I will not miss this year. At. All.
It’s proved challenging. It’s tested my limits. And, it’s frayed my nerves. It’s brought successes and bitter disappointments, sometimes simultaneously. It’s brought the pain of loss and grief. And it’s been emotionally and physically exhausting.
But, this year also brought love. Kindness. Patience. Support. And laughter, so much laughter, at times through tears.
This year, 2018, is once again not defined by things, but by the people in my life. I am enormously grateful, humbled and honoured to have so, so many amazing people in my life.
Naturally, there is that one person who stands out, namely, that constant known to me as ‘Sweetie’ or “Twewtie’, and to many as The Cuban. As we move into our 14th (holy shit, time flies!) year together, I am still amazed by how much more meaningful each day is through the simple act of sharing time and space with this most incredible human. As much as I love many of you, I am not afraid nor ashamed to say there is no one on this planet I’d rather spend time with.
But so many others in our life, those both near and far, those at once virtually and physically near and dear, have provided both strength and hope, kindness and solidarity, silliness and seriousness when we most needed and least expected it. And we are grateful beyond measure. You’ve cheered our successes, shared our outrage at injustices and aimed to make this world just a little bit better, and we love you for it.
As the clock ticks towards another day and another year, we thank you for sharing your lives with us in 2018. And we wish you boundless happiness and joy, love and laughter, and endless hope and prosperity in whatever way you measure it in the coming year. May 2019 exceed your expectations and dreams. And may we cross one another’s paths as often as possible in the near future.
Happy New Year!
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
A colleague / friend with whom I’ve been working the last year recently mentioned this little gem of a book to me as we discussed some rather disappointing peer reviews she’d received.
Academic writing is hard work, often leaving writers / authors rather dispirited and unmotivated. Finding motivation to write at all remains a constant battle for many of us. And, time and again, I find myself saying to students, colleagues and myself, ‘just schedule time to write and only write if you want to accomplish anything’.
More than anything, that message rings out loud and clear throughout this precious little bit of encouragement by Paul Silvia.
I genuinely love this book. Its tone. Its thinness. Its simplicity. Its language. And, its messages, both primary and supporting. Whether student or mentor, writing an article or book manuscript or proposal, whether just beginning or seeking to finish items on your to-do list, this book offers something for everyone.
In the week since it arrived, I’ve gone from planning to read a chapter at a time to plowing through it as if it is the most exciting suspense novel ever. It’s just that engaging. And, I will be recommending, if not demanding, that all of my students give it a read regardless of where they live within the graduate school landscape.
Thank you, Paul Silvia. I’ll be revisiting my own writing schedule this weekend. And, recommitting to
cleaning my desk procrastinating less.
Same desk, different feel.
On the last slide for my last class meeting in all of my classes, I include a picture of my desk. It’s messy. It’s filled with crap related to teaching and my work at the university and beyond. It’s also filled with non-work stuff, which I use to take various type of mental health breaks.
Fundamentally, it’s a reflection of me, with bits of nonsense peppered across the surface featuring the necessary and obligatory giant cup of half-drunk coffee and a water bottle or three.
My new workspace took so much less time to set up and feel ‘right’ than any other workspace I’ve previously created. Perhaps because I’d been thinking about it for a while. Perhaps because my system now works precisely as I want it to. But, this new space feels fantastic already and feels as though, once I sort the remainder of our packed life throughout the flat and truly and completely nest, this workspace will prove productive.
Yesterday, one of my classes met for the last time. It’s been a challenging few first two months of classes this autumn given our kitty breast cancer ordeal and the move. But, this class has been patient and attentive and worked incredibly hard, as well extended truly unexpected and most welcome kindness each week. I’ve entered class on some Monday evenings feeling rather homicidal. I’ve never left it feeling that way. Anyway, I needed a new pic for my last slide. Given that I’d only just finished setting up my desk about four hours before the class met, it’s rather miraculous I managed to get more than the absolute minimum sorted.
The image with the window to the left of my desk is my new space and I genuinely love it. The image on the right is my old workspace. As much as I loved it, I confess: I do not miss it, not even a little bit.
I still have some bits to sort out, naturally. But, I love this space. From where things are on my desktop to my desk’s contents to the views to the left (out the window) and right (to the living room).
Even better, on the other side of my screens, The Cuban sits at his own workspace.
Evidently, change is good.
I do not deal with change well. Not at all well.
Much like my cat, I am a creature of habit. And, habits create order and help alleviate the every-day anxiety that plagues me and has left me seemingly paralysed at times throughout my life. I like order. I like things to have their own specific place. And, I like knowing what and where stuff is and where that stuff will be tomorrow.
Moving, as much as it can be welcome, is perhaps the worst sort of change for me. Rather funny, given that at times during my life I moved what seemed like every other month.
