28: Avoiding bamboozlement

Have you heard of BeanBoozled? It's a funny, if slightly offensive, little novelty item made by the candy company, Jelly Belly. Each box contains an assortment of jelly beans of identical appearance, but of wildly different flavor. 'Tutti-Fruitti' and 'Stinky Socks' have the same blue and red splotched coloring. 'Coconut' is no whiter nor more opaque than 'Baby Wipes.' The mottled green look of 'Juicy Pear' is just as likely to be another kind of freshly picked thing: 'Booger.' And these aren't even the best/worst flavors... Playing this game is the corn syrup equivalent of Russian roulette—whether you're delighted or disgusted by your bean choice is left entirely to chance.

I have not played (engaged in the masochism of?) the game of BeanBoozled. However, I have played my own kind of Russian roulette each week, when I write to you. For the past six months, I've steadied myself over this keyboard every Monday morning and written whatever was at the top of my mind, hoping to gift you with more 'Chocolate Pudding' than 'Canned Dog Food,' but, you never know; I've come to understand that everyone has different tastes and expectations, and each of us is on a deeply individual quest, both in our online and offline lives. In the process of figuring out what I want to offer and how I'll offer it in a way that reflects who I am, I've certainly fielded my share of unsubscribes and, too, connected with some people who will, no doubt, become lifelong kindreds of mine. It goes without saying that I want more of the latter—but, I suspect I first need to understand who you are on the receiving end of this note and what you seek when you open Weekly Findings each Monday afternoon.

To that end, I've crafted an anonymous survey that won't take more than five minutes of your time. Please click the button below to answer ten questions that will help me to better understand my readership. Finally, I don't say it nearly enough (gosh, if at all—how embarrassing): Thank you so much for reading. Knowing you're out there is one of my greatest joys.

'Til soon,
Helen

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Notes from the week of February 28

DISCOVERED

+ "Circus of Love", a beautiful song by Benjamin Dunn & Friends

WATCHED

+ House of Cards
+ Cesar 911 (I'm newly obsessed with dog communication)

MEALS EATEN, DRINKS DRUNK

+ peanut butter 7-layer bars made by an astro-physicist friend who moonlights as a baker (and bringer of joy)

READ & NODDED MY HEAD

+ "We make frequent attempts—more or less half-hearted—to change what we eat, but almost no effort to change how we feel about food: how well we deal with hunger, how strongly attached we are to sugar, our emotions on being served a small portion" (via Nicole Gulotta)
+ "Your job is to ask questions, not manufacture answers. The answers are already there, but since you haven't looked, you don't know that yet. Assume that you are extraordinarily wise and incredibly sane. Because you are" (via Jill Salahub)

27: An illustrated guide to looking around

Last week, I felt as though the Universe was pitching me one opportunity after another to notice what was beautiful. It had been a few weeks of navel-gazing for me (don't say you didn't notice) and the simple act of looking up—or looking at something other than my navel—was a huge relief. Herewith is a brief guided tour of those moments I couldn't ignore.

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LEFT: Things that weren't blooming two weeks ago were suddenly in bloom last week. (FYI: We're parked in a city that falls in Plant Hardiness Zone 7a.) Fuzzy buds appeared on (pear?) trees and were replaced (overnight?) by tight green clusters that look capable of bursting. In case you're not in a hardiness zone above 5a, rest assured: I found proof that spring is en route.

RIGHT: Crossing a street on foot, in broad daylight, I saw stars. Bona fide constellations in the thermoplastic road markings. This seemed particularly lucky.

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LEFT: I followed arrows that emerge from underground. Look over there, they suggested. So, I did. This one pointed to the late afternoon sun.

RIGHT: I observed an old man whispering and petting a tree. I found a reason to pass by the tree again, after the man had left it. What did I see? Islands like puzzle pieces. The geography of bark. Also, chain stitch embroidery.

I'd love to see what you discover without seeking. Hit 'reply' and attach a picture of your findings.

'Til soon,
Helen

P.S. I've got a bonus for you. Here's a GIF made from rapid-fire iPhone snaps:

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From the pedestrian bridge at the botanical gardens, we watched an employee scatter food pellets. I adore the murky watercolor of the pond fish swirling beneath the surface, and the rush of color when the geese enter the scene.

