Circular Reasoning

I have a short list of “musts” to accomplish this year. Beyond resolutions, these are items that regularly appear on my annual, semi-annual, quarterly, monthly, weekly, daily, and sometimes hourly lists. Points of procrastination, episodic yet perpetual.

Atop the list is a writing project, we’ll call it Project A. Getting to the point of actively “working on” Project A is itself an accomplishment made possible by identifying and overcoming barriers. Three to be exact. Project A has been in my head over 15 years, though initially I was unsure how or even whether to approach it.

In 2017 I created a dedicated space to organize material. In 2018 I successfully articulated the aforementioned barriers that, as constructed as they were, gave me permission to move forward. Throughout 2019, I haphazardly engaged with the material. Last year, I sought advice from a writer smarter, more disciplined, and may I add far more talented, than I. But by summer, my efforts had again fallen flat.

So why keep Project A on my To-Do List if it never gets done? Because I know I will eventually cross it off. I just have to figure out why I'm stuck... the possibilities are cliché.

Fear

Universal, relatable. Fear, in its enormity, begs to be unpacked. This allows me the luxury of making one, if not more, additional list(s).  

Foremost, I should identify the fear. Failure? That’s a big one. Exposure? Vulnerability? To dig deeper, I should understand what’s causing my fear, parsing it further to understand the root of each type of fear. This is the point at which I get caught in a vortex of reason and logic that is neither reasonable nor logical.

Not to say that fear is not on a barrier because I know from internet self-therapy, popular psychology, numerous writing workshops, copious hours of reflection and seemingly endless introspection, fear can be a substantial and legitimate barrier. However, in this case it’s simply an excuse.

What else might be preventing me from accomplishing this allegedly interminable writing goal?

Time

Always a good one. There are only so many hours in the day. Not a viable excuse here because I’ve been known to overdraw sleep time to work on related, though not pointed, goals.

For instance, this past year I’ve dedicating a lot of time to writing, pushing pieces onto social media (a first), and spending late- or all-nighters writing -- even if that writing is random and noncommital. And there was that five-month furlough… so time is certainly not preventing me from achieving any writing goals.

Energy

Another good one. Working full-time at a job I don’t love is more exhausting than it should be. But even as an English adjunct, I was unable to make real traction writing. It actually felt like a bigger struggle then. Granted, I often had 75-100 students each semester, so while my time was relatively fluid, after the prepping, the performing, the reading, the responding… there was little fuel left to ignite my own fire, much less build one up. What little energy I had left for my writing was usually spent on personal emails, an outlet I, like many, have reluctantly accepted as a replacement for the handwritten letter.

Having exhausted the usual suspects: fear, time, and energy, as possible reasons for not crossing Project A off my To-Do List, I’m left with the now obvious – and who are we kidding? Always obvious – truth that an unwillingness to prioritize has kept me from achieving certain goals. Important goals. Achievable goals.

Step One: Admit you have a problem.

 

Pandemic Reflections, Vaccine Dreams

By the time it’s over, whether via infection, vaccination or both, Covid-19 will have affected most of us, literally, on a cellular level.

Professionally, I’ve not been as bluntly impacted by the virus as many. I haven’t lost a job, a business, a livelihood… in many cases, an identity, a sense of purpose, a feeling of worth.

I don’t work on the frontlines in healthcare, so my identity, sense of purpose, feeling of worth, has not been tried and tested, ridiculed or despised. I have not had to share a shift with death, over and over and over again. For that, I am beyond grateful for myself, but more importantly, to others.

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My experiences with Covid-19 primarily remain at a cultural level: its politics, its impact on the way we work, learn, experience art… masking, social distancing. That said, I’m invariably intrigued by how the virus has exposed the way we react under duress; whether it be a reaction to policy or protocol, or the basic manner in which we treat others.

Equally intriguing is how – during this timeline just shy of a year – our attitude toward time itself may have changed: from relishing the slower pace life has forced upon us, to a sudden desire to hurry up and start living.

Who among us, in this past year, has examined the past under a microscope with one eye while viewing the future through a telescope with the other? All as we wait for God or science to save us from this pandemic nightmare.

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I got my first round of vaccine on Sunday.

I think the vaccine is important, and I trust the science behind it. But honestly? I didn’t get the vaccine for myself, because I was never afraid of getting Covid. In general, disease doesn’t scare me like it probably ought to… even breast cancer… I wasn’t so much scared by it, as I was exhausted.

I got the vaccine because I don’t want to spread Covid. I don’t want to be the reason someone else gets it and dies. And who knows? Maybe the very act of getting the vaccine will encourage others to do the same?

Now that would be a good thing.

 

Death is Taxing

My dad was born on Pearl Harbor Day in 1934. Except in 1934, there was no Pearl Harbor Day. Not yet.

However, by the time I was born, Americans had been commemorating Pearl Harbor Day for nearly 30 years. And every year, that was the day we celebrated my dad’s birthday.

Dad died in the summertime. It was the same weekend Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett died. I can never remember the date. I just know that every June since then, news outlets and radio stations memorialize Jackson with musical tributes and recognize Fawcett during “On this day…” mentions. Inevitably I think: I need to look up my dad’s obituary.

I should probably know the date my father died.

