After so many years of mental fortitude, I wish I could say I knew, How to think think think All the positive thinks come true. But honestly, I still haven’t got a clue. Most of us have our mantras — some go-to saying that struck us and then stuck to us. They are words you have at some point deemed worthy of being your guiding light. Perhaps it is the Serenity Prayer: Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. Or maybe it’s the simple words from your favorite blue fish: Just keep swimming. Or wisdom borrowed from the Force’s green Jedi master: Do or do not, there is no try. Whichever phrase you fancy, the words you think say something about how you wish to be. Our thoughts are immensely powerful. They influence our feelings, choices, actions, and inactions. If only our thoughts were a dam of positivity, flooding our mind with wisdom, faith, confidence, and hope. But despite our best mantras, how often do you find yourself weakening to the dark side? The self-destruct, you-suck-tea-cups. Consider all the input that influences the way you think — a spouse, a friend, a parent, a coworker, the media, music, television, podcasts, reviews, blogs, magazines, books, etc. — all of which shape your thoughts, without regard for intention. The road to hell is paved with good intentions. For every positive thought you have, how many of them carry worry, doubt, and fear? For me, it’s a lot more than I’d like. And here’s how I’m trying to change it along with the five phrases that inspired it. Ways to train your brain to think healthy thoughts:
1. Build a wall. Keep hammering away. Construct a wall of words that you can live by and post them somewhere you frequent. (Mine is behind my closet door.) It’s affirmations minus the mirror. They are a collection of sayings that have left an impression for one reason or another. Some come from personal notes, some from experts and authors, while others come from unexpected places in nature. Look at the wall daily — every morning and every night. Memorize them. Use them. Pass them on. Odds are, someone else needs to hear them too. They say the best way to break a bad habit is to replace it with a new, good habit. When you begin to think with words of fear, replace them with words of hope. 2. Meditate. Today is the day. Did I lose you? Allow me to adjust the frame. Rather than an image of a monk, palms up before sunrise, imagine anything that brings your mind peace and presence. It can be any practice that moves your thoughts from the “to-do” list to the “to-not now” list — have no purpose on purpose. My meditation of choice is going for a walk. For others it might be reading a book, taking a nap, yoga, or even playing Pickleball. Maybe the experts would disagree with me, arguing that the whole point of meditating is about stillness of body and mind, but if posing in downward facing dog helps you manage the mess in your mind, then I say “namaste.” *Disclaimer: Mindlessly scrolling social media and news outlets is not recommended. 3. Write it down. You have to see yourself to change yourself. I know — you don’t have the time. I know — writing isn’t your thing. It doesn’t have to be. You don’t need to carve a chunk of time, or buy a special notebook, or begin with the words “Dear Diary.” And against your primary teacher’s better judgment, nobody is even questioning your spelling. But if you are serious about changing your thoughts, you have to see them first. Writing down your thoughts, in any form of reflection (bulleted lists, journaling, sketches, anecdotes, rating scales, etc.), allows you to exorcize waste and preserve treasures. 4. Develop awareness. Clarity makes all the difference in the world later. Sort through your thoughts. Make a mental t-chart of what works for you and against you. Play a little game of “this is mine, that’s yours,” by identifying thoughts that grew from you and which implanted from somewhere else. Then, evaluate their validity — store the keepers and wring out the waste. 5. Choose your people with purpose. Show me your friends, and I’ll show you who you are. Certain people have the ability to bring out different sides of you. Your oldest friend brings out your childish side. Your funny friend brings out your silly side. Your thoughtful friend brings out your empathetic side. All good things. Thinking is contagious! Unfortunately, the same goes for the undesired sides: the skeptic, the critic, the gossip. The more time you spend with someone, the more likely they are to rub off on you. Surround yourself with the people you want to emulate — people who inspire you, who challenge you to think better, and consequently, be better. 6. Rinse and repeat. You can’t win if you don’t play. All athletes train. Muscle literally grows by repairing damaged fibers. Resistance is necessary to sculpt your body. Same goes for changing your brain. Your thought-life requires some heavy, even painful, lifting to grow stronger. It’s natural to yo-yo. But if you stack habits that strengthen your mind, you're more likely to bounce back. All in all, maybe it’s not really a process of training your brain. It’s more about taking the steps to accept it.
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Thirty-five thousand . . . the number of decisions the average adult is estimated to make every day. That’s more than double what most people put on their car’s odometer in a whole year! It’s no wonder I have a near mental breakdown picking out pickles from the infinite options at the grocery store—decision fatigue is real.
