Road Rage Is Mental Clutter

I've been thinking a lot about bicycling lately. Mostly because I recently helped out my brother who was competing in a 12-hour mountain bike race, but also because I've noticed myself experiencing road rage toward the cyclists with whom I share the road.

Me? Road rage? What's that all about? I'm a nice person. I'm all for the environment and eco-friendly actions. Why so hostile? Truth be told, I'm afraid of hitting one of them with my car. Terrified. Their elbow hitting my sideview mirror; them taking a spill, me veering to avoid catastrophe. Or worse--a right-hand turn, bad timing, and a catapulting body. Broken bones and ambulances.

So, when I'm driving beside a cyclist and trying to pass them so that I can get where I need to be a minute faster, I curse them. Stupid bike people and your stupid shorts and stupid helmets. Get the *#$&  out of my way. Occasionally, I displace some of my vitriol on the state, wishing our narrow New England roads had bike lanes or that there were fewer cars on the road. But it's usually the former.

As a corporate communicator, I'm always encouraging writers to put themselves in the recipient's shoes. How does the cyclist feel sandwiched between an SUV and a curb? Is he worried about his safety? Cursing at the cars on the road? Using that information, is there a better way to approach the situation?

Instead of thinking angry thoughts, why not try something more kind and affirmative. Something like: "Hey there, biker person. Look at you doing good for the environment--and your health. Way to go! Hope your travels are happy and safe. Please don't forget to use your hand signals, okay? Take care!"

I never curse all those roadkill squirrels for being so dumb as to run out into traffic. Instead I name them and offer up a little silent eulogy. So, how about a few kind words for that guy riding his bike down School Street with all the cars?

The thoughts that fill our heads are not unlike the contents of the hallway closet. Keep things orderly and all is well. But once things start to get out of control, everything else goes sour. A little mindfulness will take care of that.

What sets you reeling on a tirade of negative thoughts? What quick fix can you make to turn around your perspective on the situation?

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making the space--mentally and physically--to live happily ever after. (Image from National Lampoon's European Vacation. Say it with me now: Rrrrrrusty.)

Travel Utensils: Not Just for Weirdos

While in college, I briefly dated this guy who carried his own set of chopsticks. I can still remember diving into our take-out containers, my girlfriends and I all watching as he unceremoniously removed those glossy red sticks from his messenger bag. The most outspoken of the bunch asked him why, point blank, did he carry his own chopsticks. The tone of her inquiry rang out weirdo alert, weirdo alert. Admittedly, I agreed. (Forgive me; it was the mid-1990s and I was just a wee twentysomething.) "Because I never know when I'll need them," he replied in earnest.

Fast-forward a dozen-plus years . . . to today. I'm sitting in the Upper Crust, taking a little time out of my busy day to keep the staycacation vibe going by treating myself to lunch outside of the office. (I had a buy one slice, get one free coupon, so this was a budget friendly splurge. Plus, a girl needs to eat.) I had forgotten how big and floppy their by-the-slice pizza could be. The type of pie where you're wise to fork-and-knife it at least halfway up. Especially when you're wearing a white jacket and a light-colored blouse.

Reluctantly, I picked up a plastic fork and knife along with my paper napkins. And because I was really thirsty--and forgot my water bottle back at the office--I poured myself some water in a plastic cup. Other than wishing I hadn't forgotten my water bottle, my first thought was, I sure wish I had some travel utensils so I didn't have to rely on the disposable stuff.

Pot? Kettle? Yes, indeed.

Truth be told, my handbag is heavy enough without adding a fork, knife, and spoon to the mix. But it just seems so wasteful to pitch the plastic. Perhaps if it were recyclable, I'd feel a little bit better. Fortunately, I'm not often faced with a need for plastic utensils. I have my own set of stainless at work (along with my mug, plate, and bowl). But for those rare occasions, I think this would be a pretty easy switch. It's the type of thing I could even just stash in the glove compartment. I'm much more likely to use a fork than I am that tire pressure gauge.

A few days ago, Simple Savvy posted a cool tutorial on how to make your own utensil set. How neat, I thought--until I saw how much sewing was involved. But there's nothing keeping me from rolling a fork, knife, and spoon in a cloth napkin, tying it up, and carrying it with me next time I find myself faced with a big, floppy slice of pie.

N.B. I brought the plastic utensils home for washing and reuse, and the cup for recycling; only used three paper napkins; and managed not to get a drop on my clothes. Go me.