A writing professor once said that in Winter semesters students write about death, death, death; whereas in Spring semesters, they write about sex, sex, sex. At the time it made perfect sense: writing about death in the winter and sex in the spring. Yet I was still surprised to learn, after collecting the first set of drafts in a Winter semester class, it was true. Death, death, death.

Death is not the worse part though. Death, in its unapologetic finality, is but a prelude to the gone, the missing.

Death is a title we give to that hole of immeasurable depth. The hole we skip over nearly every day as we navigate the living world, trying – ourselves – to simply survive.

But then, on the first cold day of the year, not quite Winter, we fall into the hole. I fall into the hole. Deeper, it seems, every year.

I miss my dad the most in the winter. Not because that’s when his life ended, but rather it's when we celebrated his life beginning.

In 25 years, I will be the same age as my dad was when he died: seventy-four. It was June 27, 2009.

I have to look it up every time.

 

06 September 2008

 

2020 Thanksgiving Eve Poem

It was the best six months.

It was the worst six months.

Is it the same six months,

as the first six months?

 

March through September?

Certainly not stellar.

October? November?

Not any better.

After Easter and summer,

and then the election,

The virus still spreads  

like some kind of infection.

 

Covid-19 has a seat at the table,

But that doesn’t mean we can’t still be grateful.

Think of the politics that won’t be discussed,

Think of the relatives you won’t have to cuss.

Then think of the possibility of successful vaccines,

and enjoy your socially-distanced Thanksgiving Day feast.

 

 

Take Eight of These and Call Me in the Morning

Once again, in the wee hours of the morning, I find myself compelled to write. Lucky for me, this is where a random and noncommittal blog comes in handy.

The fact that I’ve routinely had an odd relationship with sleep does not make me unique. Sleep issues have become somewhat of a cultural phenomenon: not only do we have them, openly discuss them, and buy things for them, but issues with sleep seem to be regarded as both common and mysterious.

It’s difficult for me to pinpoint the general culprit of my sleep issues. My knee-jerk response is that my own insomnia, through the years, has been linked to my professional life. For instance, nowadays I often fall asleep after dinner, between 7:30 – 8:00 PM, wake around midnight or 1:00, finish up a few tasks for the evening, sometimes hop online, then sleep for a few hours before the work alarm sounds.

Four hours of sleep, three hours awake, then two or three hours of sleep is not good. I’m fairly well-acquainted with the “wellness” industry… a solid eight is the gold standard.

When I was young – very young – I used to sleep walk. I never did anything crazy, but I do recall a few nights of waking up, standing in the hallway or the kitchen, wondering how I got there. Otherwise I don’t recall having major sleep issues until I was in Columbus. Sometimes it feels like I slept all of 24 hours the three years I was at Ohio State. That was a very unsettling time.

 I often try to figure out whether I’m a Morning Person or a Night Owl. I vacillate. My subsequent inability to decide leads me to wonder whether I’m just one of those people who don’t need a lot of sleep. You know, like a surgeon or a genius.

Turns out I’m neither.

I’m sure at the end of the day, my sleep issues are inextricably linked to a greater, more personal, existential crisis – what am I going to do with my life? – for which I have no answers. Maybe something will come to me in the morning.

 

Pippin taunts me with her sleep.

 

 

SFBE

The other day my partner in crime sent me several links to various desserts such as lemon Bundt cake, red berry charlottes, chocolate hazelnut cake, petite molten lava cakes… you get the idea.

He, like me, is a fan of dessert. However, unlike me, he’s about a thousand times more judicious about things like sugar, fat, salt… you know, the All Stars. And not that I would ever say I’m a “fan” of sugar, fat, and salt because on most days, I can do without the salt. But sugar and butter? Oh yeah. All day. Every day. Groupie status.

Nonetheless, I do attempt to bake healthy: I often cut the sugar and when I can, I use whole wheat – or usually white whole wheat – flour. But I never compromise on butter.

While I don’t consider myself a baker, per se, I do enjoy baking and think the effort should be worth the reward; thus I’m not always watching every step I take with every cake I bake. Ironic because the one thing I have never baked from scratch is a cake. And when I say “from scratch” I’m not talking Duncan Hines cake mix from a box scratch. I’m talking 1970’s, apron-wearing, Betty Crocker cookbook scratch. That, my friends, is about to change. 

Back to the links: petite molten lava cake. Indeed high on the Yum-scale.

It occurred to me that while I like chocolate molten lava cake, I've never actually made one. Hence, a midnight recipe search ensued. 

Aside from the cake itself -- and because I knew I'd get the: how much this or can you make it with less that questions -- I wondered: is there such a thing as healthy molten lava cake? 

I know, I know, who thought this blog would be so suspenseful? After about thirty-minutes of searching it was clear: No. No matter what your Google search tells you, there is no such thing as a "healthy molten lava cake."

Sure, there are keto, gluten-free, sugar-free options. Coconut oil, almond flour, collagen peptides, soy milk. But look people: Next year I'll turn 50. I just want cake. Good cake. Sugar, flour, butter, eggs.

Not surprising, the SFBE recipes look relatively easy. Easier than the healthy recipes. And most recipes only make four cakes, six if you use muffin tins rather than ramekins. So even with the SFBE, I should be fine. Everything in moderation.