by Amy Newmark
However, in order to put in enough hours at my full-time job, I had to get up before the crack of dawn, drive an hour in the dark, and sweat through eleven-hour days at the Studio School. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I drove an additional hour and a half to teach my education course north of Baltimore. After fighting the tail end of rush hour traffic all the way home on the Beltway, I’d collapse into bed, often too tired to even eat dinner.
Did I mention I was newly married? My husband and I were living together for the first time after enduring a two-year separation while I attended grad school in New York City. And I decided we really needed to adopt a puppy to make us feel like a family. If you have ever owned a puppy, you already know the fluffy balls of fur are irresistible but practically as much work as a newborn infant. Many sleepless nights ensued. There was much crying and whining. Some of it from the puppy.
When I examined all the commitments I had made, I realized not only was I stretched way too thin, I was receiving very little enjoyment from most of the work I was doing.
As I battled through that fall semester, I began to wonder where the joy had gone. Here I was, living the life of my dreams. I was in love with a wonderful man. We had a house, a yard with a vegetable garden, and a beautiful little puppy. I had not one but three fabulous and highly coveted jobs in my field. And yet, I was angry and irritable during the vast majority of my waking hours. My husband and I fought over everything from the dishes to the laundry to the training of our pup. My fuse grew shorter and shorter until it took almost nothing to set me off.
On a particularly bad Thursday of a week that felt longer than a month, I had scheduled a hands-on teaching experience for my education class. The students and I showed up at the on-campus daycare center to share a carefully planned creative movement lesson with a group of four-year-olds. Disaster is the only word to describe the fiasco that took place: children running in all directions, knocking over desks and chairs, ignoring suggestions, climbing on top of each other and rolling on the floor like a troupe of crazed monkeys. In order to control the chaos, I was reduced to screaming at the top of my lungs, a very big no-no for an education specialist! The gaping mouths on my students’ shocked faces told me in no uncertain terms, I had stepped over the line.
Driving home that evening, the light finally dawned on me: I had too much of a good thing.
When I examined all the commitments I had made, I realized not only was I stretched way too thin, I was receiving very little enjoyment from most of the work I was doing. I was stressed to the breaking point, spending too many hours driving on crowded highways, rushing from one place to the next, not to mention the constant worrying about the little details that inevitably slipped through the cracks. I couldn’t do my best at any of these jobs, and that included being a wife and a puppy mommy.
So I quit.
In fact, I quit the full-time position at the Studio School. I completed the single-semester commitment at Goucher and ended up with only one job, and a part-time job at that. But as it turned out, one part-time job was plenty for me.
Now, instead of sitting for hours in traffic, I was able to sit in my claw foot tub and enjoy a good soak. Instead of skipping dinner, I harvested fresh tomatoes from my garden and made spaghetti sauce. My husband and I had time to hike with our puppy and even throw a dinner party on occasion. In other words, I had a life. Not just a career, but an actual, fulfilling life.
I discovered too much of a good thing can be a very bad thing. But in the end, I found the perfect balance for me.
~Liz Rolland
There’s a Limit
Being able to say “No” is a necessary ingredient in a healthy lifestyle.
~David W. Earle
A real Good Samaritan. That was me. Need a ride to the doctor? I’ll be glad to take you. Does your dog need to be walked while you’re on vacation? No problem. Would you like someone to talk to about your troubles? I’m here for you.
I thought of myself as the true definition of a friend and was more than happy to put the needs of others before my own. After all, what are friends for?
Judging by how often my phone rang, it seemed that my reputation as a ready, willing, and able helper was common knowledge among those in my circle. Relatives, co-workers, neighbors, and even casual acquaintances all seemed to have my number — literally and figuratively speaking. I didn’t mind, really, if I had to put some of my own responsibilities and needs on hold. It felt good to do good for others. Besides, it was the right thing to do. And I was okay with that until one afternoon when I received a call from an acquaintance of my dad’s.
This man I barely knew phoned to inform me that I was to chauffeur him to a medical appointment he had made for the following Tuesday. I sighed and checked my calendar. Then I told him as nicely as possible that I couldn’t help him that day. I had a morning appointment with my brother, an afternoon business meeting, and then I needed to stop at the pharmacy for a friend who was recuperating from knee surgery, followed by a stop at the supermarket to buy milk and bread for her and her children. If I was lucky, in between I might find a few minutes to wait in the drive-thru line at some fast food joint and eat lunch in my car. “No,” I told him, “I just can’t do it.” His reaction wasn’t very kind and the conversation ended with the threat of some really bad karma on my part for not helping an elderly fellow in need.
That phone call was my turning point.
