With that said, I concede that I am living a fortunate life at the moment and my own particular experience may not be duplicable by many. I work for a company that granted me a six-week paid sabbatical and helped me to build the nest egg I needed to pursue my Vermont farmhouse renovation dream. Still, I will be bold enough to suggest that there may be “happy lessons” to be learned from my recent sojourn from the daily grind.

The main goal of my time off was to work on the renovation. Progress  was good but nowhere near my expectations.  And, that’s just the thing: expectations. Whether vacation plans, self image, or life goals, somehow we always fool ourselves into believing that our expectations for the feelings and things we desire are easily met. Well, certainly this is the case for everyone in the magazines ...  so why not us?!  Buy crocodile booties that Patti Hansen wore in More Magazine only to realize that it they aren’t really helping you look or feel as tough and sexy as she. Buyer’s remorse is simply the collision of reality with a set of expectations built from fantasy.  

I learned this the hard way during my sabbatical.  With expectations to completely reboot my priorities and set a foundation for the next chapter of my life in just six week, I planned to get outside every day, learn to play guitar and to knit, begin a regular yoga practice, read my entire Edith Wharton library and the Tao Te Ching, blog daily and search through my journals and scraps of paper for the book I would outline.  Oh, yes and tick off about 20 items on my renovation checklist.  Seriously, this was my list. At the end of four weeks, I was miserable.

So I offer this advice to you, with no presumption that you aren't perfectly happy without it:

Ten Ways to Be Happier (by lowering your expectations)

