Friday, May 8, 2020

I'm ready to go Billy Pilgriming

Have you adjusted to “the new normal” yet? I haven’t. I feel like a little piece of my spirit is dying with every day that this continues. OK, maybe not every day, but there’s a gradual downward slide in my outlook and well-being that just keeps sinking.

It’s so hard to put into words just what’s so bad about all of this. After all, I’m an introvert. I like people in small doses. I love my house. I’m a stay-at-home mom who already, well, spent 95 percent of my time at home. But having my in-person interactions reduced to basically the three people I live with, and then the handful of commercial transactions with a mask covering our mouths — we are not meant to live this way. Not even the introverts.

I found myself recently thinking about the Kurt Vonnegut novel Slaughterhouse-Five, where the main character time-travels throughout his life, except he can’t control it. He just keeps waking up in different points of the timeline and has to go with it. This is hard to explain, so I’ll let Kurt Vonnegut do the explaining:

“Listen:

Billy Pilgrim has come unstuck in time.

Billy has gone to sleep a senile widower and awakened on his wedding day. He has walked through a door in 1955 and come out another one in 1941. He has gone back through that door to find himself in 1963. He has seen his birth and death many times, he says, and pays random visits to all the events in between.

He says.

Billy is spastic in time, has no control over where he is going next, and the trips aren’t necessarily fun. He is in a constant state of stage fright, he says, because he never knows what part of his life he is going to have to act in next.” (Slaughterhouse-Five)


Realistically, this kind of time travel seems like a curse of a way to live compared to linear time. But the thing is, Billy Pilgrim is also a prisoner of war during World War II, living in a German-controlled factory in Dresden while the Americans bomb the city. The POWs are starving and frightened, counting down the days, waiting for either their death or their rescue. They’re listening to the planes and the bombs as the Allies — their side — dropped nearly 4,000 tons of explosives over the city of their captors. So rather than living through those dark days, days that I can imagine are full of horror and anxiety (and even boredom in the weeks between the bombing days), Billy’s time-traveling condition moves him from one point of life to another like a ping pong ball, and he’s not trapped in the continuation of despair.

And what I wouldn’t give to be able to wake up one morning and find myself as 19-year-old Carrie back in college, lining up with her friends to see an early release of Being John Malkovich at the Hoff on campus. Or 2014 Carrie, with baby Rye to moon over and take for walks to the city playground. Or even 2024 Carrie, so I could see what life will be like once the virus is no longer novel and we’ve got a handle on it. Oh, to be able to not only talk face to face without cloth barriers, but to hug and laugh and not worry about invisible diseases.

So far the only time travel I have been able to achieve are tiny flashbacks. Remembering my 30th birthday party because we are using up the last of those cocktail party napkins, after not being able to buy regular napkins at stores. Discovering and rewatching the first three seasons of America’s Next Top Model, my favorite show when I was in my early 20s. Repainting all the walls on the first floor, and remembering back to 2009 when I painted them the first time with a pair of friends. But as for moving forward, I’m still clueless about what the future will hold.

So it goes.


