Procrastination with a Purpose?

 If you're wondering if yesterday's post represented an unusual turn of events for me, you must be new here. 

Welcome.

Ten years ago, I discovered a fun little read called  The Art of Procrastination by John Perry, an emeritus professor of philosophy at Stanford. Yes, I know the two halves of that last sentence don't sound as if they belong together (one of these things is not like the other?), but I'm not making this up. And, as evidence, I submit the subtitle of the book: "A Guide to Effective Dawdling, Lollygagging and Postponing."

I wrote about Dr. Perry's book way back then (see the post below) and I've been assigning the essay in Chapter 1 to my freshmen ever since. As I wrote yesterday's post, the essay was echoing in my head, so I thought I'd (re-)share a bit about the book here.

Dr. Perry's first chapter began life as an essay -- one that won the 2011 Ig Nobel Prize in Literature. Before purchasing the book, I stood in Hearts and Minds and read a good chunk of that chapter, and that's what sold me on the book. After I brought it home, I set it aside, picking it up now and then to nibble at it a chapter at a time before finishing it all in one big bite this morning. No, I did not put off reading it; I merely savored it. 

Dr. Perry doesn't extol the virtues of procrastination, except in a tongue-in-cheek fashion. Throughout the book, he points out that lots of procrastinators accomplish quite a bit, much of it while they're doing something else, (a.k.a something besides what they're supposed to be doing). He intertwines his philosophy on the life of a procrastinator with strategies and, true to his education roots, a disclaimer that he's not recommending procrastination as a lifestyle, merely pointing out that we're not all lazy lollygaggers who put things off to the point that we never accomplish anything.

If you're a procrastinator (especially a "structured procrastinator," as Dr. Perry has dubbed himself), you'll laugh out loud at this book. If you know (or live with) a procrastinator, you'll either chuckle, or grow increasingly annoyed (see chapter nine) as you read this book. Or, perhaps you'll do both.

The timing of my reading is a bit ironic. I read two chapters last night before going to sleep, then finished this book this morning -- after spending much of the day yesterday putting off doing a project at the top of my list. I picked up the book last night in part because it related to the project I was working on, which is also part of what compelled me to finish the book this morning. By the time I finished it, I'd mentally written half of this blog and had begun coming up with new ideas for a class I'm proposing.

And my project? I finished it. Before I finished reading the book.

Substitutions Accepted (The Goldilocks To-Do List)

AlexBor via Pixabay

 Some days, I write a to-do list and I stick to it. 

Other days, I take a nap.

Last Monday was an off-kilter day. It started out like any other day, with my husband heading off to work and me heading off to class. Since it was the first day of the last week of classes, I was looking forward to the student-led discussions that would replace my "sage on the stage" instruction. The plan for the afternoon? Catching up on grading.

A somewhat typical Monday.

On the way to class, I called my daughter. 

She had the day off.

Then I called my husband. 

He was under the weather and would be coming home at lunchtime. 

Hmm.

The student discussions went well and I left campus ready to dig into some grading. But, on the way home, I noticed that there were parking spots available in front of the mom-and-pop plant place, so I stopped off to buy flowers to put in the small planter on my front porch. 

When I got home, I had to plant them (naturally). Then I would grade.

Right after lunch. 

But after lunch, I decided to finish my book so I'd meet my "finish two books" goal for the month. And then I decided to close my eyes for just a few minutes. 

Twenty minutes later, I opened my eyes and, about ten minutes after that I...

Did not grade. Instead, I reached for my book journal and another of my notebooks and jotted down all the things that were on my mind.

Eventually, I did grade. But, in keeping with the spirit of the day, I didn't grade quite as much as I had thought I might. The (very warm) afternoon had gotten away from me and, despite my nap, my mental energy was flagging. I turned to email and checked on a few tabs on my computer before I determined that I'd do a better job of grading tomorrow.

Even if it wasn't a work day.

I clicked around on my laptop for a bit before landing on a blog post draft that called out to me, so I finished it.

And then wrote two more.

