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It’s My Weekend

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I've been thinking . . .

Once upon a long time ago, when my son was 2 or 3, I was freelancing as a writer and a production artist. I lived in Chicagoland then too. Only then Chicago was a hub of educational publishers. I never had to want for work to do, and yet, I was always working.

Some of that “always working” was the good old Midwestern’s, “hard work never hurt anyone” work ethic. Some of that “always working” was the freelancer’s, “you never know when or if the next job is coming.” Some of it was the helper’s, ” they have a deadline and I can help them meet it.” or “they need someone with my qualifications, and they really need it.” Then again, some of that constant working was a combination of more subtle forces — fear of a lacking bank account, love of the work and the way it engaged me, and freedom from the need to plan another use for my time.

Whew! That’s a whole lot wrapped up in constantly working.

When I began a full-time job with a publisher, I moved to Texas, and for four months, I lived alone until my family sold our Illinois house. Though I brought work home with me each night, I still found I had time to do other things.

One Friday I rediscovered bookstores. The luxury of time in a bookstore — when no one is waiting and no obligation is pressing for me to go — is a decadent pleasure. WHoa! At 2 in the afternoon, I was ready to hide somewhere to be looked in all night, forever. Doing work was the farthest thing from my mind. When I left hours later, I picked up food on the way home, I made a lovely dinner for myself. and I sat down to eat with one of the pile of books I bought. The work I brought home still in my briefcase.

I read that book all weekend. I carried the same unfinished work in my briefcase back to the office on Monday. From that day forward, I still took work home on the weekend, but it came home with a tacit agreement.

The weekend is my time. Except in a rare case of emergency, I’ll bring the work with permission not to do it. Sometimes doing some work feels good — it’s nice to get a jump on Monday. But I also like knowing that I can leave that work in my briefcase all weekend. The deal is no guilt for not working.

Now that I work at home again, I have no briefcase I fill daily — only a list I make on Friday. But I keep the relationship with that list the same. I pick whether to deal with the list items on the weekend or wait until Monday. . . .

It’s my weekend and now and then, it’s a great idea just to have one.

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No Worries for You, Me, and Martha . . .

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I've been thinking . . .

When I worked in publishing, a beautiful young woman named, Martha, worked as the communications coordinator for my department. She is an amazing person, other-centered, gracious, gentle, and soft-spoken.

Martha and I would meet every morning and she was always able to tell me the exact location in the process of any lesson or piece of art across some 10,000 pages. She understood my quirks and habits. I often think on her as St. Martha.

She is such grace. I hear her say “Oh Liz,” and flash a radiant smile — the sort that people remark upon — as she reads that last paragraph. When Martha would get the slightest look of stress, I’d rush to say, “No worries,” and explain the possible worst-case outcome.

One day Martha said that she realized I picked up that phrase, “No worries” when I traveled in Australia. We talked a while about the work I used to do there. She told me she hoped I always used that phrase, “No worries.”

A few years ago, Martha moved to Houston. Gosh, I miss her. . . . This week Martha gave birth to her first born, a son.

So I write this for you, and for me and for Martha.

What ever we’re worrying about right now . . . worrying won’t fix it.

Worrying about it only takes away our brain power. With our worrying, we’re more likely to make our problems worse, not better. Our worries throw off our brain chemistry. They divert our best problem-solving energy. They channel our thoughts to a place where our negative imagining gets in the way of actual progress. We’ve left behind any chance of positive reasoning.

Change one little sound in that word, worrying and we find it’s wearing.. Oh how wearing worrying can be.

When I’m stuck in a loop, in which I can’t seem to stop worrying, I take a walk, fly a kite, clean out my closet –- do something physical that I know I can easily accomplish. I put my thoughts into the world. I get my blood moving into my brain. I let my subconscious work on the problem without my interfering help. It doesn’t need the road blocks my worrying keeps putting in the way.

That break from fretting and over-analyzing my situation brings me new energy and information. I come back refreshed and ready to face the problem minus that stress that I most surely was causing.

New resources show themselves more quickly. New solutions appear on the horizon. I figure out much more easily whether I need to find some help.

Losing my worries for a while always has a positive impact.

No Worries, have a weekend instead.

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What Do I Offer Those Who Don’t Blog?

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I've been thinking . . .

If I asked you, “Are you 5 years old?”

You would say, “No.”

If I said, “Could you predict how a 5 year old child would answer my questions?”

You would probably say, “No.” again.

But you’ve been 5 years old, what would get in the way of your answering?

You no longer represent the group called “5 year olds.”

In the years since then, you have made discoveries; you’ve picked up details; you’ve learned things that you might not even remember how you know them.

Why am I writing about 5 year olds?

Hang in for one more minute.

Once I built my first blog and I learned to spell HTML, I left the world of “those who don’t blog.” I made discoveries; I picked up details; I learned things, things that I don’t even remember how I learned them.

I no longer represent the group called “those who don’t blog.”

Many of “those who don’t blog” read blogs, yet many will never become bloggers. Many more of “those who don’t blog” are bound to start reading blogs too.

What do I have to think about to be sure that I offer them the same positive experience that I offer bloggers? Hmmmm.

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Going Out to Play Isn’t Just for Kids

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I've been thinking . . .

I know two married couples who celebrate “date night”. Every week one of the pair plans a date, and they go out to a movie or to dinner the same way they did before they got married. I know another couple that has adventure day, and one who sets off exploring in their car, choosing randomly which road to take every few miles until they get somewhere they’ve never been.

All of these couples say the same thing — that they feel jazzed and rejuvenated by stepping out of their lifestyle for that little while.

So I think it’s a good idea.

This weekend — for just a little while — I’m going to play.

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Yes, Please! — Thank You! — You’re Welcome!

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I've been thinking . . .

I’ve been thinking about a post called Dante would be proud, at the Church of the Customer for two weeks now. The post is only 7 lines long, but points to a Wall Street Journal article about a law firm that is teaching it’s partners to have manners.

It sounds like they’re learning via PowerPoint. Ouch!

I can understand the position they’re in. I lost my manners once. I’m not sure when or where they went. Maybe they left when we changed to a casual dress code at work, or maybe they flew the coop when parents let their kids call adults by first names. I don’t know

I just know that mine were restored by a lovely 8-year-old Australian girl.

We were at a gathering at a home where I was staying while working on a publishing project. The young lady’s mother was an author on the project and is a friend. This young lady herself is a fabulous conversation partner. While we were talking, I volunteered to help her fill her plate from the massive buffet that was being offered. My arms were longer.

Each time I asked, Would you like this?

My sweet new acquaintance answered with, Yes, please. Thank you! or No, thank you.

How could I NOT say You’re welcome to a smiling face saying that? How could I not MEAN You’re welcome? It felt good to help her choose what she liked.

Several Yes, pleases in a row took me back to second grade, hearing my teacher say, We’re polite to show other people we care and to give them our respect.

I’ve been saying, Yes, please. No, thank you. and You’re Welcome. ever since. In a way, saying, Yes please, makes me feel brand new — like a kid again.

Yes please is so much more fun to say than just saying Yes.

This weekend I’m going to be saying Yes, please! Thank you! You’re Welcome! whenever I can

Thank you for reading this. . . . Thank you again. 🙂

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