Friday, April 3, 2020

There's a tsunami coming, and I can smell saltwater in the air


I haven’t written about the epidemic or the quarantine because I haven’t been able to reconcile it. People keep saying this is our “new normal,” and I refuse to accept that. I suppose “this is the new normal” is what people had to tell themselves when they were suddenly under Nazi occupation, or their country was ravaged by civil war and they have to move into refugee camps. But our situation really isn’t like that. Because on the grand scheme of things, for the vast majority of us, things are still OK. Stay at home! Take your school’s “spring break” a couple of weeks early! Enjoy the family time! Maintain six feet of distance from anyone who is not in your family! One of those statements is not like the others.
Instead of feeling afraid, the transition was more unsettling. I’ve felt like I’m in some creepy “Black Mirror” episode. In the first two weeks, I’d go to the grocery store and see people stacking their carts high, no one wearing masks but an elderly Asian couple, and I would see the store sold out of toilet paper and bleach and meat. I’d nod and make a mental note to come back earlier in a couple of days. But there were still lots of things that were available, like fresh produce. I filled a quarter of my cart with fresh produce. I even picked up some tahini so I could start making homemade hummus instead of spending so much money on those tiny little tubs. We’re not in a crisis! I’m buying tahini and salad bags and LaCroix! You don’t drink sparkling water in a crisis!
I started going to the grocery store early in hopes of getting meat, but even at 7:30 a.m. on March 16, the absolute only fresh meat they had was raw corned beef—there for St. Patrick’s Day. All of us early risers walked around the store, a little fast, but very polite, looking at the shelves and pretending as if some delivery truck must be running late this morning. On this occasion I was at Shopper’s, known for their amazing “colossal donuts.” I got four. I turned to the man next to me and said “if it’s the end of the world, we gotta get donuts, right?” He laughed nervously and took a step away from me. Or at least that’s how it felt.
Then the non-essential businesses started closing. I wanted to return some shoes I bought for Knox that were the wrong size, but DSW Shoe Warehouse was closed until further notice. Rye wanted to buy more cones with his birthday money (shaking my head) and Dick’s was closed to customers, but you could order them online and then have an employee bring them out to you, so we did it. Then non-essential businesses were ordered to close. Restaurants with carryout were allowed to remain open for carryout, and some did, and some didn’t. Some did for a few days a week, and then quit. I’m worried for how many of our local businesses will never reopen.
I am not an extrovert. But I need to get out and see people and apparently I need to be seen. (If you get a shower, do your hair and put on jeans, but no one saw you, did you actually get dressed today?) Sure, I can take three days stuck inside during a snowstorm, I find that kind of relaxing because I hate being cold. And I am so grateful that this epidemic has reached us in spring, where we can see new signs of nature coming alive every day and go outside without freezing. But telling me to stay home is just crushing. My kids get up early, and if we haven’t left the house by 10 a.m., we’re seriously getting on each other’s nerves. And while I would be happy to hole up in just about any room in the house by myself, the kids generally don’t do well together unsupervised after an hour, which is why 10 a.m. seems to be the breaking point. My normal is that two days a week they’re at school at 8:30 a.m., and on days they have homeschool, we’re getting to the gym at 9:50. Then I take an hour to exercise while they in all likelihood just watch Nick Jr., but when that hour’s up, we’ve all had a little reset and we either go to the library or run a quick errand or just head home for an hour of activity before lunch, and before we know it, it’s nap/quiet time.
We already homeschooled so the teaching my kids at home thing hasn’t rocked my world, but I used to have two mornings to myself while both kids were at school, and I really miss that time. On Mondays I usually went to the gym and then went shopping, and on Wednesdays I did a mini gym trip and then met with my book club. My book club is still continuing our book discussions through the video voicemail app Marco Polo, and I’m so glad we’re continuing and see each other’s faces, but needless to say, it’s not the same! It’s great that we have that little outlet, and the book we’ve been reading, “Get Out of Your Head!”, has been really helpful for resetting our thoughts during these troubling times. But we’re conversing in bits and pieces. There’s a rhythm that’s lost. There are some members who get really busy with work or their kids and we don’t hear from them for 10 days and by then we’ve moved onto the next chapter. There are no hugs or “I love that jacket!” or “so how did that meeting go?” before we start each week. There hardly even seems to be “weeks.” For people like me who are home with our children, we’re kind of stuck in a Groundhog Day loop, the passage of time measured only in diminishing toilet paper supplies.
Before I go on, let me say that I am not meaning to complain. I am so grateful that I AM able to be home and safe with my kids. That I don’t have to leave them in someone else’s care while I go to work, in some “essential” work position, where I would be coming into contact with endless numbers of people who could be carrying the virus and just do not know it yet. (Josh however IS still going to work, four to five days a week, and coming in contact with endless numbers of people who are seeing him because they DO have some kind of a health condition that needs medication.) I feel stuck in the middle of two extremes: there are the people who have accepted the “new normal” and are happily home doing crafts with their kids and truly have a brave face, and at the other extreme there are people who are flipping out over their new circumstances and complaining about everything. Then again, there are also those who are kind of just denying the reality. Personally, I feel like that scene in the movie “The Impossible,” or any movie with a tsunami, and they can see this wall of water coming and they can’t do anything about it, and you’re just waiting and watching it come toward you. 