From the second the alarm sounds, the decision machine gun autoloads beginning with the snooze button. How many snoozes before I’m late? Which then rapid fires into what to wear, what to eat, where to stop for coffee, whether to slow for the yellow light or NASCAR through it because I snoozed one too many times. And that’s just the meaningless daily minutiae decisions. What about those prickly high stakes choices? Which job to pursue? How to invest your savings? Where to live? Who to marry? When, or if, to have kids? Or better yet, whether to get a dog?—A real time dilemma and the catalyst for this very article. After months of back and forth, I was about ready to flip a flippin’ coin or play a good ol’ fashion game of eenie-meenie-miney-mo. Seems silly, but seriously! It’s. A. Lot. Our decisions have rewards and consequences; it’s an up and down seesaw of wins and losses where we attempt to tip the scale in our favor. The trouble is, I kind of suck at it. I’ve never been good at predicting the future. Perhaps that’s because I’m not a wizard or a weatherman. Decisions, in essence, are merely our best guesses. We lean on emotions and perceptions to guide us—which, as you can imagine, is as reliable as a mood ring—with the hope that our choices will lead to some desirable outcome. But with so many variables at play, how do we make the most of a thirty-five thousand question guessing game? After some research, here’s six of the best tips I gathered. Six strategies to consider when making decisions:
The fact is, we don’t know if any of our said 35,000 decisions are good until we’ve experienced good results. But once a decision has been made, don’t fall victim to the had-I-only-known self destruct button. Plunge ahead with the strategies and keep rolling the dice. So, the question remains . . . did we get a dog? We call him Palmer. He’s a golden doodle. His favorite things include, but are not limited to, posing as the hamper bandit, ring around the palm tree, and shoes . . . all of the shoes. Our hearts are full. Working on a novel...be back soon.
Novel Stats: Two working titles 264 pages 80,675 words and growing 18 chapters Font: Times New Roman, 12 point Draft: #3 5 years and going Hours: strong correlation to as kids' tech time Motivational phrases posted on my wall: "Have fun!" "It may not be the best, but it is my best." "Silence doesn't mean they're not listening." You can change how you experience life by choosing a different way to think.
It’s no secret that “the secret” to life is based on a single, simple principle — the law of attraction — which posits that what you think about, you bring about. The way you experience life is through thought and those thoughts become your reality. Remember how you never noticed how popular your car was until you bought it? Or how as soon as you picked out the perfect baby name, it began to trend on the list of top ten? Or how as soon as you made the calculated switch to the other checkout line, the one you just left suddenly started rolling through customers like they have a Fast Pass? It’s called the “Baader-Meinhof phenomenon” — a frequency bias when you notice something new and suddenly you’re hyper-aware of its existence. If only we could put this hyper awareness to good use — to notice more of what we desire instead of what we don’t — we can cultivate more favorable outcomes into our reality. If you read my article How to Make Peace With Your Inner Voice, you’d know that my own thought life has been undergoing an extensive renovation for some time. In fact, I sometimes wonder how I write any of this when I myself feel lousy at it. Needless to say, a growth mindset journey is a rocky road, but increased consciousness of our own self-sabotaging patterns is the first step to changing them. Five phrases you should stop saying:
The frequency bias is actually not a surprising phenomenon. Look for hearts and you’ll suddenly see them everywhere — in the shape of a leaf, in the gem of a ring, in the tracks of sand. If you focus on finding something, chances are good that you will. Discipline is a practice. It’s obeying a code of behavior that creates the habits that become who we are daily. Here are some tips for how to stay disciplined and meet your new year resolutions. Warning: While the timing of this article is relevant to the promise of a new year, it may best be revisited in a few months when what seemed like perfectly achievable goals in January look more like heartbreak come Valentine’s Day.