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Notes from the week of February 21

DISCOVERED

+ 10 Clever Ways to Clean With a Lemon
+ The Seven-Minute Egg
+ Lucy's Kitchen Notebook

OBSESSED OVER

+ Cofftea
+ Steepster (Facebook for tea drinkers)

ADMIRED

+ Beryl Markham (via E. Rhondeau Morgan)
+ Karen Blixen
+ The Gogglette

READ & NODDED MY HEAD

+ "I wish someone had told me that you have to be the biggest, boldest, bravest version of who you are, because that is how your people will find you. And they will find you"
+ "Astrology can help readers reframe conceptions about themselves and make sense of personal emotional landscapes. The truth does not come from the horoscope itself, but in the meaning that a reader takes from it"

LOCAL COLOR EXPERIENCED

+ Myriad Botanical Gardens
+ Oklahoma City National Memorial
+ a long Saturday walk through Bricktown (verdict: aside from a few pockets of people, it was a completely deserted, zombie-apocalypse-type city on the weekend)

CURIOSITIES COLLECTED

+ the first line of my February horoscope (which I happened to read today, nick of time!) from Madame Clairevoyant: "This month, you can find what you’re looking for, and if you don’t know what you’re looking for, you’ll find what you need"

26: Overcoming last week's obstacles

So, what do you do if you're experiencing uncharacteristic ambivalence, detail-overwhelm, or ennui? I thought you'd never ask. (In fact, several of you did ask; you read last week's missive and more-or-less responded, All right, Helen, aren't you supposed to be in the business of transformation? Why, yes. Yes, I am.) If you're looking to transform those February doldrums, here's where I recommend starting:

CAN'T DECIDE? Then it probably doesn't matter what you choose. This sounds dismissive, I'm sure, but it's true. If you find yourself inexorably torn between two things (in my case, getting the pixie cut versus leaving my hair as is), and neither option is revealing itself to be even slightly better than the other, then your choices are equal. You might as well flip a coin. A decision, any decision, will always feel better than waffling. (I get my hair cut Thursday. Boom.)

OVERWHELMED BY BEING HUMAN? This is no time for creativity. Routinize! Rachel has long inspired me by doing a bang-up job of meal-planning (these days, she's even experimenting with a month-at-a-time approach), so, when I find myself vexed by mealtime, I decide that a schedule of basics is a-okay. Monday is breakfast-for-dinner, Tuesday is tacos, Wednesday is curry, Thursday is sandwiches, Friday is dine-out—and you get the idea. Oftentimes, I think we seek permission to turn on autopilot and cut corners during our tough weeks. Consider this your go-ahead.

TEDIUM GOT YOU DOWN? My Love Interest pointed out that, as adults, we encounter many fewer opportunities for 'firsts' in life than when we were kids. I think my last, truly new undertaking was learning to drive stick back in December. So, to mix things up a bit, I've started considering activities I've never done and experiences I've never had. My plan? Complete a 'first' every month to add to my curiosity vitae (I just made up that phrase—feel free to use it!). Thanks to the leap year, we have a full seven days left in February, the month everyone seems to agree is hateful. A week is plenty of time to conquer a 'first'. What about you? Are you up for it? Hit 'reply' and tell me what new-to-you thing you'll do before March. I'll hold you accountable.

Take heart, you're on the right track. (I say this as much to myself as to you.)

'Til soon,
Helen

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Notes from the week of February 14

DISCOVERED

+ salads that work well for winter (fresh inspiration for the season when my salad game is pretty weak)

ADMIRED

+ 50 ways to say "good job" (though I'm not yet a parent, I do like to know how to interact with children in meaningful ways)

MEALS EATEN, DRINKS DRUNK

+ frozen lasagna
+ passionfruit (my first one)

INTERESTED IN

+ hand lettering
+ learning how to use watercolors

LISTENED & NODDED MY HEAD

+ "Emotion gets the first crack of making sense of what happens" (The Lively Show has swiftly become my favorite podcast, esp. the above episode with Brené Brown)