See that person standing there,
at the edge of the water? That's us.

That’s how I feel during this first week of April. I know when that wave hits, we won’t be complaining about being told to stay home anymore, and we’ll be recounting in our minds just how many people we saw in the past two weeks and who we might have put in danger. So I’m trying not to complain, but I think it’s OK to still feel sad, as long as we don’t succumb to it. As I wrote my sister-in-law earlier in the week, “I’m persevering, but I haven’t adapted.” I also want to say that I am not overcome by fear. God is with me through good and bad, and I have peace even in these dark times. 
While the tsunami is still a few weeks off shore, I hope, I got my first taste of getting wet today. I, like millions of Americans, was just laid off. I worked full time for the Carroll County Times for eleven years, and I have been a freelance writer and columnist for the paper for the past seven years, which made my transition to becoming a stay at home parent a lot easier, mentally. I was still keeping a foot in the door. For the first three years, I wrote a weekly neighborhoods column, a food column and picked up one to two more feature stories per month. It definitely kept me busy, and I still felt like a journalist. With Knox’s birth, I cut back to just the food column, but that felt right at the time too. “Columnist” is a position they often give a journalist who is put out to pasture, and I was happy to accept that. Frankly, I was surprised they kept me going, but figured I would keep writing my weekly column about recipes with different food themes for as long as they kept paying me, and it’s how I’m still “remembered” most in this county. No joke, just six weeks ago I was stopped in a restaurant and asked, “What’s cooking in ‘Carrie’s Kitchen?’”
And now the timing of my dismissal feels like it came out of nowhere. It wasn’t me personally, but with the current economic situation and the huge drop in advertising because businesses aren’t open and events aren’t happening, and all freelancers got put on hold until at least June. But I have my doubts that they will continue outside columnists. And I’m especially sad that I didn’t get to write a farewell column, but then again, I wouldn’t want to write a farewell either in case I do get brought back on. And I’m a little nervous that I hadn’t submitted an invoice in two months and they owe me two months of pay, but I’m 80 percent sure I’ll get that money. Gulp.
My layoff is inconsequential compared to what so many other people are going through, since I made so little, but I’ll admit, my pride is hurt. I can no longer say I work in newspapers. My beloved friend Pat who is also a journalist and has been the victim of economic layoffs in newspapers in the past said at least I already had this blog going. Perhaps losing my food column gives me an opportunity to diversify more on this blog, and that’s true. But darn it, I’m still sad. It’s either the end of an era, or just another example of how another part of my life that I took for granted is now being put on hold.
In any case, today’s sad news at least gave me the impetus to start writing here today, and from here forward, it looks like I will have even more time to do so.
Stay safe, everyone. Keep on persevering!

Monday, February 24, 2020

From Daria to G.I. Jane



 You may know that I sometimes talk about going to “the gym,” but I’m guessing you’ve never thought of me as an athletic person. That is a correct assessment. “Exercising” has never been my thing. I’m one of those people who grew up dreading gym class, just trying to survive without something super-embarrassing happening, and trying not to get labeled as the weakest link on the team. 

