, much like me at that age, my son is a very cooperative teenager. He will do what I tell him to do. I just have to tell him EVERY little thing. As long as I keep telling, he keeps doing. When I stop telling him, he stops doing. It's infuriating, but it could be worse, I remind myself as I tell him to please "also put the cups and plates on the other side of the kitchen counter into the dishwasher".

He could be rebellious or, even worse, a prick. He isn't and my liver (ah, Tequila!) and I thank the patron saint of hangovers cured and solidified for that every day.

Much like my mother's influence over me never lasted for more than an hour, the direct influence I have over my son is extremely limited. So is my influence over other people in this world. Sure, I can tell them what to do and, much like my son, sometimes they listen and sometimes they don't.

Nevertheless, telling people what to do is not a sustainable way to change people's behaviour because when the telling stops, the change also stops.

If telling someone what to do was all it took to get lasting results, we'd all be much more relaxed parents, teachers, bosses, and Starbucks patrons. We wouldn't need public health campaigns or legal systems with consequences. We wouldn't need more than one parent-teacher conference in our lifetime and we certainly wouldn't need to have our Grande, Iced, Sugar-Free, Vanilla Latte With Soy Milk re-done. Ever.

"So, if our influence is that limited, why bother?"

Well, I am glad you asked. You see, there is one person in this world you DO have more influence over than I do over my teenage son (unless you are a cult leader with devoted cultists, in which case you have a ton of influence, but should probably re-think that whole gig since cults have this way of going EXTREMELY wrong for the people in them...).

The one person you have some meaningful influence over is, drum-roll, you guessed it, yourself.

Influence. Not control, mind you. If you had control over yourself, you wouldn't need a diet, an exercise buddy, or ever more elaborate ways of tricking yourself into doing the laundry and cleaning the fridge.

But even with a messy fridge, the truth is that you can still change yourself much more easily than you can change other people.

That makes you the perfect target for your ambitions to improve the world, the people in it, and the way cheese is distributed among your family members who all seem to be vying for your favourite parmesan.

Luckily—or unluckily, depending on how much you use your self-influence—children take their cues from what their parents do, not from what their parents say.

Much to my chagrin and deeply fascinated horror, I do as my mom did, not as my mom said. My son, bless his little gamer heart, is much the same, although I have managed to instil in him a better taste in video games than I had at his age.

Like children, most people take their cues from the other people around them. They will do as you do, not as you say.

So if you want to change the way people behave, do more. Say less.

Get better at your own stuff, be truly excellent to people, and then hope for the best.

Chances are, your actions will be much more contagious than your words (except, of course, if you ARE a cult leader...)

If Gwyneth can goop, I can fridge.

I can already see it: "The Fridge Equation—Solve the riddles of your life by engaging with your favourite kitchen appliance".

Ah, it's brilliant! I want to wander off to Canva and making some mockups for marketing materials for my new home appliance-based "better life right now" coaching program. Do you think teal would work as a colour?

Maybe I should ask the fridge.

Cheese aside (did I mention that the cheese has aspirations of outrunning the fridge and becoming my favourite thing), I think there is a pretty simple explanation for why the fridge comes up, so when I think about how to get some more of my shit together.

The fridge helps me see what I already know.

Behind the matte chrome door hides a perfect microcosm of all the bits that go wrong every day in an average-Joan life like mine. Things come and go (hello, butter, goodbye, yoghurt), some things look yummy (cheese), some things are really good for you (the romaine, mainly, although the one time I almost died the romaine was the culprit...hm), and some things are not so great (I want desperately to believe that there is no such thing as too much Mayo...but I might be wrong).

On the surface, everything looks fine in the fridge most days. But if you're not careful, stuff piles up and goes bad in there. Usually, it's stuff that you didn't really want and shouldn't have put in the fridge in the first place. You know, when you can't say "no" right away and then end up with a "yes", that's rotting from the inside...that stuff.

Anyway, like the fridge, so is life.

And just as we already know what to do to keep the fridge clean and shiny, we already know what to do to make our lives a bit better.