It’s about that time of year when resolutions are at the forefront of our minds. A new year brings renewed aspirations. Gyms are packed. Pantries are cleaned. Priorities are rearranged. Many of us are eager to make changes. To drive into the new year with fresh resolve. We vow to cleanse, to gain, to lose, to start, to quit . . . to change. When it comes to making changes, I believe there are two types of people: Those who crave change like candy, and those who avoid it like their ex. Whether you like it or not, change takes work. Hard work. It requires you to start new good habits and break old bad ones. When you set a resolution, you are essentially making a pact with yourself — a firm decision — to behave a certain way. Often a different and extremely uncomfortable way. Over and over again. So how do you stay motivated? It’s the question friends have repeatedly asked me over the years. Frankly, I never truly understood why they think I have the answer, nor have I ever provided inspiring insight. I don’t do anything particularly special. At least I didn’t think I did. Until recently, when a friend benevolently argued . . . “but you exercise every morning at 5 am. There is no way I could do that. How do you stay motivated?” They framed the question with such awe, relinquishing their own ability to execute such an impossible practice at the same time. Which made me think. How do I do it? The truth is, I’m not motivated at all. I have been getting up before dawn to exercise for more than two decades and there isn’t a single morning that I don’t curse the alarm. I have a full blown internal face-off that is reminiscent of two hostile teenage siblings battling over who's turn it is to take out the trash. “I did it yesterday!” “Well, I did it the day before!” When 5 am screams, I wake up demanding credit for my previous day’s hard work and beg for the day off as a reward. Until . . . old habits prevail and I just roll over and go. I do it, not because I am motivated, I do it because I have something that I didn’t realize not everybody had . . . discipline. Discipline is a practice. It’s obeying a code of behavior that creates the habits that become who we are daily. What I should have said to my admiring friend is that what I do, I do despite being motivated. It isn’t about the things we want to do, it is the things we have to do because it means that much to us. And it has to be deeply rooted in discipline. Hows To Stay Motivated Disciplined And Meet Your Resolution Goals 1. Every day is day one. Treat every day as the first day. Consider your resolution an act of performance. Give the same energy to it as you did the day you started. Stage actors deliver every performance as if it’s the first time they’ve delivered a line whether they’ve said it a hundred times. Greet each opportunity to meet your goals with the same renewed energy as day one. 2. Know Your Why First and foremost, you need to get clear on why you have decided — no, resolved — to make a change. This is where motivation plays an important role in your resolution because it is the reason why you started. Write down your why on an index card. Treat it like a personal mantra. Memorize it. Carry it with you. (Example: I am doing _______ because _______ .) But bear in mind, while motivation sets you in motion, it’s discipline that keeps you going. Motivation without discipline is like a dream without a plan — just a wish. 3. Budget your energy cubes. I once heard our limited energy described in terms of a fixed amount of daily cubes. Imagine every day you are gifted with ten energy cubes to sustain your daily duties. Exercise? One energy cube. Work? Four energy cubes. Errands? Two energy cubes. Call your mom? All three remaining energy cubes! Once you hit zero, you’re out. The number line doesn’t go into negatives. You can’t add something without taking something away first. So, if you are working extra hard to create a new habit or kill an old one, then you must take something else off your plate that drains your energy. It’s just math. 4. Fall back on familiar habits. When finding the discipline to stay the course with something new, it’s helpful to fall back on familiar habits. Tack the new habit onto something you’re already doing. (Ex: If you walk the dog every morning and your goal is to stretch more, add the exercises to the end of your walk.) This way you will form new good habits on top of old ones. 5. One percent per day. The checklist for change is daunting. Whether you resolve to read more books or write one, don’t think about everything that needs to be done. A little bit over a long time makes a big difference. One percent per day multiplied by 365 days in a year is life changing. 6. Give someone your goal. Accountability partners help you keep a commitment. Give your goal to someone you can trust and set up a system for checking in. Once, when I set a goal to limit refined sugar, I made a friend call me every night at 8 pm — the witching hour when my sweet tooth kicks in. Knowing her call was coming helped me refrain from filling my bowl. (Disclaimer: Spouses excluded as accountability partners. Nobody needs their significant other to remind them to put down the tub of ice cream.) 7. Keep your goals under control. Frame your goals so that the outcome is within your control. If I resolve to write fifty thousand words this year, the success of that goal depends entirely on me and how I prioritize my time. But if I set a goal to make five thousand dollars writing, that’s up to the universe to say yes. (For which I’m still patiently waiting.) What you give is within your control, but what comes back is not. 8. There is no finish line. I was raised with the phrase “In five years time . . . “ I was trained to see life in five year segments. In five years, I will be ready for that job. In five years, I will be ready for that move. The problem is, five years from now is coming with or without me — or you. When you have a vision, you must align your actions toward it at all times. It’s not a five year plan, it’s a life plan — and there is no finish line. You can either make the changes you desire or not. Either way, tick tock. 9. Forgive yourself. It is highly likely you will slip up. Habits are hard to break because they are automatic, vaguely conscious responses. It takes intense reprogramming to change. Recognize when you’ve faltered, forgive yourself, and . . . 10. Return to step number one. Start again. Every day is day one. Remember, you can have all the motivation to light up Christmas at the North Pole, but a successful resolution coexists with willful discipline. Consistency is key. Happy New Year!