Daria, my athletic role model
But just because I’m not athletic, I wouldn’t say I’m sedentary. I love a nice long walk at a fast pace. I enjoy hiking even more. I like riding a bike … on a flat, paved trail. And when I was in college and merely steps away from UMD’s state-of-the-art gymnasium, I was known to go over every now and then for a little ping pong. Oh, yeah!
Josh really got into exercising in college. He started lifting weights and then started running, like, for fun. He’s always wanted me to do it, but I derive zero pleasure from running, to the point that when I first joined the gym, I would walk for sixty to ninety minutes on the treadmill just to burn enough calories to have some pizza that night. Also, we didn’t have cable at home and the gym did, so that’s where I got to watch my HGTV. Josh talks about how running releases endorphins for him and he truly gets a “runner’s high,” but I don’t. I make it about ninety seconds before I check the time on the treadmill to see if I’m at least a quarter of the way done. Nope.
For about fifteen or sixteen years, I’ve been going to the gym to a) walk on the treadmill, or b) do intervals of about two minutes walking then three minutes of running, for thirty minutes, or c) use the elliptical with no resistance for thirty minutes, and possibly d) doing three rounds of arm weights with five-pound weights, about fifteen reps per set. The results from this exercise routine is that I look like someone who doesn’t go to the gym. While a ton of other women my age and slightly younger go to the gym the same time as me and drop their kids off at the nursery like I do, they then go up to the big gymnasium for a fitness class, where barbells and ropes and kettlebells line the floors…and I stay on the ground floor with the mostly senior citizens, trying to catch up with Flea Market Flip.
So when my gym, the Westminster Family Fitness Center, announced in January a special New Year challenge, at first I didn’t pay very much attention to it. But there the flyer was at the check-in desk, and my word-loving brain couldn’t help but read it. It was a passport challenge, with thirty squares, each with an activity or specific class or instructor’s name on it, and you had thirty days to get twenty-five squares stamped to be entered into a contest with twenty prizes.