1. Planning is essential Carpenters have a saying: “measure twice, cut once.” Cutting and nailing and painting are fun! Measuring, budgeting, setting schedules, inventorying materials and measuring again are not. Less fun though is running out of money, managing chaos, and doing the same thing over and over again without satisfying results. Do you see where this is going? Whether it’s building a bathroom or living a secure, peaceful and gratifying life …  you can’t just wing it.
2. Do the work.  Planning is critical, but it can’t last forever. Stop looking at Pinterest, searching for just the right font for your business plan, re-organizing your tools, and making lists. It’s time to do the work. A friend of mine recently told me how her husband fulfilled his dream to be a full-time tennis coach. He took jobs stringing rackets; he got certified to be a line judge; he volunteered to teach tennis at a summer camp. He did everything he could think of that involved tennis. Today, he is the head coach of a successful New England university team. (I’ve been thinking about this example a lot lately with regards to my writing and love of vintage stuff ... stay tuned to learn if I take it to heart!)
3. Protective equipment may be required. At the farm house, we ended up taking unexpected safety precautions after encountering a motherload of mouse shit behind every surface we demolished (see Hanta Virus). I remembered thinking that Genevieve Gorder always worked in bare feet on Trading Spaces. But in real reality, the work is not always going to be glamorous or easy. How many times do we see a “Top Chef” contender nearly slice off a finger or one the designers on “Project Runway” have a massive meltdown. There will be mouse shit. There will be mistakes. And, hardest to take of all, there will be criticism. Posting pictures of progress on my Facebook page has resulted in two near “de-friendings” when comments pointed out mistakes or advised what we “should” do, instead of just clicking on “like”. Whether respirator or thick skin – get one.
4. Any progress is progress ‘Stop beating yourself up’ are words most often pointed at me by those who fail to understand why I feel the need to get. it. all. done. right. now. And now, I point them at you… ha!  And for goodness sake, don’t let the fact that you really won’t be able to do it “all. right. now.” be a reason to do nothing. People ask me if I am having fun picking out things for the new bathroom.  Well, I thought it would be fun. I thought it would take one trip to the “kitchen and bath store” and then … well, and then I came face to face with reality.  Do you know the difference between sub-floor and underlayment? Did you know that you have to carefully choreograph the sequence of framing, flooring, insulating, electrical, plumbing, sheet rocking – and it takes weeks (not 48 hours like on HGTV)!  And, do you have any idea how many different types of toilets there are?!!!  Three months after purchasing the house, I now celebrate the simple accomplishment of getting a reply email from the electrician.
5. Nothing beats the satisfaction of a job well done. Take this bit of advice along with our new definition of progress. While taking a shower in my new bathroom will be the ultimate gratification, there is also nothing like the sound of debris hitting the dumpster.  Kerplunk, thunk, and crash are the sounds of your efforts taking shape. The piney odor of a room covered in new plywood underlayment (which goes over the subfloor!) is the smell of success!  In other words, revel in your progress. Men sit back and drink a cold beer after mowing the lawn. We women are more likely to finish the job and fret that we should have planted a smaller garden that the garage needs painting, and we totally need a pedicure.
6. It takes patience to get the best results. Oh, this is a hard one. Once we’ve made our plan, we want to get to work.  And yet it seems that, to completely misquote Thomas Edison, good results require 90% preparation and 10% perspiration.  Take painting. Picking the color is traumatic enough it’s the cleaning, spackling, sanding, taping, priming, and cutting in that require the greatest investment of time and energy.  The final coat is the easiest of all and the one that delivers the most satisfaction.  Unless, that is, you skipped steps 1-6. In which case, every bump, crack, and drip will taunt you for years.
7. Start on the inside.  This one is so obvious I almost did not include it for fear of condescension. However, when it comes to my Vermont renovation, this has been one of the biggest lessons.  I knew the house was challenged in many ways, but had set my expectations on quickly achieving a cool shabby chic sort of look and living in bohemian-like comfort in no time. Yes, we’d work on the systems, but we could do that quickly or even concurrently with other projects. Reality came in the form of an out-of-control mouse population; an electrical service at the whims of dead tree branches; not one of four chimneys capable of safely supporting a heating systems, and the mysterious decision of a former owner to remove a load bearing wall supporting a great majority of the house.  Desires to create a vintage farmhouse feeling were quickly put in check with the realization that all of the cosmetic work would be meaningless, if I didn’t fix the supporting systems that made the house safe and sound weren’t done first.  I spent three days clearing mildewed insulation from the dark, damp, cobweb covered basement and the majority of my Phase One budget on Fred’s Plumbing and Heating.  No one else will probably ever see it. But it is now my favorite room in the house.  See?  Obvious.
8. Learn to trust.   Did you know that I am not always right? Came as a shock to me too. I’ve also learned that I am not the only person capable of doing (or hiring someone else to do) a job correctly.  Shocking! I hope that a certain someone reads this with a chuckle and knows (without question) that that it isn’t faith that I lack, it is the ability to let go of the rains.   I think women have been taught – through early feminist treatises (“a woman without a man is like a fish without a bicycle”) or more likely at the school of “I Trusted This Asshole” – that the only person to truly bank on is their self. True only to the extent that we are responsible for the choices we make. Sad, if we can’t let go long enough to benefit from others’ experience, wisdom or kindness.
9. You must compromise.  All those expectations? … the fantasy of owning your own business, writing a book, marrying Prince Harry … probably not going to pan out just the way you envision.  My fantasy tile shower will realize itself as a $500 acrylic unit from Lowes. The six foot vanity now measures in at just 36 inches. The extra 10 sq. feet of space? Gone.  But compromise is not failure (see #4 and stop beating yourself up).  I will have a brand new bathroom in my Vermont farmhouse … and I get to keep my ceramic tile floor and stone top for the vanity.  If in the future, when showing guests this bathroom, I preface each tour with a “well, it’s not what I planned, but…” then shame on me.  You wouldn’t introduce your husband with a “well, I really was holding out from Prince Harry” or your new business venture by saying “it didn’t quite turn out the way I planned” … would you? Compromise is part of life; celebrate that you are able and capable of making the best choices.
10. Simplify I couldn’t not include this advice, especially since it is a choice that has come up at nearly every decision point in the renovation project. It goes something like this: I pull open my Pinterest boards and excitedly present my ideas for the next project. The response is invariably “yes, we can do that.”  Ha! Forget what I said about compromise … I can have it all!!  And then, “it will cost $$$ much and take another two weeks.” (it’s always two weeks) Wait! I don’t have that much money and I want to be done faster. “So”, the response continues …” what is it you really want?”  
    

    Why, to be happy of course?
    
    Be Simple.

I am sure everyone to whom I described my Vermont sabbatical plans my melancholy will come as a surprise. I painted a happy picture of quiet reflection, long walks and bike rides, prolific writing, interrupted by bursts of home renovation and furniture shopping. And while, this is precisely what I am doing, I could have –in fact, did – predicted this mood. I am home sick.