When I think about my inner voice, the first thing I picture is the archetypal bully from every 80s and 90s movie montage. Mine is mean and quite frankly needs to be destroyed. Who is yours?
Questions to ask yourself to help you start making peace with your inner voice:
1. Are you listening? 2. What do you want? 3. Who does the thought belong to? 4. Have you tried changing your perspective? 5. If you said your thoughts out loud, what would it reveal about you? 6. Play the "what's going to happen" next game? 7. Are you in the right setting? 8. What does your body language say? 9. What would a happy ending look like?
Writers have to be intentional about observing the world. They are taxed with finding little golden nuggets in the seemingly mundane or commonplace. No detail is ever wasted—a story’s heart beats in the details. So, I do my best to pay attention. To watch and learn. To notice the way my 5-year-old son rhythmically bobs his head to the radio when a familiar tune plays. To catch how my 8-year-old daughter suppresses a smile when praised, then flashes a mighty thumbs up in its place. And as a result some have ended up in my manuscript and some have ended up here. Most recently, I compiled a list of life lessons I learned from my kids.
I submitted my top five lessons to be published on Lifegram.org. (Hopefully coming soon!) I give you--dear readers--exclusive access to five more, a sneak peak bonus list: MORE LIFE LESSONS I LEARNED FROM MY KIDS: 1. Play with food. I know, it goes against everything your mother ever taught you about manners! And it probably doesn’t sound very appetizing either. But the other day my kids were sitting in their prospective chairs, munching on lunch which happened to include a side of Chex Mix. In between bites, they would have pretzel battles—fencing with the stick-shaped ones like light sabers and slipping the O-shaped ones over their fingers to use as galactic war rings. Meanwhile, I stood by washing dishes, popping barbaric bites between cleaning and serving. I swore I’d never stoop that low—to be so hurried that I’d eat with soapy hands over the kitchen sink. But there I was, hunched over the drain, munching in fits and starts, inhaling a repulsive odor from whatever was oxidizing in the disposal. Ewww, right?! It was a real low for me. Watching my kids naturally play with food made me see myself in real time. I realized I wasn't in the present. I wanted to be a part of the moment with them rather than ticking off one more task for me. Besides, food is better consumed off of fingers, not in fits. 2. The occasional tantrum is healthy. As adults, we spend so much energy trying to temper our emotions. Making sure our behavior is appropriate, even being polite in bad situations. But all that pent up emotion isn’t healthy. And even our kids know it. Recently, my daughter was taunting her younger brother with snarling words and grabby fingers. She denied hiding his favorite Pikachu figurine and it pushed his last button. Frustrated and angry, he stomped his feet and marched off in a fit, his pounding feet usurped by escalating wailing. I mean, she was kind of being a brat. Rather than stepping in to help settle his emotions, I let the tantrum unfold, coveting the satisfaction that comes with such an outburst. He reminded me that sometimes, we need to let go, give way to restraint, and let people know when they’re—quite frankly—ticking us off. It is healthy to feel what we feel. Which might mean we’re entitled to the occasional foot stomping tantrum from time to time. 3. Get Goofy. Everything gets so serious the older we are. Media feeds on our fears. Discourse revolves around political parties (bleh), catastrophic stock market influxes (eek), inflation (rut-roh), and pandemic mitigation plans (huh). Friendly phone calls focus on the status of our careers, our health, our kids. Snore. Snore. Snore. I want more. I don’t know if there is something about the looming bedtime hour, but my kids can get goofy at sunset. They become wild beasts, wiggling worms that sing silly songs and hyperventilate at fart jokes. It’s immature and completely insane, but it looks a whole lot more fun than scrolling through someone’s social media feed. 4. Birthdays are born to be celebrated. My son just celebrated his fifth birthday. My daughter is about to celebrate her ninth. At their ages, birthdays are all the rage. I just turned 41 (yeesh). Birthdays just don’t have the same appeal as they used to. The older you get, birthdays become more of a nuisance, an interruption to the steady drum of routine. It's an extra thing on the to-do list. Sadly, after a certain age, birthdays aren’t even big enough for a phone call—maybe a text if you’re lucky. Over time birthdays become a burden. But my kids are in that beautiful stage of life where birthdays are a BIG deal. They want to decorate every corner of the house with balloons and streamers and signs. And not for any organized party—just because it’s the way of it. Birthdays are born to be celebrated. My children look forward to baking a cake. They expect every eye on them when the song is sung. They make big wishes and blow out the correct number of candles on their special day (no one candle per decade nonsense). Once upon a time, I used to feel the same elation about birthdays. My kids reminded me of the importance of celebrating yourself. That you are kind of a big deal. And a wish can’t come true if you don’t make it. 5. Celebrate baby steps. Parents lose their minds when babies take their first step! We instinctively cheer, we bounce around and clap like manic monkeys. And when they inevitably wobble to the