Reading yet another "How to have a magically clean fridge in ten simple steps"-guide will not make the fridge clean. Instead, it will make you feel better about the fridge being a mess, and it will also give you a temporary sense of "I know what to do about the fridge". But hey, lady, guess what:

You ALREADY know what to do about the fridge!

Cause it is simple. Really.

You just get rid of stuff you don't want and put in more stuff you do want.

Now, go clean out that pesky corner of your life.

The fridge will thank you.

The laundry, the fridge, the cleaner who comes by once a week, the takeout food, the delivery services I use, the lack of elaborate dinners, the late replies to messages, and the cheese.

Especially the cheese.

If you knew how much cheese disappears in this household, you'd judge me, too.

And yet, when one of my lady friends wonders about whether she should get some sort of help with the laundry, the dishes, the household, the deliveries, the errands, the childcare, the shopping, or the cheese (I always help with the cheese), I cheer them on like it's time for the parade.

Because it’s always time for that parade.

"You should get all the help you want, honey!" I'll cheer through the cheese while I reach for another sip of wine.

And I mean it.

For my friend.

For myself.

And for you, too.

Things are always hard. Not "I will die on this mountain" hard, but hard enough to make them easier. Always.

I think the story of "women who get help with the household or ANYTHING AT ALL are lazy" needs to die. And soon.

There is nothing wrong with getting help. You don't need a good enough reason (sickness, a demanding career, volunteering for the squirrel dance) to get help. You can just get help because you want it.

You can make things easier for yourself in the parts of your life where that is actually possible. Believe me, even if some fairy godmonster came and did my whole household for me, there would still be enough difficult things left to occupy most of my brain most of the time.

Nobody will parent my teenager (and that's good, I think I am doing really well with him) or work on my "become a better person" quest (we all have that one, they say the rewards are worth it?!). Nobody will keep my relationship healthy or make sure I become a kickass writer.

There are so many things on my plate that only I can do. There are so many things on your plate only you can do.

So, yes, I'll get help with the cleaning and order a meal box from time to time. If I can choose how to spend my last brain juice, I'd rather spend it on this article than worrying about what's for dinner.

The same goes for you!

If you need help, don't feel ashamed.

Ok, I mean, that's probably impossible.

I still feel guilty myself (and yes, I am aware that my mountain of guilt always revolves around DOMESTIC issues...wonder what that is about, haha).

So…let's try it like this:

If you need help, get it EVEN IF you feel guilty.

And for Gin's sake, get more cheese.

I remember being so eager to grow up when I was ten. Now I honestly don’t know what the fuss was about.

I think if children had any idea how tepid being a grown-up is on a normal day, they’d all do a Peter Pan and bugger off to Neverland.

And yet, our most brilliant accomplishments come from making it through the mire of tepid days where we just do the things and trust the process.

It turns out that magic does not come in large heaps but in very small doses administered over a long time.

It doesn’t happen with a spell, but with a single word every day, carefully added to the growing story.

Of course, once the story is ready to be read, nobody mentions the process anmore.

After all, “magic” is a much better story than “sluggish piece I didn’t want to do by annoying other piece I also didn’t want to do”.

I think most people are like my fridge. Gleaming, polished chrome on the outside and a medium-sized mess on the inside.

Some fridges have these ultra glossy exteriors. Have you ever had one of those? I always want one when I see it, but as soon as I touch it in the kitchen store, I see my fingerprints leaving greasy-looking marks on the glossy exterior. "My hands are not THAT icky", I'll mutter to myself and grumpily move on to a different fridge.

Where kitchen appliances are concerned, matte beats glossy any day because glossy is very hard to maintain and looks ridiculously dirty with just a few finger marks. Just like people. When someone has a glossy outside, chances are, they are giving themselves cleaning anxiety just maintaining that facade.

All the while, the mess on the inside is the same in any fridge, regardless of glossiness.