There is only one reason that I bought this old and ailing farmhouse, I wanted it to be home -- the last place I would ever move to, the place I could settle in to slowly, collecting things and memories; a place perhaps where my children (or more likely their children) could build memories. Since I left home for college, I have had thirteen addresses, in seven different towns across five states (Alaska, Virginia, Michigan, Florida and New Hampshire). I always claimed to like moving – “I’m a gypsy at heart,” I’d chirp – but I think the reality is far more complex (as it usually is). With every move, I moved swiftly to set up house – organize, decorate, make it homey. But whether from Wal-Mart or Pottery Barn, those homey touches only create the illusion of home.  Family, friends, security – those are the makings of home.

Okay. I am here in Vermont – surrounded by beautiful nature and welcoming neighbors – in the house I’ve wanted since I was a little girl. I am lucky enough to be sharing this adventure with a man whom I love very much (and who is quite handy too!), to be visited by friends and family, and to be healthy and financially secure to enjoy the time worry free.  And yet … because I am here alone for a week or so essentially tucked away in two small rooms in the middle of a construction zone (that happens to smell like dead mice and old wet dog) … the home sickness creeps in, loneliness trumps reflection.

I also feel sure that if the house were odor free, had a working kitchen and one useable bathroom (instead of two that are each only half usable), with a comfy couch from where I could watch 60 Minutes on a September evening, the homesickness would abate.  Ironic, maybe, but home sickness is also the need for the familiar, the predictable, and the routine.  And (silly me), I was determined that my six weeks of vacation time would be anything but.  (My partner could testify to the many times I’ve griped that we are in a rut, as we sat on just such a comfy couch in front of the TV!) So, yes, I am getting what I wanted, and it is making me quite uncomfortable, melancholy…. home sick.

The good news is, as anyone who ever went to college or summer camp, home sickness is temporary. It responds well to activity, exercise, fresh air and a sense of accomplishment. And, eventually, you either get to go home or you look up one day and discover you are home. So tomorrow, I commence Yoga classes, supervise the installation of a new heating system, finish painting the trim in (what will be) the living room, find an insulation contractor, and maybe go for a bike ride.  But until then … I just need to unwind!

Be Simple

I remember my first glimpses of Cosmo when my mom would bring it home and leave it on coffee table…except for that issue with Bert Reynolds, which she made some attempt to keep out of sight. As a young teenager it was titillating; in retrospect, it occurs that I never thought twice that women could have careers, live in the city, dress fabulously, and actively seek men.  This was the age of Mary Tyler Moore and That Girl after all!

In college, I bought my own issues of Cosmo, mostly for the quizzes, the Bedside Astrologer, and yes, the sex tips and the men (Tom Selleck!  Richard Gere!).  Ms. Brown left Cosmopolitan in 1996, and today with cover stories such as “Wow Him Every Time,” “How to Read His Beach Body”, and “30 Things to Do to a Naked Man” I wonder if it is a continuation or an abomination of her “bad girls go everywhere” philosophy?  Or, if I must face facts, perhaps simply I am no longer “The Cosmo Girl” demographic – that era having passed me by a quarter of a century ago.  

Photo Credit: Santi Visalli/Getty Images (as published in The New York Times, August 13, 2012)

I also hope you see that #31 on the list of Things to Do to a Naked Man is to be able to walk as confidently away from him as you do toward him. Herewith, the advice from Helen Gurley Brown's tenure as Cosmo editor:

".... it’s time to take realistic action – trade some of that spending for saving, finally write up your resume, take a hard look at your lover – and recognize that you can be responsible for your own happiness and success. Most important, remain aware that reality will never quit match your fantasies, no matter how down-to-earth they are. “We all have to grow up and recognize that life is a blend of positive and negative experiences, relationships, enterprises, projects,” reminds Sally L. Kitch, director of the Center for Women’s Studies at Wichita State University in Kansas. “Whatever you undertake is going to be part headache, part pleasure.”

“To write fiction,” Virginia Woolf said, “a woman needs money and a room of her own.” This is true on a metaphoric level as well. To be the author of your own adventures, to plot your own life, you need to be financially self-supporting and to have a place that you can call your own. Not a house in the country, not a room in the attic, but simply a safe haven for your sense of self-worth and the belief in yourself as the source of your own salvation.”

Rest in Peace Ms. Brown

Be Simple

p.s. I’ve sent a request to Sally Kitch in an effort to identify the year this article was published. I'll update this piece if I get a reply

I closed on the Vermont house / future retirement cottage a week ago. The search took some time and there was a near miss and heartbreak along the way, but alas, just as it always does when you believe it will, and you combine that with action… it came to be! Today I am the sole owner of a very tired and abused, but charming and full of potential 199 year old farm house.  