My card when I was on the last leg of the challenge

Twenty prizes!?!
That’s the part that kept me staring at it every time I passed the desk. This challenge certainly would be a real trial. For one, how many people would have the time and schedule flexibility to make it to the gym twenty-five out of thirty days? How many people could mentally and physically stick with it? Or not screw up the scheduling and box themselves out of more than five boxes? Not more than forty, I estimated. So if I could do it, that would give me a fifty percent chance of winning a prize. I’m a betting woman, and I liked those odds.
And so, about a week before the start of the challenge, I decided I was going to do it. I signed up with the staff, then took a picture of the passport with my phone because the physical copy had to stay at the gym, and then I looked at my schedule and started planning it out.
I’m not going to lie: I was super intimidated. Twenty-one of these squares were for classes, and I had only ever taken one type of class at my gym — barre. This is not to knock barre, you get a good workout with muscle toning and it has greatly increased my flexibility, but it doesn’t get your heartbeat up. I also had stopped taking it for about four months due to our homeschooling schedule, and so I was afraid whatever strength and flexibility I had gained over my two years of barre had largely faded away.
I was certain I could do it, and nearly certain I would win a prize, so I made a commitment to myself to do it. Josh, who has always encouraged me to try new classes, was totally on board, and offered to take care of the kids in any way possible that allowed me to keep up with hitting my squares. So before the challenge even started, I pulled out my photo of the passport and my Google calendar and started scheduling classes and workouts for myself as if it was my part-time job.
I wanted to start myself off easy and work my way up to the more challenging classes. So my first three activities would be thirty minutes of cardio on Day 1, followed by a forty-five-minute Zumba class Day 2, and then “Light Dance” on Day 3. I would take the weekend off, and then hit my anticipated hardest class on Day 6 with Tabata, a sort of boot camp class taught by my super badass barre teacher Gabby that I never, ever would have taken if not for this challenge. Day 7, I had a doctor’s appointment and wouldn’t be able to make it to a class, and Day 8 I would do the five-minute Jacob’s ladder challenge with Josh there to coach me. Day 9, I would try Butts and Guts, another circuit class that people had recommended as a good way to ease into classes (but it is only offered on Thursdays). For Day 10, I had plans to go swing dancing that night and wanted to make sure I would still have energy by nightfall, so I scheduled myself a yoga class for that morning. Saturday morning I would take off, but on Sunday, Day 12, I would cover one of the “any Sunday class” squares with HIIT, or high intensity interval training.
“I can do this,” I told myself, over and over.
The first day went well, I did thirty minutes on the elliptical, which is something I usually did once a week anyway. Day 2, the Zumba class was fun, but it reminded me that I’m absolutely terrible at following along to dance steps. The teacher was super friendly and noticed I was new and told me just to keep moving whether I was doing the steps right or not. I was totally OK with that and saw this as my good deed of the day — helping all the other class regulars feel like dancing superstars and letting them get a good laugh out of me. On Day 3, Light Dance felt even more complicated than the Zumba steps. Not as intense as Zumba, but truly more like a dance class with so, so many different kinds of steps. Again, the instructor and the rest of the classmates were very kind and kept thanking me for coming to check out their class, imploring me to come back another time.
I was still really scared about tackling Tabata, so I used a lifeline: I asked my friend Jess to do it with me. Jess is a runner, and even more-so, a not-sit-stiller. She doesn’t “workout,” but she’s athletic and full of energy and I thought she would say yes, and she did! That took a huge part of the fear away. At least I wouldn’t be the only new person in class that day! Also, if I died in class, she would have my husband’s phone number to let him know he needs to come and collect my body. Problem solved.
You might be thinking that I’m going to say that I way overestimated how hard the class would be and that I had fun.
No. It was every bit as hard as I thought it was going to be, but with challenges I never would have even imagined. This week featured what my instructor called “the chainsaw.” The room was divided into two parts; on one side, you lifted weights, and on the other, you went through about eight different challenges in an S-shaped path across the gym floor. I should have written this all down sooner, but I remember this was my introduction to “wall balls,” these gigantic, puffy, heavy balls that weigh up to twenty pounds that you throw against a wall a couple of feet above your head. I accidentally did the twenty-pound balls my first two times because I didn’t know there were fourteen-pound balls further down the wall. I discovered these plyometric boxes — heavy, sturdy boxes that you can do high step exercises on that felt like they weighed fifty pounds — and we had to push them all the way across the length of the gym floor and back. We did frog jumps. Plank walks. Mountain climbers. You know it’s bad when my favorite station is just doing freaking jumping jacks! Jess and I started in different parts of the chainsaw and didn’t get to talk during these exercises. She looked good at it though. Actually, I probably looked pretty good at most of it too, from the outside, but on the inside, I felt like I was going to die. I had to remind myself to keep breathing. And then the instructor would yell “switch” and we’d go to the weights side. Now I was used to using five-pound weights most of the time, but I think the lowest ones I saw anywhere were fifteen-pounders. The women who take these classes are badasses. I’d like to see someone try to steal a purse from one of these women, they would seriously get their ass kicked. I used the fifteen-pound weights for the first exercise and then went to the closet to get something lighter. But there were still so many weight-lifting exercises I had never done before, and these were heavy weights, but it was still a nice break from the chainsaw.
The highlight of the class was about three-quarters of the way through when I was plank walking across the gym, my writer’s wrists killing me, and my instructor said, “Carrie,” and I looked up, and she gave me a little nod. She noticed! Not only was I here, but I was giving it my all and I wasn’t wussing out! I knew the instructor would rather see me do each step well rather than keep up the pace of the others and be sloppy or cheat, so I did it all carefully. Having her notice my effort/resilience was my proudest moment during this whole challenge.
The class, like pretty much all of them at the gym, went on for an hour. I was covered in sweat and already was getting a headache before I left the gym. I profusely thanked Jess for doing it with me, then headed to preschool to pick up Knox.
 