ground, padded by their little diapered booties, we goo goo and gaga over their victory. It would be unthinkable to dismiss their mere single step with a meager “meh,” or hasty push to go again. But all too often, we dismiss our own small victories. We forget to celebrate the baby steps we take every day that culminate to the big milestones. Whether it is the word count toward a novel, a workout you finally made time for, or just saying no to that extra piece of cake, take a moment to cheer for yourself and applaud small successes. Sometimes our own growth is found in the details; and sometimes it's found in the mini yous trailing in your wake. Watch and see. Click to other articles/stories published by me: A Fresh Take On Journaling--How To Start Narrative Journaling True or False Golden Apples The planet Jupiter has a giant hurricane that has lasted hundreds of years. It can be seen as a red spot and is more than twice the size of Earth. Nobody knows for sure when the Great Red Spot first appeared or how long it will continue to exist. September 28, 2022 My husband is in his second day and sixth hour of putting up storm shutters. His clothes are damp. His shoes are muddy. He’s two stories high on a slick ladder, reinforcing the windows that brighten our childrens’ bedrooms with daylight. Nearby neighbors extend a helping hand, one holds the ladder steady while the other carefully passes up metal sheets, making a deliberate transfer to avoid another bloody scrape. He drills one, two, three panels before a gust of wind forces me to shift my gaze. I look down to the ground where bandaid wrappers litter the driveway—a few minor hurricane Ian prep misfortunes. When our home is secure, the Dad pack will migrate to the next house, breaking only to clean out garages, gas up cars, replace every battery in every flashlight, fill coolers with cases of water—making room for maybe a beer or two. Moms are braving the grocery store mania. They stock their pantries with nonperishables and calculate how many days of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches will sustain the power outage. They prepare blow up beds in the “safe” room. They run the vacuum one last time and run one more load of laundry. They watch the kids. The kids—well—the kids are playing. The sky is far from threatening, a cozy blanket of grays and whites. The streets soak up the rain, turning it a sleek, deep shade of black. The gentle drizzle calls for riveting toothpick gutter races and rainbow umbrella tents. The neighborhood friends share Funyuns beside a cooler, huddling together under cozy canopies. Their conversation mimics the meteorologists, each using the latest projections to estimate how many days they will have off from school. Their squirrely voices escalate, stepping over one another as they dispute prior hurricane statistics like a band of dads drafting fantasy football teams. Hurricane Irma was the biggest! No it wasn’t, Hurricane Charley was! What about Andrew? Who is Andrew? The sum of their sounds lean more toward excitement than fear. Envy pricks my limbs with goosebumps. The kids are free—liberated from worry and responsibility. Armored by us—us grown-ups who keep a steady and confident business, preparing and pretending that we have any clue. That yup, we’ve got it all under control. But behind the steel exterior is a tornado of doubt. A thousand swirling questions circling an eye of holy hells: Should I have bought another case of water? Is there enough food? Which room is safest? Should we evacuate? Is it too late? Are we prepared? Where’s my mommy? For the kids, this is fun. It’s time off from school. It’s popsicles and potato chips, it's board games by flashlight, it’s a family camp-in. What is there to worry about when you have an army of human shields made up of almighty grown-ups: Dads who construct the strongest playhouses. Mom’s who mend bloody knees. Grandparents who mastermind great games. Teachers who know fact from fiction. Doctors who prescribe magic medicine. Policemen who catch bad guys. Firemen who put out flames. In a sense, grown-ups are wizards—fix-it fairies. Superheroes who can swoop in and save the day at any given moment. All the kids have to do in the face of fear is look up—to all of us, us grown-ups—to pump the fairy dust. At dusk, after the last wing nut is tightened and the final battery is charged, we huddle together to wait. We wait for the wind to begin, for the rain to beat, for the water to rise, for the darkness to fall. Yahtzee is set up in our safe space. One kid keeps score while the other rattles the dice with a zealous two-handed shake. Our silhouettes shape the shadow of our little family on the trembling wall. Under a cone of light, padded by sleeping bags and pillows, we roll the dice and pray the morning light is generous. The next night … The stars are impossibly infinite, their silver glow pulsing in the darkness. Soundless streets and lightless lamps lean with the uprooted trees. The moon has grown another layer, beaming in its fuller phase. My lungs filter relief with a cordial breeze, an eerie contrast to yesterday’s frenzied fits. A siren sounds in the distance. And then another. And another. And another. And another. I scan the night for Jupiter—for its signature red spot. But, perhaps it’s not in my window of the sky. The kids are safely back in their beds making shadow puppets by a dim flashlight. Tomorrow they will celebrate another day off from school. They will put on their play clothes and wonder how long it will take to get the internet. Tomorrow, the grown-ups will put on their capes and wonder what it's like to be a kid again.