I wonder what its earliest female residents would make of this? I suspect when the home was newly built, it was done so for a bachelor farmer and his soon to be bride. Their path was very different - mostly obstacles of what could not be, rather than dreams of what could. A 19th century woman might have lived alone in this house only if she were widowed or her husband away at war. Think of it – the Civil War came decades after the foundation stones from my house were first laid  … and just by the looks of it, probably the roof was not long after!  As 21st century women, we might forget it wasn’t until only a few decades ago – the mid-seventies – when Congress amended the Fair Housing Act, that single women could even get a mortgage (or horrors! a credit card!) in their own name.

But here I am, walking from room to room in a house that is all mine. Confident and at the same time completely overwhelmed, listening to the drips from the washer hook up, the bath tub, and the sink – even the toilet was running! – opening windows to air out the acrid smell of wood smoke, dogs, cooking, people, and probably dead rodents between the walls.  I took "before" photos from every corner of every room and made note of the mysteries and histories that were now all mine.

The first few days were filled with the basics: utilities, propane, exterminator, lawn mower, and locksmith.  I had a picnic table delivered from a rosy-cheeked freckle faced boy named Calvin and bought a gas grill (note to self: next time pay the $20 to get it assembled!). We brought out the BFH (big-f’ing hammer) and knocked down a few cabinets just for fun. 

 I spent three solid days painting and cleaning one small corner of the upstairs just to have a “safe room” for us to sleep while the renovation commences. Before (still renter occupied) on the left, and after on the right.  I took an old door off its hinges. Cleaned it and sanded it down to cover the weird metal mirror thing between the windows, added some roman shades, simple white bedding, and painted the crap out evey surface!!

I had the bed delivered, but no, I did not sleep there.  I mentioned the exterminators, right?

So much to do and so much to tell about my Full Vermonty adventures … but for now, my point is just this:    I DID IT!!!!!  

Be Simple

I’m not sure how I feel about 50 – ambivalent is what I guess we’ll call it. It feels weird to say, but not to be -- not as weird as 30 did, anyway; and, not as significant (oddly enough) as turning 40. There are expectations when you are 40 and with that comes a bit of pressure, but at 50… I think younger folks (I’m talking hard-working, exhausted parents of ‘tweens in their 30’s and 40’s) who are a little bit envious. As they should be. At least I think so.

Having been 50 for only just a few weeks now, I can’t say for certain what’s good (or bad) about it. I only know I personally feel a sense of anxiousness and excitement – like that summer between high school graduation and leaving for college. The previous five decades were just practice, real life is about to begin and the possibilities are endless! I know something else too … I’m really glad I’m not thirty.

At age thirty, the pressures are immense. If you aren’t married with children, the question is “why aren’t you?” Mostly asked by the thirty year old women to themselves (yes, I said it… put political correctness aside; tradition rules in this realm). “At least you’re successful in your career?” “What? You’re not? Then why wait to get married?” Or you are married and people say. “I can’t believe you got married so young, don’t you miss going out with your friends?” And on the flip side “you are making home-made organic baby-food and keeping your husband on his gluten-free diet, while blogging in your spare time….aren’t you?” Perhaps you are successful in your career, which is great, you chose it, made it happen – but if you don’t ask yourself, the cover story on Atlantic Magazine will … “what have you sacrificed?”

At age fifty, people just say “wow, what’s that feel like?” Then they go on to say how fabulous you look, how lucky you are and other chat about the freedom and adventure that lay ahead.

Yah, no I don’t know who Marcus Fabius Quintilian is either, but apparently he came up with this nugget over 1,900 years ago. So you can see his wisdom has stood the test of time – much like the many excuses we’ve all made to avoid getting out of our comfort zones and on with our lives.

How many times over how many years have you used this phrase: "as soon as I?”   From the trite: "as soon as I lose some weight, I'm going to ___<fill in the blank>___", to the tragic: "as soon as I finish this project, I will visit my Dad, spend more time with the kids; plan a date night with my spouse; you get the idea.

There are excuses that allow us to politely say no, to carve out our own space, and push aside truly annoying tasks.  Yes, Marcus, we use excuses because we just don’t want to be bothered. Let’s call this the active excuse. All we suffer by actively employing an excuse is a bit of guilt.  The danger lies in the passive excuse – where the subject of the story (i.e. you!) is not driving the action along, but only submissively affected by it.