LOCAL COLOR EXPERIENCED

+ in speaking with a native Texan this weekend, I quickly picked up a bit of her southern drawl and felt equal parts phony and lovely

FRIENDS MADE

+ Kayla, the mother of the tantrum-throwing four-year-old across the street (finally!)
+ Kipper, the tantrum-throwing four-year-old
+ Zeke, the baby

25: The quest after the unique self

It would seem that when I promise to explore something further in the next issue of Weekly Findings, I'm playing kick-the-can and setting myself up to get distracted in the intervening week and to forget to think about the thing I'd planned to think about. Somewhat miraculously, then: This weekend, my subconscious found several opportunities to confront me with my authentic self (the self I may have a tendency to put on hold, according to Beverly Amsel):

UNCHARACTERISTIC AMBIVALENCE. I have become fixated on pixie cuts. Never one to think too much about my hair (especially since taking to the road; who has time for hair when there are adventures to be had—and limited space to store beauty products and tools), I'm suddenly writhing in indecision over my next style. Pinterest has consumed me for long stretches at a time and then abandoned me (after all, there are only so many photos of curly pixie cuts), once again, in the ditch of irresolution. (And, when lying in that particular ditch, all the hours spent perusing and hemming and hawing and not taking action feels a whole lot like wasted time—which probably contributes to the next item, below.)

OVERWHELMED BY MINUTIAE. What to eat for lunch? What to eat for dinner? I've found myself thoroughly vexed by the mundane decisions that come with being a human. Like, why do I have to think about yet another meal? I ate one just a few hours ago. I know enough about psychology to understand that when we're investing too much in the rightness or wrongness of basic decisions, there's some other fear (oftentimes about rightness or wrongness) that's masquerading in plain sight.

BORED WITH MYSELF. Though I'd like to blame it on our being parked in the same (dull) city for the past five months, I know this one is much more to do with my neglecting to take seriously my own curiosity. My interest in learning to casterboard? I need to pursue it. Feeling as though my creative well is dry? Filled with sameness? I need to get offline and wander a museum or bookstore (we did the latter this weekend, and I wondered why I hadn't thought to do it sooner).

I have to wonder: Is this inner discord merely growing pains, part of feeling my way toward whoever I am right now? Dr. Amsel has written quite a lot about individuation, "the process that occurs after separation [from parents] in which you grow your separate self, where you come to define who you are as an individual." For me, this process feels more delayed and hiccupy than I've have liked; isn't this what college was for? Why am I unsure about my appearance and whether or not a person is supposed to try out a new hairstyle before she gets married? Why do I fear that my having a strong or unpopular opinion will be perceived by others as an affront? Why is this skin too small, all of a sudden? Dr. Amsel shares a great insight:

What can make this individuation process difficult is that you have to deal with the consequences of becoming a separate individual in the world. For example, there may be feelings from others about your asserting your developing separate self. This is sometimes not easy to tolerate especially if there are negative or critical responses to your new voice. Frequently, it takes time and work to learn to tolerate all the new feelings that your changes evoke.

There's so much more exploring to do—but, I'll leave it here, for now. Tell me, what is the struggle you most need to put words to right now? (It helps, believe me.)

'Til soon,
Helen

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Notes from the week of February 7  

DISCOVERED

+ Note to Self (LOVED this episode, especially)
+ Modern Mrs. Darcy's daily email of Kindle deals (Bossypants is on sale for $3.99!)

INTERESTED IN

+ ordering coffee like a cool kid
+ Cooked, the four-part Netflix documentary with Michael Pollan that comes out this week
+ horchata (click on the pronunciation link; music to my ears!)

