A Year Without Yelling

2014. Resolutions and new beginnings and all that. I don't typically bother with resolutions. Major life changes undertaken after weeks of holiday exhaustion and starting with a hangover aren’t likely to stick. But here I am, committing publicly to a doomed resolution: I will go a year without yelling.

If you know me you will laugh. I yell all the time. I come from a family of yellers. But as my kids get older I hear the anger reflected back in their small, sweet voices. I hear how it sounds. And I want it to stop.


I was struck recently by this simple thought: Nothing is improved by yelling at someone. Yelling makes everything worse. Tempers flare, and they subside leaving guilt and hurt.

I’m not talking about shouting. “Look out! A car is coming!” has solid utility. I’m also not referring to the sublime cathartic scream, which combined with a well-crafted string of profanities can relieve tension after slicing your finger instead of a carrot or sloshing red wine on your white carpet. No, these are merely the raising of voice. I’m talking about using loud angry words to address someone else. It never helps. Never. And I’m going to learn to stop.

“Learn to” is a key part of this little experiment. I’m not undertaking some vow and expecting my strong will (ha!) to enforce it. I’m going to look at the situations that lead me to lose my cool and figure out what needs to change. Food, sleep, boredom. Unrealistic expectations. Defensiveness. Overcommitment.

A lot to take on. Doomed to failure, but as the title of this blog reminds me, failure is a lot more fun.

Bye Bye Buy

I'm really not a shopper. Despite having worked at two shopping-based web startups, buying things does not come naturally to me. I am one of the cheapest people ever and mostly opposed to buying things unless I really really need them, and maybe not even then. Or at least I used to be. Ever since leaving the workplace for the non-lucrative stay-at-home mom gig, I've taken to the notion that wisely spent money is a good idea.  The cheapest thing just ain't going to last. Get the well made, the pretty, the right thing instead and it will not only leave you happier but save you money in the long run.

Problem is that line of thinking can get out of hand, and lately for me it had. Spending good money on the right things had transformed into acquiring cute but useless things any time I went into a store. When I caught myself browsing every aisle in Target wondering what else I might get, I knew it was time for a change.

In a nice bit of perfect timing, the ever-stylish Raven posted about some friends taking on a "no shopping" challenge for a month, or even a year. It struck me how easily I could stop shopping and really not miss it. I've got more clothes than I need. The library has books for free. It seems easy enough to work around the things I want by using the things I already have. Since time-based challenges aren't my thing, I'll be keeping up a streak. How long can I go without buying anything?  The nice thing about a streak is if you break it, you can start again the very next day.

Of course I'll still need to buy food and household goods. I'm not trying to live off the land here, just put an end to non-necessary spending. Gifts are an exception, but even then I'll try to get creative and make rather than buy. That's going to be the goal for most things. Making coffee instead of hitting the Starbuck's drive-thru. Trying homemade recipes for cleansers. More DIY crafts instead of picking up little toys for the kids. Already I've skipped buying character valentines  for Lucas' preschool party and instead printed out candy hearts on construction paper. Baby steps.

Hopefully I'll be able to keep this little experiment up for a while. At some point I expect the line between needing and wanting will get mighty blurry and I'll cave. But if I can stay more mindful of all the ways money leaks out of my wallet, it will be worth the effort to go without.

No Thyself

Lately I've been trying to make myself a priority. The life of a stay-at-home mom means giving nearly every part of yourself to others. The kids demand most of my attention and energy, and what's left over goes into running errands, staying on top of chores, paying bills, scheduling appointments and making sure everyone else is alright.  Then maybe, if there is any time left, I can do something for myself. With the schedule I keep, that something is nearly always sleep. I'm determined to change this before I lose my own identity completely. The problem is, I don't know what to do with myself.

Of all the people who know me, you'd think the one who knows me best would be me. I live in this skin, peer at the world through these wide-open eyes and hear all the thoughts that click around this brain of mine. But when it comes to knowing myself I seem to have a rather large blind spot. I've tried those personality assessment tests (No, not the Scientology one, thank you very much.)  and I can't choose an answer. I'm never sure if I should put down they way I usually behave, what I value but rarely accomplish, what I'm hoping to be, or some mix of the above. I'm all over the map.

In my quest for identity I've been given an assignment: Ask friends to write things they appreciate about me. The idea is learning what others see in me might help me see myself more clearly. I balked at first. Blatantly asking people for compliments seems a little uncouth. But I realized this happens all the time, usually in the negative. We complain about something - a bad day, a rejection, an insult - and then people rush to praise us. Your boss is an idiot. You're a terrific cook. They don't know what they're missing. Why not skip the self-pity and go straight to asking for the good stuff?

So now I'm asking you. If you're so inclined, let me know what you appreciate about me. What am I good at?  What do you think of when you think of me?  Post it or send me an email or whatever. Or don't. I won't be keeping a list of those who don't respond and imagining they secretly hate me. It's not a tally of BFFs, just an little experiment to see if I can see myself better through the eyes of those that know me.

To enjoy what you really are.