After living in one address and one space for 11 years — longer than I’ve lived anywhere in my life — moving now has completely thrown me into the worst sort of chaos and worst sort of anxiety. I’m managing; but, just barely. But, sorting through a life and a fully established home is hard.
Today, as I took a break from work to sort through a desk drawer and sift through debris of various sorts, I found a few things amongst the clutter that made me smile. Little reminders of a life lived in a home we love. And, reminders that regardless of our physical address, at the end of the day this is just a physical space and does not necessarily define ‘home’ for me.
Since The Cuban entered my life, we have left one another little notes. On (or in) the fridge. On one another’s desks. In notebooks and books. Next to one another’s alarms or pillows. We have notebooks of them in various places.
Notes. Just little notes, some as reminders to do something. Most as reminders that more than any other possession in our closets, desks and dressers, the most important item either of us has will always be one another.
In the bottom of a drawer underneath discarded phone and headphone boxes and invoices from ISPs we no longer rely upon, these notes emerged. These notes which I kept. These notes which still make me smile. These notes which remind me to ignore the noise and focus on the constant source of strength and goodness we provide one another.
A roof. Walls. Doors. Those make up a dwelling. But, my home is with The Cuban. The physical dwelling and walls may change, and our notes to one another may carry altogether different messages of things to do and little reminders. But, they’ll always be reminders of one constant thing: we built this home together. And, we’ll get through this and survive. Together. Change is a good, and reminds of us what remains constant.
The arrival of autumn in Finland is one thing. Life is quite another. This late summer / early autumn has offered us much in the way of tumult, upheaval, change and a multitude of unanticipated stressors.
Today, I think I reached saturation. Running away offered an all-too-welcome option, even if unlikely. And, finding any good or lightness or loveliness in any of it was damn near impossible.
After reaching out to friends and asking them to share any signs of goodness they’ve come across, each nuisance became a little more bearable. And, I am grateful. After sorting through work and what must be done, after conquering a few issues and problems, and after a much-needed evening stroll with my beloved and the most reasonable voice of reason in my life, not all seems so tragic and awful.
We will reach the end of this very dark tunnel at some point. We will make it through the darkness and find light again. And, we will continue to navigate the rough waters as best we can, even if we stray off-course and take on far too much water from time to time.
But, hopefully, at the end of each day, we’ll find bright spots. We’ll find that little bit of hope to hold on to. We’ll find the goodness even when it seems we’re drowning in a sea shit. We’ll be able to accept and understand how incredibly fortunate we are, even if things aren’t always easy.
My rating: 4 of 5 stars
The last month has been enormously stressful and emotional. Highs and lows abound, and many a run has been completed as I quietly (or not) choked back tears. After each of those runs, however, I felt better, either less stressed or if not less emotional at least less immediately in need of a good long cry.
In Running Is My Therapy, Scott Douglas confirms much of what I already knew to be true about running. At least what running means and does for me. Running, these past few years, has certainly helped me stave off the pits of despair and keep that little black dog at bay, both those periods induced by life’s curve balls and trials, but also my own life-long battle with depression. Yet, I am not a life-long runner–it’s only within the last four or five years and certainly the last year when I’ve become a consistent runner. Running truly IS my therapy. In many respects, lacing up and hitting the trails helps me employ various tools I learned from cognitive behavioural therapy years ago.
Backed by a plethora of references and research documenting the benefits to running, this is an incredibly insightful read. But, for me, the most important message was relatively simple, although often repeated. That isn’t a complaint. Running when we least want to is often when need to the most and when we gain the most benefit. Indeed. I’ve experienced this myself several times during this past month.
In the midst of life’s turmoil at the moment, I had to take about 10 days off–unfortuante timing related to an appointment for fresh ink. As my skin healed, I really, really, really wanted and needed to run during those 10 days. My husband and I try to walk every evening in addition to my regular running schedule. But, running is when I truly empty my head. And, too much noise was accumulating during that 10-day break. My first run back was long and labourious, and at times the urge to quit was strong. I kept telling myself to just go a bit further. Make it through the next interval. Focus on X rather than Y. Still, after those 12 plodding kilometres, I felt better and better able to simply cope with what comes next.
Now, I understand that a) I’m not alone in this mental reset benefit from running and b) the science behind it. My rational brain appreciates that immensely, particularly the latter.
Obviously, for the darkest times and those facing the darkest of thoughts and deepest pits of despair, seeking professional help is best if not altogether necessary. And, I’ll keep this in mind should I sink into a particularly black period in future. For now, I’ll continue my planned runs, forgive myself when I don’t quite achieve what I intended and use the mental and physical strength running provides me to push onward through life’s bittersweet lemons.
One step at a time.