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because less really is more.

The Yellow Handbag

I was bad. A few weeks ago, I splurged on a new handbag. A cheerful, yellow handbag. Of course, I didn't really need for a new handbag. Nor was it in the budget. But it was on sale. And did I mention, yellow? I picked the handbag up off the shelf--the only one of its size, shape, and color--and draped it over my shoulder while posing in front of a full-length mirror. The image reflected back to me was summery and bright. Exactly what I was craving after this June's never-ending rain. Exactly what I was craving after so many months of being extra mindful of our expenses. I deserved it. Woozy with want, that bag was mine.

At home, I tucked my timeless old leather Coach bags into the closet, vowing to make the most of my new purchase. From here until Labor Day, it would be my go-to bag. The following day, with my cell phone, lip gloss, notebook, sunglasses, pens, and calendar all in place, I carried the bag with me to work--along with a whole lot of buyer's remorse.

What was I thinking?

Money aside, I had just willingly brought a new piece of unnecessary clutter into our home. A cardinal sin of good karma housekeeping. Plus, frivolous purchases are so last year.

Generous return policies certainly help, but I believe that saying no at the cash register--or, better yet, before even getting to the cash register--is the key to living a clutter-free life. It's not always easy to stand by that belief--but returning the bag (and the money to my wallet) feels like a win.

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because less really is more.

Related posts: Plenty Is a Mindset The Haves and the Have Nots

A Permanent Vacation

Today is the first official day of my staycation, and I'm wrapping up the day with a glass of muscat that has been sitting in my wine rack for far too long. After all, I'm on vacation--so why not celebrate a little, right? It has been a long, leisurely day, complete with a yoga class, stroll through Boston's Public Garden, an iced Americano, a visit to a local day spa, lunch & dinner on my patio, and now a glass of dessert wine. [Edit: Add in a cup of vanilla soft serve with rainbow sprinkles.]

All that leisurely goodness has got me thinking: What if every day could be a vacation day? Would it lose its specialness? Shouldn't every day be special? Instead, we (read: I) seemingly trudge through our days. It's almost Friday. It's almost 5 o'clock. Blech. Enough.

So, what is it that I love most about vacations?

• The anticipation of all that lies ahead
• New sights, sounds, and experiences
• Good food
• Good company
• Traveling lightly (i.e., having occasions to wear all of my shoes)

While I may not be able to hang out in Sonoma, attend yoga camp, or dine at Henrietta's  Table every day, I  can certainly cultivate that same feeling of pure enjoyment, of having everything I want--and everything I need. While my everyday life may not be packed with as many leisurely activities as today, with a little extra awareness and a shift in perspective, even the seemngly mundane can be fabulous.

A former yoga teacher of mine lives by a similar philosophy where every day and every thing is The Best. The best sunset ever. The best strawberry ever. The best roll of paper towels ever. Truthfully, we all know that not everything can be that rosy all the time, but just putting your mind in glass-completely-full perspective is 90% of the battle. Absorbtion comes with time--and practice.

Wouldn't you like to go on a permanent vacation?

You can! You know that fancy bar of soap in your linen closet? Unwrap it, set it out next to the sink in a pretty little dish, and enjoy its triple-milled bubbles and French lavender aroma. Burn that decorative candle. Wear that fancy perfume or pair of earings. Take lots of photos. Sit on a park bench and soak in the sights. Savor dessert. Uncork that old bottle of dessert wine.

What are you waiting for?

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because less really is more.

Plenty Is a Mindset

We live in a culture of wants. It's no secret. Everywhere you look, you see covetable stuff. Shiny stuff. Pretty stuff. Fancy stuff. Cool stuff. I admit, I like stuff; however, I am also overwhelmed by it all.

The first thing I vividly remember wanting--with every pleading fiber of my nine-year-old self--was a pair of Nike sneakers. Ones with a lavender swoosh, like Amy Gardner's. I also wanted a baseball tee shirt with a silk-screened unicorn on the front and my name in fuzzy letters on the back. And a Cabbage Patch Kid (and another Cabbage Patch Kid). And let's not forget the Hello Kitty erasers and scratch-and-sniff stickers. I got all of those things, and pretty much everything else I've wanted for over the years.

Whoop de doo.