Some days, we think we know what we're supposed to do. Last Monday, I thought I was supposed to grade -- and I did, for a bit. But, by listening to my instincts and pursuing the tasks that I felt primed for, I got a lot done, even if what I got done was not on that particular day's list.

Obviously, we can't meander every day. If we don't stick to the to-do list at least some of the time, we'll never get anything done. But if, on a warm spring Monday, nothing is going quite according to plan, it's not the end of the world. 

It might, in fact, lead us to the Goldilocks to-list -- the one that's just right for that particular day and time.

And we just might find that sweet spot between rest and productivity.

Keep Your Plaids, I Want My Polka Dots

 When my daughter described my clothing style as "brights and patterns," I didn't immediately agree. I imagined a wardrobe full of florals and paisleys and plaids, none of which are my go-tos. I have some florals but, as someone who's short but not necessarily petite, I avoid large prints of any kind because I feel as though they overpower me. 

She wasn't wrong about the brights, though. I do like my pops of color. And, upon further reflection, I realized that I use prints in the same way. My favorite?

Polka dots. And what has more contrast than white dots against a black background?

My first Kate Spade purchase was a black-and-white polka dotted purse. It was great for jazzing up an outfit full of solids, particularly when black and white are the most well-represented solids in my closet. A red top and black pants became an outfit as soon as I picked up that purse and added a few accessories.

A few years later, I found my prized planner, which is also black and white polka dotted (and also Kate Spade). My school bag (which came with a white and black polka dotted wristlet) and various accessories soon followed. I don't own the whole collection because I couldn't justify spending money on things I wouldn't use, but that doesn't stop me from putting them on my wish list. 

For several summers, my go-to outfit was a black and white pin dot skort -- the comfort of shorts with the finish of a skirt. I could dress it up or down and it went with practically everything in my closet. 

Then, I lost weight (on purpose) and it no longer fit. A few weeks ago, I saw a very similar item in a catalog and immediately ordered it and wore it to work almost immediately after it arrived.

How about you? Are you a fan of checks, stripes, plaids, or paisleys? Animal prints? Polka dots? Do you have a signature print? What's your favorite way to show it off?

Preserving the Craft

 Yesterday, I wrote about journaling and it was only after I completed my post that I realized that my current morning routine has enabled me to develop a regular journaling practice -- one I've talked about for quite some time, but haven't engaged in for close to 40 years.

Clearly you can teach an old dog new tricks. 

What's even better, though, is teaching young ones ways to explore their own creativity. The post below is eleven years old, and it's been about that long since I co-ran a summer writing camp. I remain optimistic, however, that there are still young writers out there waiting to share their work with the world. 

And, as for my niece, she's on her way to a PhD to teach English. :-)

Sometimes I worry about the effect of standardized testing on not only the teaching of writing, but what we're teaching our kids about writing as well. I fear that the fallout of a test-inspired curriculum will be a generation of kids who think that "writing" means responding to a prompt in a sterile, formulaic way, and who are deprived of the opportunity to connect the creative dots in their heads to a brand new piece of writing -- a story on a page.

And then last week, I got to co-teach a creative writing class to nine middle school kids who'd chosen -- without duress -- to spend four summer afternoons connecting those dots. Against the odds, these kids love writing. While they would have been content to curl up and write during the entire session, my co-instructor and I felt that the concept of "class" implied instruction of some sort, so we discussed the elements of a story, ways to create characters and how to write a pitch. We made character collages, went outside to soak in sensory experiences to lend credibility to their imagery and Googled things like French phrases and Star Wars memorabilia. And the kids -- a group ranging in age from 11 to 13 -- spent at least half of each class putting words on the page or the computer screen, turning creative sparks into stories on fire. 

The week flew by, leaving us with less time than we'd have liked to have had on Thursday to share pitches and masterpieces. Some stories were laced with humor, others took my breath away. And every single one had at least one sentence that was an absolute gem -- a perfect crystallization of a writing concept acquired along the way that had nothing to do with the ratio of topic sentences to concrete details and commentary sentences.