Dedicated to my oldest friend from HS.
LYLAS, Bubs
Kathryn Wills
Grade 10 Semester 1 American History, Period 2 Bitches. The word played on a loop, drowning out Mr. Walsh’s Civil War lecture. “Something something deadliest war in American history.” Kate’s foot fluttered along the metal rim of the empty chair in front of her. She didn’t know who the missing seat belonged to, nor did she care. She was too busy pretending not to notice the giggling girls on the other side of the room. She slipped her gaze around them, never on them, then landed on some vague spot on the edge of the pair. “Something abolition movement something slaves.” Kate scribbled the words in her binder to appear present. But she could still feel them in the stale air, the dust motes fanned by the weight of their whispers. Two girls - seemingly good friends - who apparently found humor in scoping out the new girl. Being new was never easy, but high school girls were out for blood. The blonde blonde girl reminded her of Baby Spice in face and fashion. She adjusted the shoulder strap of her baby blue Dickies and leaned in to whisper to the other one, the darker blonde, who in turn grinned greedily and trailed her paws along the seams of her corduroy pants, crossing her Doc Martens under the chair as though securing a secret. Eww. Kate imagined the two of them on weekends, arm and arm wandering Urban Outfitters or Abercrombie, obnoxiously laughing and popping pink bazooka bubble gum. Mr. Walsh continued to drone on, the Ferris Bueller boring teacher scene in real time. Dickies and Doc exchanged looks, shared a giggle - or a snarl - depending on the angle, and passed notes back and forth on a mere inch of ripped paper. Both clearly avoided the line of sight that crossed paths with Kate. Like I said. Bitches. As if high school wasn’t already a fitting in shit show. But Kate dared to keep her gaze on them, or at least near them, tempting them to take notice. She had seen enough teen angst movies that she found the whole mean girl routine to be rather PG. Flashes of Alicia Silverstone in Clueless crept in. Kate had always assumed those girls were a gross exaggeration until now. Who knew one school could produce so many blondes? Kate tucked a strand of her short brown hair behind her ear. Was she the creepy chick with black eyeliner from The Craft in this scenario? She scanned her outfit looking for signs of goth. But no, she felt pretty normal in blue jeans and a solid gray tee. Dickies and Doc didn’t look as obvious as the icons on t.v. nor did they seem that popular. She hadn’t noticed them fade into any particular pod after class. No signs of tribalism to any of the usual cliques: cheerleaders, dance, athletes, skaters, AP overachievers, or band of either the basic or cool kind. But they had it. The mean inside. She could smell it, even over the boys untamed body odor and the girls’ fog of Clinique Happy. The steady drum of Mr. Walsh’s voice broke into Kate’s conscience when he suddenly stopped at Doc’s desk. He peered down at her through his thick glasses. “Ms. Jackie-” he paused that cruel caught ya pause before presenting her with the question. “Can you restate for the class one main cause of the Civil War as we have discussed today?” Heck yeah! Kick her ass Sea Bass! Kate perked up, silently celebrating in her seat. Her cheeks blushed with delight, gently illuminating her soft freckles under the fluorescent lights. She could hardly hide the pep in the arch of her eyebrows. Karma’s a bitch she thought. And then the bell rang. _____________________________________________________ Jaclyn Callahan Grade 10 Semester 2 World HIstory, Period 4 The execution had to be perfect. A real step up from the classic stretch and drop. It was going to take guts to make the pass. But I was going in anyway. I palmed the note, its sharp folded edges tasked with guarding its contents. I calculated just the right moment to make my move. The stakes were higher than getting caught at a drunk Justin Turner’s backyard bonfire. If anyone - anyone - got a hold of it, the devastation would be catastrophic, for both of us. We’d be ostracized by all the clicks, and for good reason. Not that we cared. Because we were in the group that didn’t belong to any particular group anyway. The pass would require a tricky three-point-person turn to be successful. The note would need to travel first to Becky who sat directly behind me, then a diagonal crossover to Greg - or Gary - then a sideways switch to Samantha Sleeping before making it to its final destination. Even halfway into my sophomore year at Barbie & Ken High, I didn’t know any of the three all that well. So, I computed the reliability of each person with what I did know and determined the chances of a successful pass. Becky had always acknowledged me with a generous nod at the beginning of class. Greg or Gary - Greg Gary - was a bit on the nerdy side and often