Want is an insatiably hungry beast. It took me a good, long time to realize all that stuff just gets in the way of truly living. My happiness has little to do with designer handbags or $200 jeans or a yoga wardrobe full of Lululemon gear. I am more than the sum of my possessions--and you are, too.

Last weekend I watched Into the Wild, and the message has been haunting me ever since: stuff does not equal happiness. As circumstance would have it, I've been a student of this philosophy for the last six months. While I would give anything not to be in this situation, it is perhaps the most valuable lesson I've ever learned, distinguishing want vs. need.

"Until you have it all you won't be free."                                                                                                                                                -- "Society" by Eddie Vedder

In order to experience that sense of freedom, you have to come to terms with the fact that you already have everything you need. Trust. Dig deep. Look in the way back of your closet. I promise, whatever you're looking for is there--as long as you're willing to be creative.

Can you cultivate your own definition of happiness--of "having it all"--with only the resources at your fingertips? Life is short. Time is passing. You can't afford to wait.

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because less really is more.

Related posts: A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Acceptance The Haves and the Have Nots

A Bunch of Caramels

It's inevitable. Get a group of females together and before long the conversation will shift to one (or both) of the following topics: marriage and babies. Even still, after a decade-plus of answering these questions, they make me squirm. It's exhausting being in the minority. Though I've noticed, the older I get, the more often I find that I'm not alone in choosing to sit out these rites of passage. And the more at ease I feel with these decisions.

There's a line in one of my favorite movies, Good Will Hunting, where Will and Skylar are just about to make plans to go out on a date. Skylar says, "Maybe we could go out for coffee sometime," and Will's responds with "Great, or maybe we could go somewhere and just eat a bunch of caramels." Their simple transaction so perfectly makes my point.

So often we gravitate toward doing things just because it sounds like the right thing to do--or because it's what's expected of you and the situation you're in--not because it's what we truly want to do. Why is that?

Had I fallen in love with someone else, I very well may have gone the marriage and babies route. Would it have been right for me? I'm inclined to think not. Not everybody's a coffee drinker, so to speak. But that doesn't make coffee bad. Or good. Though it sure is nice to have options.

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making the space--mentally and physically--to live happily ever after.

Something There Is that Doesn't Love a Wall

With the sky bright blue and a weekend without too many to-dos, I spent a lot of time outdoors this past weekend. Several hours reading--and marking up--my copy of Patti Digh's Life is a Verb, sipping iced raspberry green tea out on the patio, dipping every vegetable I could get my hands on into my doctored-up humus, marveling at the upside-down sky while in a standing split on top of my backyard hill, and taking lots and lots of walks. On these walks, I couldn't help but notice, it seems that only the little kids say hello. Unabashed hellos with wildly flailing hands and "outdoor" voices.

"Hihihi!" called out one little girl with plush, cupcake-like pigtails and pink shorts, her grandfather back in the distance.

"Hieeeee," squeaked a toddling boy dressed in Nemo pull-ups and splashing in his inflatable pool. His mother kept her back turned as I waved and squeaked back a hieeee.

And then there was Anthony, the bespectacled four-year-old who shouted out, "Can I pet your puppy?" as we walked by and then proceeded to wrap his arms around our old pooch Inky's neck and tell us how much he loved our dog and that he, too, had a puppy--a husky pup named Shadow--and that we could come over and meet him sometime soon. Whew. His parents encouraged him to say goodbye to "our puppy" and to let us go on our way. Truth be told--I was okay with engaging in preschool banter with a neighbor kid. I know that, in a couple of years, Anthony, the pull-ups kid, and cupcake curls will stop calling out their friendly hellos and extending hugs to docile neighborhood dogs. And that bums me out.

I attended this little utopia of a university out in Pennsylvania where everyone said hi to one another, whether you knew each other or not. I remember the first few times I was hello'd by smiling strangers, I didn't really know what to make of it. Being a third-generation New Englander, that's just not the way it's done back home. Why is that? What happens to us as we get older? And what was it about my little utopia that gave us all permission again to say hi to a stranger? The only thing that makes us strangers is the fact that we havn't yet said hello. Right?

There's a chapter in Patti Digh's book titled "Just Wave." She talks about the subtext of this gesture, calling it "a recognition of humanity on both . . . parts--a connection, however brief." Back when I was in my yoga teacher training program and giving it my all to make that connection--however brief--with my students, I had a quote from Chopra's Seven Spiritual Laws of Success (page 65, I think) that I would repeat over and over to myself : "When you experience uncertainty, you're on the right path, so don't give up." Those words kept me from keeling over mid-instruction--and did a little something to relieve the pressure of a "perfect" delivery.