MEALS EATEN, DRINKS DRUNK

+ pad Thai
+ quinoa bowl w/ za'atar avocado & egg
+ sautéed rainbow chard & cauliflower baked w/ sliced hot pepper
+ caprese salad wrap

READ & NODDED MY HEAD

+ "I didn’t want to deal with everything that comes with a wedding but I did want to be married" (perhaps the first thing I've read about weddings that actually resonates)

FINISHED WATCHING

+ Season 1 of Amazon's haunting & riveting The Man in the High Castle
+ Season 5 of AMC's The Walking Dead
+ Food Network's Worst Cooks in America Collection (which had me laughing and crying alternately—this series surprised me with so many good, human moments)

CURIOSITIES COLLECTED

+ a new metallic-y green glazed planter for my growing jade, which instigated a kind of musical chairs for all the plants in the front window of the RV

FRIENDS MADE

+ Toni, who lives on the other side of the RV park and is enjoying a robust online dating life
+ the mother of last week's four-year-old, only she doesn't know it yet: I'm going to bring her a beer and some chocolate one day this week

24: Tantrums, conflict, & developing the unique self

This morning, the four-year-old across the way was screaming. In the midst of his screams, his mother carried her other child, a baby, across the street, past our rig and down the grassy hill, under the picnic shelter, and into the laundry room, situated on the backside of the clubhouse. She'd brought a load there earlier, and was, I assume, going to check on it. The boy sat on the top step of their trailer, wailing, as the front door swung open and then waved in the gusting wind. He moved down a step and howled in his mother's direction until it became clear that she wasn't coming back—not right away, at least—and that she'd left him to feel the rest of his feels, alone. That's when he transitioned into a sort of rage-cry: I imagined it was disdain for his mother's previous attempts to reason with him and, simultaneously, desperation for her to stay engaged, to indulge him in some specific way for a while longer.

He set out to follow her then. I watched as he tiptoed in socked feet across the street, tugging up the waistband of his small jeans, which were on backwards and left unzipped so that his printed underwear was visible from behind. His lamentations grew louder, more vocal, as he yelled for his mother to make known her whereabouts. He passed our rig, sat at the top of the grassy hill and scooted down on his bottom, then stood up again, hiked up his jeans, and passed through the picnic shelter. His mother appeared from behind the laundry room door—stuck her head out for just a moment and then retreated again. Blubbering, the boy followed.

Though the tantrum I witnessed is evidence of a specific stage in child development, it got me thinking about how we respond to the strong emotions of other adults. To be honest, people-pleasing is an impulse that's all too familiar to me. I think I've always felt a deep need to propagate harmony in my interpersonal relationships. But, as time goes on and I work to understand myself better (a lifelong quest), I'm examining that need and beginning to see that at its core is an insidious assumption that I'm lovable and admirable because I'm not someone who creates conflict. Beverly Amsel says, "When we become overly interested and vigilant about the impact we have on others and design our behaviors to make sure they don’t have feelings we can’t tolerate, we are putting our authentic selves on hold." You know what this means: Time for me to get curious.

I don't have a tidy ending for today's letter, nor have I extrapolated enough to share with you. It's just too soon. But, that's okay: It would seem I'm hot on the trail of some truly illuminating (for me—maybe for you, too?) psychology. Stay tuned for further exploration and findings next Monday. And, as always, hit 'reply' if you have thoughts to share with me. I love hearing from you.

'Til soon,
Helen

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Notes from the week of January 31

DISCOVERED

+ Yogis Anonymous Blog, written by Ally Hamilton (some of the best personal development writing I've ever encountered on the internet; I recommend starting with this essay, then follow it up with this one; via Sarah P. Miller)

ADMIRED

+ Sarah P. Miller's candid TinyLetter on surrendering and reptiles in love
+ Vanessa Jean's beautiful TinyLetter on structured yearning

MEALS EATEN, DRINKS DRUNK

+ aubergine stew
+ swiss chard & wild mushroom penne w/ chili & parmesan
+ Mediterranean quinoa salad
+ ramen noodle soup
+ Bota Box pinot noir

READ & NODDED MY HEAD

+ "I am surrounded by sexy, naked women" (an old piece by Kate Fridkis, whose writing I long enjoyed on her site, Eat the Damn Cake; this perfectly captures how I feel when I pass a breastaurant, a phenomenon that absolutely irks me)

FRIENDS MADE

+ Richard, a retiree, who frequents our Starbucks here and who offered to keep an eye on my laptop when I use the restroom (not sure I'll actually take him up on his offer, but we'll see)
+ John, a lawyer, who also frequents our Starbucks here, and who looks quite a lot like Martin Sheen