It was hard for me to leave my job to raise my kids. I always intended to stay at home when I became a mom. I had a good career in product management for social websites, a role and a field I'm pretty indifferent about. But it's a job I'm good at, one that comes easily for me. Apparently it does not come so easily for others since it pays pretty well. I was always surprised when my employers were impressed by what I did as a matter of routine, and downright shocked at how much they were willing to pay for my work. It's nice to feel valued. Even though the job wasn't one I enjoyed much, being highly praised and well compensated made lack of interest less of a problem.

When I became a mom I found it hard to justify leaving my job. Was I really going to walk away from that paycheck, and from the recognition and sense of accomplishment the workplace provided? The answer turned out to be no. Not at first, anyway. When my boss offered me a flexible part-time gig, I took it despite my strong feelings about being at home with my child. It seemed too good to pass up. And it was good, very good, for a while. But as time passed the demands both at work and at home increased, and I had to make a real choice. Go back to work or do what I really wanted and stay at home.

For years before motherhood I had looked at changing careers, but fear held me back. I was really good at product management. Who knows if I'd be good at something new? I certainly wouldn't make as much if I started over. So I stayed doing what I knew I could instead of seeking something that represented me. I made this choice over and over, feeling more stuck with each passing year.

Having a baby was a free pass, a built-in excuse to step away from the easy path I was on and take time to figure out what I really wanted to pursue. And even then I couldn't take that first step. After struggling with the part-time role for a year, I longed to be at home with my son but didn't make a change. I took the cowardly route and waited until I was pregnant with my second child before finally quitting. I didn't have the confidence to choose for myself. I needed the excuse of another baby to do what I really wanted.

I still beat myself up about all this. How could I have left work? Why didn't I have the courage to quit when I wanted to? Am I just lazy for wanting to be at home with the kids? Shouldn't I keep a better house if this is what I m supposed to be doing? No matter what the line of thinking, my inner self can find a way to cast doubt.

In the midst of this doubt-fest, my husband tried to be a supportive as a baffled spouse can be. He kept telling me to do whatever would make me happy. If no one has ever said this to you, let me tell you it's one of the nicest things a body can hear. Of course it wasn't enough to get me to actually take action, because I didn't believe my happiness was worthwhile enough to matter. Still it's wonderful to hear. It's helped me make peace with the choice I've made.

But I won't be at home forever. And unless I can figure out what I'm passionate about and start pursuing it, I'll end up picking up where I left off in my old career. I don't want that. Not for myself or for my children. I want them to charge after their dreams with gusto, and trip along the way and change course and keep on going. Success is not a finish line. It's the joy you have while plugging away every day. I want this for them, and I'm too afraid to go after it myself. They will be too if they don't have a better example.

I was watching the 1990s teen drama “My So-Called Life” and was struck by what the mother character said to her daughter. “That's all I want for you: To enjoy what you really are.” It's what I want for my children. I can give that to them by giving it to myself. First I need to find out who I really am. I need to make that a priority, make time for discovering myself. Then I need to enjoy what I've found. I suspect that's going to be the hard part.  

With Veil? Or: I'm Not My Alter Ego.

When asked to name my favorite or best anything, I never can. My appetites vary with the situation, so the song or dessert or vacation spot I adore at the moment isn't likely to top the list later on. I certainly can't pinpoint the best day of my life. But there is a day that I acted out of character and loved it. It's without a doubt my favorite version of myself, if there is such a thing. An alter ego that emerged because I was wearing a veil at a bar.

My bachelorette party was terrific. An evening of crazy fun with a great group of ladies. At the last stop of the evening, a bar in downtown San Jose, my bridesmaids presented me with a list of tasks I had to complete before the night was through. Nothing too outrageous, but definitely not the sort of thing I'd usually be up for. As talkative as I can be I'm not all that bold or confident with strangers, especially in the see-and-be-seen atmosphere of a bar. Suddenly I'm a insecure teen all over again, hoping to staying invisible and get through the night unscathed.

That night, though, something clicked. This was my bachelorette party. I had on a veil. People's opinions of me were irrelevant. That white piece of tulle was a license to behave however I wanted. I marched up to guys and demanded shots. I enlisted the bartender to help procure items on the list. No one refused me. Everyone smiled and seemed happy to help. I was completely empowered and loving it. My friends were shocked at how fearlessly I attacked the list. I was shocked myself. Within an hour they were scrambling to create another list with tougher challenges. No sweat for this party girl.

It was a revelation to see how naturally people responded to confidence. And it had been so easy. Despite my tendency to play the wallflower I'm not exactly shy. The night hadn't been just bravado. I felt as bold as I had acted. This is it, I thought. This is how I'm going to interact in the world. As if strangers were happy to talk to me. As if no one would think of refusing me. As if there was a veil on my head every day.

And of course, it never happened again.

I went right back to being the person I was before. Unsure in new situations. Reluctant to take charge. Worried about what people might think of me. We expect an eye-opening experience to forever change us. But soon enough we are back in our routine. The dreams of taking up painting again after seeing the masterpieces in the Louvre or promises to live each day fully after losing a friend too soon, these fall aside as the rhythms of our days settle back into what we've established. The current of our everyday lives has more pull than the soul-stirring moments we imagine will reshape who we are.

Still, we're not untouched by our experiences. My veiled alter ego wasn't invented. She emerged. And sure, she was lots of fun, but I'm not all that certain she's the person I want to be. That's probably why I didn't transform after that amazing night. But she's in there, and she can come out again. All I have to do is let her.