I took a closer look at my calendar. I was averaging fourteen good deeds a month. That meant that almost every other day I was running somewhere for someone. Clearly, some things in my life had to change. I stepped away from the calendar, eyes finally opened, and took a closer look at myself. Dark circles shadowed my eyes. Well, I’d known for a while I didn’t feel like my usual energetic self. Instead, I felt weary and worn, and sometimes, resentful too. Really resentful. Like the time I got not one but two late-night distress calls in the same week and the time I realized I was “picking up a few groceries” for someone who could have just as easily shopped for her own provisions. Obviously, my Good Samaritan routine was wearing on me.
My schedule had put me on a hamster wheel where I ran circles for the benefit of others.
Yes, it was time for a change. By being overly generous with my time I was not honoring my own needs or myself. Instead, my schedule had put me on a hamster wheel where I ran circles for the benefit of others. And was it really for their benefit? I started to wonder. Or, was I actually doing those I sought to help a disservice by allowing them to become dependent upon my kindness and not allowing them to learn to care for themselves? It was time for me to change. But how?
I brought my concerns to my friend Lucille, another busy woman. With a job, a husband, three kids, two grandchildren, and an aging father who needed her, I knew she had a lot to do every day. Yet, she somehow managed to maintain balance in her life. Despite the fact that she worked full-time, her house appeared well cared for, she had time to socialize, and in most cases, got a good night’s rest — things that were lacking in my own life. How did she manage all that? I asked her.
She gave me her secret in one word: limits. You have to set limits, she told me. Don’t run every time someone calls. Instead, ask the person some key questions: Is this an emergency? Is someone else available to help you? Is this something that can wait? And, the question I knew I should have been considering all along: Is this something you could do for yourself? “Certainly,” Lucille said, “if someone is in a bind, by all means help them. But don’t become a doormat. Set limits.”
Now I consider those logical questions before jumping to another’s aid and the benefits have been great. Thanks to paring down the favors I do for others I have more energy, sleep better at night, and even gained enough free time to pursue a hobby or two. Though I was fearful that cutting back on my kindness would have been met with disapproval from my crowd, those friends, relatives, and acquaintances quickly lost their sense of entitlement and started showing some real apprecia
tion for my help when I chose to give it. Now, sometimes, they even help me when I’m in a bind. And that, perhaps, may be the greatest benefit of all.
~Monica A. Andermann
An Idyll of Idleness
Children will not remember you for the material things you provided, but for the feeling that you cherished them.
~Richard L. Evans
We had so many plans. We would take our visitors to the movies, to the park, to a toy store, to a place where they could play miniature golf.
We would also try to schedule a visit to the science museum and maybe the aquarium, too.
We would cram all of this into the two-day visit of our youngest grandchildren who had cleared their own incredibly busy calendars for some Grandma-Grandpa time.
Seven-year-old Emily and six-year-old Carly arrived toting suitcases into which they had stuffed what seemed to be all their earthly belongings. Coloring books and crayons, electronic gizmos, toys of all sorts and descriptions. In other words, loads of “stuff.”
Along with marveling at the accumulation of excess baggage, I also noticed that these two tiny girls looked exhausted. Downright spent.
Small wonder. Like so many modern kids, they have activities that seem off the charts. What were we thinking?
I took my husband aside, and in a hurried kitchen conference, we decided to make a drastic change in those carefully outlined plans. We would scrap them all.
We would do… nothing. Absolutely nothing. At least it would be a novelty.
And if our grandchildren balked — if they viewed the formless two days as cruel and unusual punishment — we’d make up for it the next time.
Step One: everyone into pajamas. Yes, pajamas. So what if it was four in the afternoon — and broad daylight? It would set the mood.
Initially, Emily and Carly exchanged knowing glances, the “Boy, they’re crazy!” looks. And who could blame them? Our usual visits were dizzyingly active, and this was clearly at the opposite pole.
But soon enough, the suitcases had been emptied, and pajamas were the uniform of the moment. For Grandma and Grandpa too. It felt downright decadent.
Our idyll of idleness had clearly been the perfect early summer balm that this tired little girl needed.
“So what do we do now?” Emily, always the pragmatist, demanded to know. And she soon found out.
We sat around in the family room, dug out a deck of ancient cards and played Go Fish! Never mind who won.
Then we made a great big meatloaf, with our granddaughters beating egg whites until they were like shaving cream — their great-grandmother’s secret for a delicious loaf. I loved watching them as they took turns mixing the ingredients in the biggest bowl we own, and then concocting a ketchup sauce to pour on top of the whole lopsided loaf.
Dinner took an hour instead of our usual fifteen minutes. That was because we sat around the kitchen table and told silly stories, with Grandpa illustrating them with cartoons. I didn’t rush to clean up because I’ve finally learned that the dishes can wait — but kids sometimes can’t. It’s a lesson I wished I’d learned with my own daughters.
Our “glamorous” evening consisted of watching the Dr. Doolittle video that our grandchildren had seen at least three times, but still loved, and then eating popsicles at the kitchen table.
Bedtime, sometimes a struggle, wasn’t this time. Our visitors were happy, sleepy and delighted to hear me tell the story of Cinderella, hamming it up of course, just like we used to do before life’s complictions got in the way.