seemed slightly overeager to be helpful to me, frequently tilting his textbook to show me the page number when I got lost. And Samantha - well - she was the wild card. It wasn’t until I heard her snoring in chemistry class last semester that I realized “sleeping” wasn’t actually Samantha’s last name. I checked the status of her eyes which appeared a little glazed over and stuck on some indefinite spot in space, but a solid three minutes until lights out I estimated. All the window of opportunity I needed. With that, I put my faith in them and the universal code of collective note-passing: Don’t read it. Don’t get caught with it. Then, I signed it LYLAS on the back fold just as I had since we became friends months ago. While I was busy calculating the risks, Mr. Lindy had chalked instructions on the board. Noses had already moved into notebooks and Greg Gary had propped up his textbook to show me page 114. Mr. Lindy sat behind a bulky desk, sipped on his coffee in fits and starts, and sorted through a stack of assignments layered by earlier class periods. He adjusted his glasses and fixed a bleak face on the first paper. Stroking the hairs of his salt and pepper (mostly salt) mustache, he appeared to be deep in thought. Perfectly in sync with the energy of the class - pretending to be busy so as not to be bothered. Mr. Lindy was cool like that. He understood that by sophomore year, we weren’t freshmen anymore. All we wanted was for him to give us the boring assignment and let us work in peace so we didn’t have homework. No long lectures running over the bell. I surveyed the silent room one last time, turning my head 360 degrees, followed by two more 90s, before committing. Then, unconsciously biting my bottom lip, took one last brisk look at my BFF, and passed fate from my palm to three others. Drop one. Becky. Becky was on it. Becky barely looked at the name doodled on the pull tab before promptly twisting to Gary. No hesitation. Clearly, she respected the code. And I respected her for it. I considered for a moment why I hadn’t gotten to know her better yet, but was quickly distracted by Greg Gary’s flustered reaction to the pass. Startled by the interruption, his fingers flipped the pencil that was furiously scribbling sentences that ran on to a second page in his notebook. But, when he saw it came from me, his lip curled into a small smile and he nodded agreeably. He lifted one eye to Mr. Lindy before awkwardly flicking it one desk over to Samantha. It seemed to hover in the air, suspended in the whirring air conditioner, before tipping the ledge of her desk and landing with a quiet thud on the laminate floor. Samantha, who was beginning to blink in slow, heavy intervals, didn’t notice. I beamed at Greg Gary with wide eyes, translating a look of both terror and advance gratitude. To recover, he came to the rescue by picking up both his flicked pencil and the note before chucking the latter on Samantha’s desk and hastily returning to his work. Mr. Lindy shot a look in our direction, held it for a mighty minute, and went back to his business, sipping his coffee and blank staring at bleak papers. One more move. But in the small window of time between Greg’s fumble and Gary’s save, Samantha Sleeping had fallen fast asleep. I silently willed her to wake up with narrowed eyebrows and a laser beam glare. When that didn’t work, I tried to dislodge the large fireball from my throat, coughing twice. WAKE - cough! UP - cough! The second cough, louder than the first. When she didn’t budge, I went for the suspicious third hacking cough, even screeching the rubber sole of my Docs against the shiny floor once, praying the disturbance would jolt a sleeping Samantha awake. Instead, I caught Kate and Mr. Lindy’s attention. Kate followed my gaze to the note on the adjacent desk. Her name, drawn in brightly colored bubble letters. A sitting duck waiting to be picked up by a gossiping Justin Turner for his next party, or a bored Mr. Lindy. Mr. Lindy looked at me. I looked at Kate. I flashed an eager, spirited brace-faced grin at her. She grinned right back. Her smile brightened the freckles that warmed her cheeks. And with that, she made one swift swipe, snatching the note from Samantha Sleeping’s desk, which was now a pillow collecting drool. Kate slid the note under her binder and raised the cover as a tent for safe reading. By this time, Mr. Lindy’s teacher intuition had kicked in, forcing him to pause his afternoon mustache massage and peer at me over his glasses. His gaze darted from me to Kate, then Kate back to me. Two of the few teenagers he actually thought more of than the others. At least we weren’t sleeping, which was more than he could say for some. So, he raised a single eyebrow, stroked his mustache with both his thumb and index finger - a gentle scare tactic - and pretended not to know what we were up to. Pink and purple ink soaked through the