These excuses how they served me so well
They've kept me safe
They've kept me stoic
They've kept me locked in my own cell*

Make a list of the five things you “love to do” or have “always wanted to do” but haven’t lately … or ever.  Now ask yourself why. Then ask why again and again. It probably won’t take more than one or two rounds before you realize there isn’t anything in your way but you. 

Now I am not going to go all Nike^® on you here. I understand very well that the fearless ability to “just do it^®” is a rare gift.  I don’t have it.  But excuses bring you to a full stop; safe, but locked in one place.  My dad told me once, “any progress is progress,” and I swear I use that phrase at least once a week and try to practice every day. Allow me to illustrate:

Passive Girl: 
I’ve always wanted to write a book, but I don’t know where to begin and I’m just too exhausted.

Active Girl:
I’m too exhausted to write a whole book, but I am keeping a notebook of thoughts, even just a few words and I’m committed to working on my blog at least once a week.

It’s not a book. Not yet. But it’s progress. Simple efforts. No excuses.

I think one of the reasons we justify not making progress is because we have an all or nothing mindset – a silly conception that all must be perfect or it is not worth the doing. This is why I haven’t practiced my guitar; because after four lessons, I don’t play like Joni Mitchell. If we don’t leap over the high bars we set for ourselves with ease, we lower the bar instead of trying again.

These excuses how they're so familiar
They've kept me small
They've kept me blocked
They've kept me safe inside my shell*

Or perhaps we are afraid.  I know I am. Why set the bar so high if we are too scared to make the leap anyway?  Because we know the excuses that keep us safe, also keep us small.

Bringing this into the light
Shakes their foundation
And it clears my side
Now my imagination
Is the only thing that limits
The bar that is raised to the heights*

Go back to your list with your excuses in full light. Now, use your imagination. It isn’t that difficult and you are not slothful. A small step, a hop, a skip, or a little jump – even one that results in a skinned knee – is progress. And any progress is progress.

Don’t just listen to me, listen to Alanis:

Be Simple

*Morissette, Alanis. “Excuses.” So-Called Chaos. WEA, 2004.

Of course these are both symptoms of just general malaise, brought on by my pending birthday! I feel sluggish, so I slow down, stop writing, working out, and stay in bed too late in the morning. Now I’m bored and frustrated that I’m not getting anything accomplished, so I take it out on the refrigerator and eat and drink more, which makes me feel sluggish …. and on it goes. There is a long list of rationalization for my sloth – at the top of the list, no doubt, would be turning 50 in just a few weeks. 

“Why bother,” says sluggish me? “It’s time to enjoy life because really there is so precious little of it left, I cry!”  That that meant watching reruns of Guiliana and Bill and not making the tough choice between a second glass of wine and an ice cream cone (“Have both! Life is short!”) was at best ironic and in truth, just dumb.

But … not one to question why we fall into these traps or other bad behavior, I simply accept that I’m on the wrong track (again) and will try harder (again) and no, this time I mean it (again).

And yet, habit is hard to break until the habit is broken.  It was Father’s Day this past weekend and a visit to my Dad was in order and long overdue.  Rather than my usual 90-minute-drive two-hour-visit 90-minute-drive M.O., I decided that I would drive up on Saturday and spend the night … much to their delight…. and surprisingly, to mine. We had a few drinks and I learned a little bit more about my Dad - “the early years”.  If you told me I would have been sad to leave, I wouldn’t have believed you, but I ran back to give them a second hug and an “I love you” on Sunday afternoon.  I guess because we were spending time together doing what people do, it was more enjoyable than the obligatory “visit.” We took a walk, planted flowers, BBQ’d, watched golf, had a beer and an ice cream sundae.

Which was, it turns out, the last straw for my listless digestive system.  My distended belly rivaling those of Feed the Children posters, I Googled my way through “cleanse programs” and “natural regulatory relief” as soon as I got home. This morning, a couple of Colon Cleanse® and lots of water later … this post is the only measure of my progress.  And yet I feel so much lighter; this by breaking just one habit. Instead of reality TV and me time, I made two people I love a little bit happier. I also took a long walk by the ocean, and while my face my have looked like that little cartoon dude, the view was much better!

With that small “movement” (har har), my words are flowing again. I am still in negotiations to resolve the intestinal work stoppage but the feel good of doing something different – something with someone else in mind --  might just carry over to my diet as well (I bought prunes as a show of good faith).