There are other kids out there who give me hope for the future of writing, too. My niece, Madison, who thinks that writing -- whether using words or music -- is something to revel in. The group of teens who approached an English teacher at their high school because there was no creative writing club and they wanted to start one. The two girls in our class who didn't want to share their stories, representatives of the countless kids who keep journals or write poems that never see the light of day, yet allow them to indulge the muse, free from prompts, formulas and rubrics.

These are the kids who will write the books of the future, rendering arguments about e-books vs. print books and traditional publishing vs. self-publishing moot in the face of literature that offers escape, edification and relaxation, no matter its form. But if we don't honor their desire to do something with their words now, their loss will be ours as well. If we teach our kids how to write efficiently, but fail to honor their need to write creatively, we are asking them to turn off a shower meant to sprinkle the world with so much more than topic sentences and concrete details. I don't know about you, but I'd much rather be hit with a sprinkling of creative ideas than succession of concrete details.

And to my kids from last week, and my niece, and those high school kids and journal keepers and poem writers: Thanks for sprinkling my world with hope.

A Fresh Start

freephotocc via Pixabay

 A little over a year ago, I started a prompt-based journaling process that I really enjoyed. It was a nice way to start my day, and I didn't have to come up with topics -- they were right there on the page for me.

The book was meant to be a three-year journal but there was only one set of prompts. At first, I liked the idea, thinking that responding to the same questions would let me see how I'd grown. But, as it turned out, I was writing the same answers again. While it's nice to be consistent, revisiting the same questions 365 days later quickly made a practice I'd once enjoyed entirely mundane.

It was time for a change. So, earlier this month, when I was setting my goals for April, I focused on this aspect of my morning routine as something in need of an update. First, I searched for journaling topics on Pinterest, quickly pinning a few to my board and intending to come back to them.

But then I found a Kindle book that offered an embarrassment of riches. With 1000 questions to choose from, I could go for quite a while without repeating questions. And, with so many choices, I could select a prompt that spoke to me instead of just responding to whatever happens to be on the page.

As a writer, I've never been a big fan of writing to prompts, preferring instead to dig into whatever project I'm working on. But, for daily journaling, this practice works quite well. Occasionally, it even feeds my work in progress, or sparks a new idea worth considering. 

Sometimes, when a routine grows stale, it's time for a new routine. Other times, a small tweak can inject new energy into a practice that's worth keeping. Knowing that my morning journal will need updates from time to time, I'm going to keep my eyes open for new prompts (before I need them), perhaps using each new month as an opportunity to seek them out and stockpile them on Pinterest. That way, they'll be waiting for me when I need them to kick off a brand new day.

Do you have a routine that needs shaking up? What's one small step you can take to make that happen?

Finding My Style

 I've been writing about style for close to two decades, but that style (STYLE) had more to do with organizing and less to do with decor and fashion. My recent reading choices -- books on style and decorating -- have led me to think about my own style (Style?) in broader terms.  

As I pondered, I did what I often do -- I asked my family for their thoughts. 

"What's my style?" I asked my daughter, who almost immediately replied, "Brights. And patterns."

Hmm. That would not have been my first answer,

Over dinner, I asked my husband, whose pained expression made it clear that he thought it was a loaded question and he'd better tread carefully. After batting some things back and forth, we (he, my daughter and I) translated his answer into contemporary and coordinated.

None of this brought me close to the pithy phrase I was seeking.

Then, last week, I got my latest Stitch Fix box. I never review these ahead of time or read the info about their contents that comes inside the box. I prefer to tackle them like I tackle Christmas presents -- opening them up with the sense of excitement that comes from not knowing exactly what's inside. 

Everything in the box suited my tastes in one way or another. Color. Fabric. Cut. I'd nearly decided to keep a practical, silky black tee when I uncovered the box's crowning glory, tucked neatly into the middle of the pile. 

A jacket. A statement piece that might just as well have declared that everything else in the box should just step aside. The star of the show had arrived.