My message with Josh post-Tabata class

By evening, I was already starting to cramp up. Not wanting to see the full extent of what the pain would be, I took some ibuprofen and used my heating pad that evening. By bedtime, it was hard to both lay down and get up out of bed. I was soooo glad I knew I didn’t have to exercise the next day. And when the next day came, I was in even worse pain. Ibuprofen did nothing. I walked around in a weird, little shuffle. Going up and down steps was super hard due to a terrible pain in my quads. Getting out of my SUV was hard — I can’t imagine what it would have felt like to still be using the low, little Civic.
When Josh got home that night, he diagnosed my problem as built- up lactic acid, and agreed to help massage my legs to get it out. That was the most painful massage of my life. Massage really isn’t even the right word. Even having the kids brush up against my legs in the kitchen had led to me releasing little yelps; having Josh push on my muscles and bend my legs up and down, I had tears running down my face, and would have been sobbing, if not for the fear of waking my kids up. But at least now I knew why I had been in so much pain. After all, if I was in such bad shape, I wouldn’t have been able to make it through the whole class. That night I bought some Simply Lemonade and started filling the last twenty percent of my water bottle with the stuff to keep me drinking water non-stop throughout the day. I gave up coffee, soda, and alcohol to make sure water was my priority and that I wouldn’t get into a lactic acid build-up situation again.
On Day 8, though I could still feel the sting of Tabata, I went to the gym to do Jacob’s ladder because it was on the schedule and I needed to get that square. Josh had talked reverently about the Jacob’s ladder machine before, and warned me it might take some practice and working my way up to five minutes, but I just wanted to get it done and crossed off and suffer the consequences the next day if I had to. The Jacob’s ladder is a sort of treadmill ladder, set at a forty-degree angle. You hook a belt to you and turn the machine on, and once the belt line feels your weight/tension, the ladder starts moving so that you constantly have to climb up as the steps fall away beneath you. Josh kept talking to me for encouragement/distraction. It was tough! Mostly because it’s easy to go fast because your weight is pulling it down. I had to learn to take slower steps so I wouldn’t have to do as many of them. Halfway through I took a thirty-second break, but otherwise, I got my five minutes done without incident. Josh was super proud of me for doing it even though I was still in so much pain from Tabata, and I was just glad to have earned my 6th square. (If you’re counting along, it was the 6th because there were three squares for bringing a guest, and I had earned one of those by bringing Jess to Tabata.)
On Day 9, I earned squares #7 and #8 by taking Butts and Guts with Jess again. I ended up taking this class weekly throughout the challenge, and this first time was the hardest — and not just because I wasn’t used to it. The format of this class on the first day was that we had eight or ten stations of different exercises that target your leg and butt muscles, and between each station we stopped and did sit-ups/crunches or planks and plank-based exercises. It was a tough class, especially on my core, which I never focused on before. Thankfully the pace was slower than Tabata and the instructor a little less intimidating.
Day 10’s yoga was awesome. I was nervous about signing up for a seventy-five-minute session, but Josh had done classes with the instructor and told me that the pace was very relaxing, that the instructor really focused on the meditation angle, and that I would do fine. So I went, and awkwardly was the last person there and then everyone else had to scoot their mats over to make room for me, but otherwise I found it super calming — even better than getting a pedicure. Considering these classes at my gym are FREE, I think this is going to be my new treat to myself.
I’m guessing you don’t want to hear a play by play of how I experienced and earned all twenty-five squares, because after those first ten days I really had adapted and was used to it. That’s not to say that the rest of the classes didn't kick my butt (Triple Threat and Rock Solid Core had me looking around the room in disbelief that other people did this just for fun and not for a contest), but with each class I would feel totally fatigued, and then the next day I would have that feeling that I knew I had done something strenuous the day before, but the specifics of it weren’t so fresh.
Jess did like six classes with me, and my friend Erin did almost as many, even with her family suffering illness after illness during that month. My final tally was that I ended up doing nine circuit/bootcamp classes, four Zumba/dance classes, three barre classes, two yoga classes, three days of cardio, the Jacob’s ladder challenge and I used the three squares for bringing a guest. My five empty squares that I did not do were two cycle classes, kickboxing (a class that I would have done if it wasn’t five o’clock on a Tuesday), a third Sunday class, and one more class with my Tabata/barre instructor. I did plan to take my final class with Gabby to bring it full circle, but on my last Monday when I was going to take Tabata I had a terrible head cold, and then I was going to finish with her barre class on the next day but she had to call out sick for a family member, so I had to go with something else. I finished the challenge in twenty-eight days, which was possible thanks to my friends coming with me, my decision to take two classes in the same day twice, and my dear husband taking over many of my normal responsibilities during those four weeks.