You can't tell from the outside of the fridge whether you're going to open its doors to Pinterest-worthy meal-prepped perfection or sticky stains and milk that is decidedly headed towards the cheesy. Even if the fridge is well sorted, most people have a messy corner. Usually some shelf in the door where all the opened sauces and dips are that you are "going to use next time". (No, you are not going to use them because you really prefer your ONE favourite—PLAIN KETCHUP)

Just like fridges, people have a lot going on on the inside that you don't see. So if you want to measure your self-worth then, really, the fridge rules apply:

1. Is something alive? No? THEN IT'S ALL GOOD

2. Is something going bad? No? THEN IT'S ALL GOOD. And if not, the sooner you throw it out, the better.

3. Did something spill out? No? THEN IT'S ALL GOOD. And if not, the sooner you mop it up, the easier it will be.

4. Is there something nourishing and yummy? Yes? THEN IT'S ALL GOOD. And if not, you need to go shopping.

5. Do you like what's in the fridge? Yes? THEN IT'S ALL GOOD. And if not, you need to swap some stuff out.

What I found works for both fridges and myself is to look inside and do a spot of mopping up regularly. A nasty subconscious is just as horrible to clean out as a nasty fridge. The guilt I have about things fridge or imagined is remarkably similar. It dissipates almost immediately as soon as I get around to getting rid of what ails.

Other than that, I prefer fridges with French doors. Apparently, what is good for getting onto the terrace and into the yard is also good for accessing the dark places in the kitchen and the soul.

It comes with the territory. We treat the people closest to us the worse than we treat complete strangers on the bus to nowhere in particular. While we never call our grandma more than once a month, we make sure to answer every e-mail our boss sends us at ridiculous hours of the night. How many times have you answered a work-related e-mail while you were deep into the Margarita?

Exactly.

There is a person that you treat even worse than your grandma, though. You! You are the person you spend the most time with, the closest there is to you, and you're also your own chief victim of neglect.

"But I do my yoga!" I hear you say. "I am not saying bad things about my crater-laden thighs anymore...well, except for this once cause it slipped right out", you'll protest. And yet, here we are.

I love that you do not actively hate on yourself anymore. I am delighted that you have graduated to treating yourself like a decent human being. Sure, you still see yourself as an ugly duckling with cellulite and serious malfunctions in the hair department, but at least you don't mention it all the time.

Congratulations! You don't say all the nasty things out loud anymore.

But can you honestly say that you've done anything kind for yourself lately? Have you helped yourself in the same way you help your kids get it together and make it to school with only mismatched socks telling the tale of chaotic family life?

I didn't think so.

Being good to yourself doesn't only mean you stop calling yourself names whenever you see your freckles in the mirror. So yes, moving away from self-hate is a massive accomplishment. But make no mistake, you are probably still the person in your life you treat with the least care.

Self-love isn't only about not hurting yourself, even though that is a great first step.

Self-love is also about helping yourself.

It's about figuring out what would make your life easier and then allowing yourself to do that. Sometimes, self-love involves exercise and a spa day, but more often, it simply involves a new dishwasher, a dryer that works, and some help around the house.

Yes, it's called self-help, but honestly, there are no medals for "sorted all the socks by myself". Yes, help yourself. Help yourself by asking for the help you need. Love yourself by making things easier.

Just do it. You don't have to tell anyone that the yummy meals you serve for dinner four times a week are courtesy of a meal-box service. Lettuce doesn't get any healthier just cause you shopped for it yourself.

That’s what the voice in my head says to me whenever I need to make a decision about something visual.

I think this is why designers exist.

Not necessarily because they have better taste, but because they know how to turn a vague notion into something you can see. The best designers don’t only understand how to make something visually pleasing from your “I just want it to look pretty and I like these type of flowers” gibberish.

They know how to figure out what bothers you without having to redo the whole image over and over again.

The only way I know how to figure out what bothers me and make something look better is just to methodically try everything. I do the visual equivalent of moving the furniture to every conceivable position in the room in order to figure out what looks best.

My designer friend doesn’t have to move all the furniture all the time. He can ask things like “how do you use the space and show me three rooms you like” and then take the key parts of those things and make them into something new that fits my room. It’s like magic. It only took 40 years of practice.

I don’t want to wait 40 years to have things look better. So I ask him.

The one thing I have learned from him, though, is that things look better the simpler they are.

The more stuff you have in a room or in a picture, the more stuff you have to tidy up and visually fit together.

So, for pictures and for rooms, the first step to making them look good is to remove all the stuff.

Make it simple.

Then add one detail.

That’s it.