Blazers have been my thing over the past year or so, and I've been gravitating to choices that are soft and/or unstructured (a far cry from the ones I wore in the 80s). And solids. Pretty, versatile pieces that turned a top and pants into an outfit.

This blazer was most certainly not solid. But it definitely fit into both my closet and my style.

Suddenly, instead of chiding myself because so much of my closet is black and white, I got it. These neutrals are the building blocks, and everything else -- the brights, the prints, the plaids -- they're the statement pieces. 

Solid base + statement piece = finished. That's me.

This is hardly unique -- in fact, it's a basic fashion rule -- but it applies. My statement piece can be a jacket, a top, a piece of jewelry or a pair of shoes but, whatever it is, it's the thing that turns the clothing combo into an ensemble. 

I'm ridiculously excited to have figured this out. Like "having my colors done" in the 80s, this both narrows my options and broadens my horizons, helping me to decide what I should and shouldn't add to my wardrobe.

To which my credit cards say, "Thank you."

My at-home wardrobe? Well, that's another post entirely. And, despite the fact that it's not what you'd call stylish, it factors into my overall style.

Stay tuned.

One Room: Function to be Determined

 My daughter recently celebrated two years at her first grown-up job. We’ve gone from putting the dates for our next visit on the calendar at the end of each visit to playing it a little more by ear. And her room at our house, still in the initial post-Leah state I wrote about in the blog below, has begun to  transition into a space that we take advantage of but that retains plenty of its Leah vibe. Clothes she wears when she visits and/or doesn’t currently need still fill some of the drawers and closets, but I’ve taken over the small closet and part of a drawer. Her desk, which she didn’t want, was taken apart and put out with the trash to make room for a rehabbed Barbie dollhouse made into a display space for her Lego projects. 

Some day, maybe she’ll move to a space with more room and clear out the rest of the things that matter to her. Until then, I’m fine with a space that is part her, part us.

It’s a process.

My daughter has embarked on her first real world journey. She accepted a job, she found an apartment, and she has moved all of her essentials into the apartment. She’s nesting, which is fun for both of us.

Her bedroom at home, just across the hall from ours, is still full of stuff.  In fact, I think there might be at least as much stuff in her bedroom as there is in her apartment.

I’m not entirely sad about this. In fact, yesterday, I went in and moved some things around to fill up some of the empty spaces created by the furniture she took with her. Last week, I put her college comforter on the bed. Small steps towards taking the room into its next incarnation, whatever that will be.

Oh, who am I kidding? It will always be her room. It may look different - in fact, I hope it does because right now, it’s a testimony to everything she has outgrown. It’s a weird Never Never Land sheltering possessions only she can decide the fate of.

I keep thinking back to my own childhood bedroom and wondering if it lived in this stage for a while. I don’t remember having this much stuff. But we moved several times during my childhood and adolescence, no doubt culling and downsizing each time.

But my daughter has had the same bedroom since we brought her home from the hospital. In fact, when she was in elementary school, she got an addition because her room is just above the mud room we added on downstairs. 

Twice as much room to accumulate stuff.

In her defense, she has downsized dramatically over time. In fact, that’s what concerns me. I’m afraid that much of what is still in her room isn’t going anywhere.

Right now, I’m OK with that. As long as there are traces of her in the room, the move my mind knows is permanent, my heart doesn’t have to accept.

I’m not in denial, nor am I unhappy. Just baby-stepping my way into the inevitable. The pandemic gave us two bonus years of having her home -- which I loved -- but it was never meant to be permanent. We didn’t raise her to stay here -- in this house with us -- her whole life. 

But my heart is slow to catch up with my head. And so this room in limbo gives my heart time. Time to adjust. Time to rearrange. Time to, together with her, decide what’s part of her childhood and what’s part of the person she is now.

So, I’ll keep puttering away. Vacuuming this and dusting that, encouraging her to sort through the things she left behind when she comes home to visit. My goal right now is to restore some sense of order while still reflecting its inhabitant, regardless of the purpose it serves when she’s not here.

What that purpose will be is still to be determined, though I can't yet imagine a time that it won't be Leah's room, no matter where she lives.