Several months into teaching, I noticed my mantra had unknowingly morphed. Uncertainty had been replaced with connection. What I had been repeating over and over to myself was this:

"When you experience humanity, you're on the right path, so don't give up."

These moments of humanity, these extended connections with a community of strangers-turned-friends, made me feel like I was five years old again. Completely oblivious to Frost's walls.

So, what is it about our cold, long, New England winters; our reservedness; our need for privacy and boundaries that holds us back? When's the last time you made a connection with the person behind the check-out counter, next to you on the train, or walking down the sidewalk? What's stopping you? Do you need a double-dog dare?

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making the space--both mentally and physically--to live happily ever after. (photo © Pamela Glaysher)

Related Posts: Luck Be a Lady(bug)

A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Acceptance

My friend Jami recently brought my attention to this blog: Love in the Time of Foreclosure. It's the open-book documentation of a husband and wife out in California who are staring into the eyes of foreclosure and figuring out how to get by on so, so, so much less than before. Heartbreaking, huh? But here's the kicker: they're happier than ever before.

Like one of my favorite (mostly nonfiction) books from the 1990s, Dave Eggers' A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, the author of LITTOF is moving ahead and only looking forward. There's not a lot for any of us to gain by playing the What If game, is there?

So, how in the the face of such adversity do you find happily ever after? Well, for starters, you change the way you define your own happiness. ASAP. A few months back, I scribbled down this quote from an interview with Michael J. Fox, who said:

"Happiness grows in direct proportion to your acceptance and inverse proportion to your expectations. This is what I have today . . . I don't have a choice about this, but I have a million other choices. And if I choose well, I'm going to be a happy person."

Fox recently authored a book of his own, Always Looking Up: The Adventures of an Incurable Optimist, which is all about his way of viewing challenges as opportunities. Look up or lose out, I say. Give up fighting, but don't give up on the fight.

Accept. Surrender. Make lemonade. Whatever you want to call it. Just don't call it a loss. Maybe its just the beleaguered breadwinner in me talking, but adversity is one heck of an influential teacher, don't you think. (Though, for the record, I think I'm ready to graduate . . .)

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because less really is more. (photo © Stephanie Walker)

Related posts: Plenty Is a Mindset The Haves and the Have Nots

Spinnin' Spree

It has only been two weeks, but I think I'm ready to announce that I am in love--with my salad spinner. I know, two weeks might seem a bit premature, but I've made enough salads in my life to know a quality gadget when I see it. The generously sized basket, the sturdy construction, its no-slip base. And oh, lest not I forget the ergonomic pump. This baby has more giddy-up than my boyfriend's GTI. My greens are squeaky clean, even fluffy. Sure, I've waxed poetic over other kitchen gadgets before. The bread machine. The rice steamer. The popcorn popper. The ice cream maker. I've long since given those space hogs away (well, not the ice cream maker). But this one's different. Salads have never tasted so good. Not to mention, perfectly dried greens don't require as much dressing. And did I mention just how much fun it is to get the greens spinning really, really, really fast?

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Although less really is more, I do enjoy a new kitchen gadget every now and then.

My Happy Birthday Mantra

Today is my birthday--my 35th birthday. And while I so easily could have fallen into the this is the year I'll lose those 10 pounds, or drink my greens, or query the editor of this or that magazine, or dabble with retinols game of cat-and-mouse that I like to play with myself, I decided not to go that route. At least not decidedly so. I kept it simple. Instead, I took the day off from work and hit up a morning yoga class at Exhale with one of my new favorite teachers, Taryn Toomey. Breathing seemed like the right thing to aspire to.

And breathe we did.

In order to help us harness our focus this chilly and gray Monday morning, she had us incorporate a mantra into our flow--a sequence of phrases repeated over and over in our head, with each inhale and each exhale. A meditation in motion. The point being that, with repetition, our thoughts will become our reality and we can create our own positive state of happiness and well-being. A pretty good gift to myself, if I do say so.

Taryn started us out with her mantra, and then encouraged us to let it morph into whatever shape naturally occurred. Over the next 75 minutes, I fell in love with these words. So much so that I jotted them down on the only paper I had--my cup of tea--and brought it home with me.

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making the space--both mentally and physically--to live happily ever after.