We spent the next day playing a fierce game of Frisbee in the yard, having peanut butter and jelly sandwiches outside under a tree, and taking two walks. We also colored, finished a multi-part crossword puzzle, and polished off a pepperoni pizza.
We laughed a lot, sang a few nonsense songs, and watched the girls’ favorite Nickelodeon shows.
When it was time to return our overnight visitors to their parents, they honestly didn’t want to leave. “Do we have to?” Carly asked woefully. Our idyll of idleness had clearly been the perfect early summer balm that this tired little girl needed.
Of course, we assured Carly and Emily that we’d definitely do absolutely nothing again soon.
And I think they understood, perhaps for the first time, that doing nothing is actually… quite something.
~Sally Friedman
Saying No with Passion
Passion is energy. Feel the power that comes from focusing on what excites you.
~Oprah Winfrey
I have always believed in giving back. As a single mom for most of my adult life, I didn’t have the option of doing that by writing a check; instead, I volunteered for every worthwhile cause that crossed my path. When my son got to school age I signed up to be a room mother, a classroom volunteer, a Cub Scout leader, and a Sunday school and Bible school teacher. Some of these activities I enjoyed, some not so much. Then my two daughters came along and the activities tripled. As a lawyer, I was deluged with requests to serve on boards and participate in charitable activities. And there was my church — with various committees asking for help.
How could I say no, if it was for a worthy cause? I found myself overcommitted and resenting the time that all of my charitable work took away from my alone time and my time with my kids. Still, I continued to volunteer for everyone who asked. There were so many people who needed help. Then one day at lunch I shared my dilemma with a good friend.
“You need to learn to say NO,” she said.
“How do I do that? How do I ever decide which cause is more important?”
“It’s not about which cause is more important. They’re all important. It’s about finding your passion.”
“My passion?”
“Find that one thing that means the most to you personally and then volunteer in that area. You’ll see that you enjoy it more and resent it less, thus making you a much better volunteer.”
It made sense. But what was my passion? I cared about a lot of things. I slowly began to search for the answer. I loved my kids and definitely had a passion for spending time with them, so I limited my volunteering to their various activities. My children became a convenient excuse. “Sorry I would love to help you out but I’m busy with ______.” (Fill in the blank with one or more activities of my children.)
This plan worked remarkably well until the day my youngest went off to college. Guess what? All of those people I had put off with my kids as an excuse came out of the woodwork. Even though I had more time to volunteer, I again felt overwhelmed. My mind kept returning to that idea — find my passion. I took a class on discovering one’s passion and did a lot of thinking and praying about it. One day it hit me. I had enjoyed my own children at all ages from birth on, but what I really loved were those high school years. For me, there was just something special about that age group. They were old enough to not be watched constantly, but young enough to be open to new ideas. They were excited about life and full of energy: half adult, half child. So I looked for ways to become involved with high school kids.
Find that one thing that means the most to you personally and then volunteer in that area.
These days when I’m asked to volunteer for other organizations, I can politely decline without feeling guilty. My answer is simply, “I have a passion for high school youth and that is where I spend my volunteer time.”
It has been nine years since my youngest left home and I have spent thousands of wonderful, happy hours with youth, watching so many of them move on to be successful, caring, responsible adults. I have formed lifelong relationships with amazing people. I have a blast doing it and best of all I never resent the hours I spend. I am no longer overwhelmed. Those kids keep me young at heart, which is a gift in itself.
Whatever your passion may be, find it and you will be a better volunteer. And you’ll be able to politely say no, guilt-free.
~Jill Haymaker
All You Need Is Less
Living the Dream
T
he human spirit needs places where nature has not been rearranged by the hand of man.
~Author Unknown
On 9/11/2001, my husband came home early from work to tell me that he had joined the military. He could not stand idly by and not do his part to protect our country. Since we had already been talking about the possibility of moving to a more rural location, he thought that this would be the perfect opportunity, since his new military pay would not be enough to cover our existing home’s mortgage payment.
We sold our house, and my children and I moved to a different state in order to live with my parents while my husband went through his military training. While my husband was away, I searched for our new home. We both wanted something that would be a child’s dream home and property — a rambling house with plenty of places in which to play hide-and-seek, a large yard, plenty of climbing trees, a creek, and woods that could be explored. We had noticed that most of the children in our old neighborhood spent the bulk of their time glued to electronic devices. We wanted our children to instead be able to experience the joy of creative play.
Unfortunately, our budget was extremely small, and any properties that met our criteria were far too expensive. Finally, my real estate agent suggested that I take a look at a property that was possibly going to become available. She warned me that it would need a lot of work, but said that it did meet all our requirements.
So, we drove to the mountains, to a quaint little town so small that its town center, marked by a four-way intersection, only boasted a post office, an inn, and a laundromat. At the edge of town, she pulled over in front of an old, white farmhouse.