Don't Buy the Cats!

Originally posted 2/28/18

I have two approaches to most things in my life: Yes, yes, I’m all in! OR Eff that noise; I’m going to sit on the couch and sulk while watching Grace and Frankie because trying to evolve as a human being is hard. Surprisingly, this approach has not served me well. The fire under my ass is initially lit, but it peters out and fades away, leaving me with burnt fart residue and another hobby/diet/meditation extravaganza fallen by the wayside. Whenever I feel a lull in life, I start looking around and examining what needs a change. What do I need more of? What do I need less of? I need less processed sugar and more sleep and more meditation and fewer dirty dishes in my sink and after reading The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up, I definitely need to go through all my belongings and evaluate whether or not they spark joy. P.S. I haven’t brushed up on my Spanish since college and should I be taking the kids out into nature more?
     Then I inevitably sit down and make a plan. A list, more specifically, because God help me, I love a good list. I love to color coordinate, prioritize by importance, design accompanying doodles and at the end, I like to write “make a list” so I can immediately cross something off. And my list usually involves an entire overhaul of my life with an 18 item agenda ending in me becoming wonderful. It’s the grandest of plans, and clearly it’s worked out super well for me. You’ve met me, right? Aren’t I always the picture of calm and zen like energy with a clean house and a life filled with nature walks and my children identifying plants in 3 languages? Girrrrrrrl, please. Usually I’m just trying to figure out how many days is too many days to use dry shampoo.
     This is not to say I don’t do anything well, because I have lots of good stuff going on and I do have talents that often go unappreciated. Last night at bedtime, Zoe requested I make up a song about butterfly toots, and I improvised 3 verses on the spot. Aside from my talents involving animal flatulence, there are other things I’d like to be better at. Liiiiiiike, maybe being on time and not constantly in a state of rushed chaos. Maybe getting more sleep so people don’t have to hear me talking about how I’m.just.so.tired.all.of.the.time. I’d like to eat breakfast at home so my car isn’t filled with smoothie cups or remnants of last week’s toast. I really would like to learn Spanish and guitar and meditate and do more yoga and go on more hikes and make more time with Barrett and the kids. I want to host more gatherings and cook for people and not have to do the mad dash 15 minutes before people get there. You know the one (or maybe you don’t and that’s why you’re better than me). Where are my people at who run around throwing things in the closet and picking up smushed grapes out of the carpet? Anyone? Just me?
     My epic downfall in all of this is my attempt to tackle all the things, all at once, and that’s an endless vicious cycle that always ends with me wallowing in my failures hoping that Netflix will ease the pain. I think I’ve been in denial my entire life about my tendency to overcrowd my plate and continue to stuff things onto it when I can’t realistically handle what’s already on it. I had a moment of clarity last year, sitting in my therapist’s office. My constant theme of discussion over the past year: I’m overwhelmed! I’m half-assing the things that matter most, but seriously, I need to start doing volunteer work and I'm thinking about taking up Thai Chi. Last spring, I was in her office holding my sleeping newborn and talking about how as much as I loved my life and family, I felt that I was failing and things were slipping through the cracks. In the next breath, I digressed into a story of the 2 kittens I had just bought for Barrett and Zoe as a sweet surprise because I’m such a thoughtful wife and mom. My therapist stopped, cocked her head, and looked at me incredulous and said, “Do you hear yourself? You’re a full-time working mother of a 3 year old and a NEWBORN, and you thought NOW was the time to get kittens? Do we not see any issues with this?”
     I believe that’s what they call an epiphany. This is my life. This is my pattern. When things are hectic and crazy and I feel like I can’t hack it, I buy cats. I look externally rather than really honing in on what I’ve already got going on. It's a problem that I've got to get a handle on. It’s time to stop buying cats. (Don't worry Carl and Lemon, I love you. You guys are just a metaphor).
     This year, in lieu of my usual 8 page vision board and slew of New Years’ Resolutions, I decided to start with one teensy, tiny goal. A little baby one, so small it could hardly be considered a goal and I felt stupid for even committing to something that felt so insignificant. I decided to drink more water. That’s it. I made a goal to drink 80-100 ounces of water per day. I bought myself a new water bottle and that’s literally the only commitment I made. It’s the end of February and I have not met this goal every day; my success rate is probably about 80-90% and that’s pretty fucking awesome. It hasn’t made my house any cleaner or increased my punctuality, but I’d say my skin’s a little softer and I’m less hungry and my pee is a prettier shade of pastel. That inspired me to move on to my next tiny goal of cutting down on Starbucks. I’m not even a coffee drinker, but their chai teas became a respite during a long day and just a habit. I’d see the green mermaid and think to myself: “I want to go to there.” I’m now drinking them maybe once a week, which is better for my sugar intake and also for my goal of not throwing money at the man. It’s probably reducing my carbon footprint just a smidge as well. You’re welcome, Earth.
     This approach feels contrary to my nature and it feels so gradual that I wonder if any of it makes a difference, but I'm willing to give it a shot. I’m contemplating my next teensy tiny goal, and I think it's got to be along the lines of getting to bed at a reasonable time. Moms, if you’re anything like me, the second your kid falls asleep, you bask in the glory of having a moment of solitude. And then you bask in it for far too long because now is the time you can watch what you want on TV without background requests for Peppa Pig. Or maybe you are cleaning up the crime scene that is the kitchen after dinner time or catching up with your partner about something other than the contents of Ben’s last poop*. And before you know it it’s 11:00 at night, and you’re cursing your decision making skills and knowing that tomorrow morning will be ROUGH, but also knowing full well you’re going to do it again the next night. Yes, it is decided, a 9:30 bedtime is my next mini-goal. 9:45 tops!
     It’s a little trite, but so true: the little things add up. Maybe a well-rested and well-hydrated version of myself is just what I need to do more of the things that matter. And then maybe I can buy more cats.

​*We only have this conversation like every other day. We're not weirdos.