Commemorating earning my 25th square


So, did I win a prize? You betcha! One month’s worth of free gym membership, which I don’t even know the exact value for, but I think it’s like $50. It’s not a glamorous prize, but what was even more valuable was the confidence I gained through this challenge. I never thought I could be one of those moms up in the big gymnasium, doing seventy-five burpees and seventy-five military presses and seventy-five chin-ups and seventy-five chest presses…and I still am not. But I can do fifty, which is way more than I could do before the challenge. And maybe when I’ve done fifty of everything, I make it back to doing the last twenty-five. Except for the chin-ups. My top number of those was eleven, and that’s with using my foot to help climb up the wall a little. You do what you gotta do.
People keep asking me if I’m going to keep doing the classes, and I think I will! Why waste my time on the treadmill, watching the clock, just to keep my body’s status quo, when I can go to two or three classes per week, really “feel it” and continue to sculpt my body? Within the first two weeks I actually put on three pounds of muscle, and now I’ve probably lost three pounds of fat. The number on the scale hasn’t changed much, but my body dynamics have. Josh and I just went to Butts and Guts together Thursday, where the instructor had a belated Valentine’s Day “partner workout,” and we did activities together, like sit-ups facing each other and passing a sixteen-pound medicine ball back and forth on each one. It was actually kind of fun. And I do plan to go back to Tabata just to prove that I can do it.
The gym prize was not the hour-long massage I was hoping for, but I treated myself to that this morning because I earned it! I also took Jess out to lunch to thank her for being my newbie buddy, and Erin and I are still scheduling our victory lunch. Wherever we go, I’m getting the fries with that.




Friday, January 17, 2020

Looking at the year ahead with a fresh perspective


I’m in a rut — a rut that has probably been forming for the past decade, and certainly has been dug-in deeper as I shifted to becoming a stay at home parent. My 2020 goal is to get out of this rut and flourish in new ways.

Recognizing I am in a rut

 Last year I read Michael Pollan’s Howto Change Your Mind, and I completely connected with what he was describing. The book is about psychedelic drugs, mainly LSD and psilocybin (as in magic mushrooms), and how many people use them once, have a life-changing experience that shifts the way they perceive love and the universe, and then live with a higher perspective afterwards, often with a greater or deeper spiritual understanding. Pollan writes that he was interested in this because by the time you’re middle-aged, you start making the same decisions over and over, based on your preferences, to the point that you don’t even see all the options available because you’ve narrowed your focus so much.
Maybe you’re not in that stage of life yet, or maybe you’re someone who makes random choices and decisions and have never created a rut, but I knew exactly what Pollan meant. I wanted to hug him for putting into words that feeling I’ve had but couldn’t quite tease out or explain.
The book is called How to Change Your Mind because he wanted to think with a new brain, one that didn't get stuck in the same ruts or patterns. He wanted to do a guided trip with an experienced therapist in hopes that he could get a new, life-changing perspective. Before I go any further, I want to pause to address the misconception that psychedelic drugs are only used by hippies and burnouts. You should know that this class of drugs had a history of being used in therapy, particularly for people with OCD, PTSD, depression, alcoholism, fear of dying and was even used as a smoking cessation therapy. The drugs got a bad rap back in the 60s and all of that research got shut down and the drugs were made illegal. But in the past decade or so, the government has granted a limited number of researchers the ability to pick this research back up again, and I’m interested in where it will lead in the future. Would I take a hit of acid offered to me at a party? Heck no! But would I do it in the presence of a therapist who I had met on multiple occasions, trusted, and who has worked with numerous patients on these guided trips as a therapeutic tool? I just might.