lined notebook paper. Words were always more fun in color. I imagined the rush that came with wondering what was inside twisting in Kate’s gut. The way we had become friends was unexpected. An unfortunate misunderstanding. Misread misgivings. A near miss. But friendship is like that - unlikely. Kate read the note swiftly, racing against the bell and Mr. L. I watched her pull her face into funny fits as she traipsed the lines. I loved making Kate laugh. When it came to Kate, we were kindred spirits. Sisters now. Best bitches. And we would be, throughout history. Signed - LYLAS, Doc As written on in my high school yearbook: “Childhood friends last the longest.” Kate By susan KanskySusan Kansky (70) is a retired nurse with almost four decades of experience in health care. She is currently suffering from what I have termed "Technology Advancement Ageism" or TAA - the aggravation that is caused by society's over-reliance on devices. With today's need for health care workers, Susan would like to use her experience and love for nursing to continue helping people. There is just one problem: Technology has placed her on permanent hold. The Double-Edged Sword
Susan Kansky, RN Technology is great! The cloud and the internet have assisted me many times with directions from Map Quest. The iPhone is filled with music, information, news, and weather forecasts. I always know the date and time by glancing at my phone even while traveling through different time zones. Facebook and Facetime connect families far away, but it will never fully replace the human voice, thoughts, and touch. Humanity at its best. I sat on the lanai, sun shining, birds sailing from tree to tree, waterfall trickling into the pool. I felt so distanced from the January 6th riot at the Capitol, numerous and senseless shootings now more than I can count, dotting the country in almost every state. The Covid virus killing and hospitalizing hundreds of thousands. Racial tension, immigrants storming the border, Russian troops bombing Ukrainian towns killing innocent children. As a nurse, I worked full time plus many additional weekends to provide myself with a peaceful and secure retirement. I sacrificed to ensure my children a college education without debt or struggles. It was my time now. I refused to feel guilty or obligated to help stop the madness. But as I watch the news report each evening describing the hardships endured by first responders, police, teachers, and nurses everywhere, I knew I could help or at least do my part. Resume tweaked, Florida nursing license renewed, continuing education almost complete and so I began my journey. I attempted to deliver my resume to several local hospitals, clinics and surgery centers. To my surprise, I got no further than the greeters and the receptionist who refused my credentials and referred me to “The Internet." So, I began with recruiter sites and job search sites such as Indeed. Computers are not my strongest skill by far, but I was relentless and persevered from site to site which led me to more recruiters and more . . . sites. The internet intercepted my profile, resume, and other personal information. I searched for phone numbers that might help direct my quest for a nursing position. Most did not return my call and when they did, they only referred me to more internet sites. Narrowing my scope, I drove to a nearby CVS Pharmacy with my resume and credentials in hand - old school. The line for Covid vaccines was at least a three hour wait. I have 38 years of RN experience in employee health. I could do this easily. I patiently waited at the counter to speak with the Manager. Thirty minutes later, my resume refused, I was referred to CVS.com. Next, I attended several local job fairs assuming there would be actual people accepting resumes and calling me back for a position that fit my qualifications. All this produced was a 50% increase in annoying emails that went nowhere. The few emails of interest came from far away or out of State locations. Recently, I watched Kevin O’leary from Shark Tank speaking about job recruiting for his many companies. He was disappointed that so few people want to work. Perhaps I’m not alone. Perhaps many skilled people want to work, but technology works them first. So, they collect unemployment and drain their savings in despair. I truly believe I could be helpful working part-time in a job I loved. But at age 70, I wonder if it is time to give up, enjoy my retirement, and leave the internet to its business. Saddened, I imagine someday lying in a hospital bed. I press the call light. A recorded voice says press 1 for medication, press 2 for oxygen, press 3 for water, press 4 for a nurse. I press 4. The voice is cheerful. "Your call is very important to us, please hold for our next available nurse." |
AuthorWriting is listening to the soul. Archives
January 2023
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