 Because I’m not a famous author who can get clinical access to therapeutic psychedelics

 I’m planning to get out of my rut just by forcing myself (and Josh and I as a couple) to try new things. Nothing crazy, like skydiving, but just embracing more opportunities. For example, we had an awesome 2-night trip to Leesburg, Va., back in November. After dinner one night, while walking around town, we came to a theater where we could hear the band playing music from the street. REM music, to be specific. And then I remembered I had seen on Facebook that an REM cover band was going to be in town that weekend, but I hadn’t paid much attention to it. (I’m not really a concert person.) (See how you start self-limiting your choices?!?) But here we were, the music sounded great, and it looked pretty empty in there. The manager saw us and tried to entice us to come inside. We hemmed and hawed, trying to gauge each other’s interest in it, and then the manager offered to let us in at 2 for the price of 1, so we did it. We had an awesome time! And it’s not like we’re super REM fans, but if you grew up in the 80s and 90s, I would say you likely heard an REM song played once every hour of radio time. There were so many songs that I knew but hadn’t thought about in YEARS, yet I still knew the majority of the words. Also fun, we were the youngest people there, and I saw a dude in a Napster T-shirt, which totally made my night. The band really was great, and we stayed till the end of the show and walked home in the freezing air full of energy. After that night, I made a mental note to just say yes to things like that which I may be on the fence about.
In that vein, I bought Josh tickets for us to go see Jim Gaffigan this spring. I saw he was coming to D.C., having two shows on a Friday night. Again, I hemmed and hawed, but then I looked at all the tour locations and saw he was going to be in Hershey, Pa., a month later, with just one show that night. (I know performers are professionals at performing, but I think even professionals have to feel happier and more relaxed if they only have to do one show in a night instead of two). What a great alternative! No worries about traffic or parking, plus we could hit up Troegs brewery for happy hour before the show, a place Josh loves but that we rarely get to visit, and it would be closer to my parents, who will keep the kids for us overnight. Ta-da, win-win-win!
Also, next week Josh and I are going swing dancing with another couple in Baltimore City! Swing dancing was all the rage in the late 90s, thanks to ska music, but non-confident Carrie was pretty terrified of being embarrassed and escaped taking part in it. I thought it had died out, but apparently it hasn’t, and more-confident Carrie will now be doing it. We found out our friends have taken lessons, even if it was more than a decade ago, which has us quite intimidated, but whatever. We’ll be the couple everyone else can laugh at and make the other not-so-skilled dancers feel better about themselves. I’m okay with that. I’m sure we’ll have some good stories and good memories come out of this! 

But the biggest potential change

 My other big goal, perhaps my biggest, is a career change. I want to be a children’s book author, and I’m taking it seriously. I have the words of a picture book that I’m really happy about, and I am continuing to shop it around in hopes of getting it published.
But getting a book contract is not under my control, so I’m taking smaller steps that I can have control over. I joined the Maryland, Delaware and West Virginia chapter of the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators and I’m hoping that will help me learn more about the industry and connect with more people who can help me achieve my goal. On Jan. 11, I went to my first chapter event, a “write-in,” where writers and illustrators gathered at The Writer's Center in Bethesda and worked on their laptops and sketchbooks. I thought we would get nametags and have some introductions and networking, but writers do seem to be introverts like me, so there was very minimal conversation. But you could pay $10 to have a published author or illustrator talk to you and critique your work or a query letter (the letter you write to an agent or publisher trying to get them to accept your work), so I did two of those, one which was helpful and the other which wasn’t. It may not have been very productive for networking, but I did get 2 hours of writing time in. I haven’t done that much writing since last spring, so it was still a success.
I’ve also signed up for the chapter’s annual conference in March, where there are lots of great speakers, including successful authors and agents from some big agencies. Also, to have a concrete, measurable steps toward getting published, I’ve set a goal of doing three actions toward becoming a children’s writer each week. That means sending an email to someone in the industry, sitting down and working on my writing, watching a webinar on a related topic, or studying children’s literature. And to keep me at it, I realize I need to keep a work log visible — on my office wall — not in my planner, which I do not consistently look at, or in a computer file.

 And on the smaller side

 While being a published author is my big goal, I also have a smaller goal that I’m quite certain I can achieve: wear mascara more often. I’m not into makeup, but wearing my blue mascara makes me happy and expresses that quirky side of me in just the tiniest of ways. So as long as I’m leaving the house and don’t have to worry about allergies or crying, I’m going to take the 30 seconds to put it on.
Happy New Year everyone! If you want to send me an email about a big goal you have for 2020, I’d love to hear it, and I can even be an accountability partner for you if you need one!