What I Need to Write Today
“Live in day-tight compartments” is the phrase that comes to mind whenever I think of Dale Carnegie’s book, How to Stop Worrying and Start Living. I’ve read it two or three times, finding in each encounter with the book what I needed at the time.
Bridget is at a point in her life where day-by-day is not quite adequate. She’s dealing with life 90 days or so at a time. Next week, she flies off to Rome for the semester, so she’s been gathering necessities (luggage, good shoes, a rain coat), and pestering doctors, pharmacists, and insurance companies about the diabetic supplies she’ll need to literally survive her stint in Europe. Dennis and I help where we can, but Bridget has been doing an admirable job. I guess the contrast between planning for such a long-term venture and just waking up to what a new day demands has me appreciating my situation a little more than usual.
The sunshine outside my window keeps threatening to evade the bottom of the window shade and impale my eyeballs. I don’t want to pull the shade down any farther, though. Seeing the sun feels like spending time with a long-lost friend. The evidence of yesterday’s incessant snowfall still covers branches, fences, and driveway. It looks like the fluffy, white hat atop the grill out back is six to eight inches tall. I don’t know that the sun will get it to take off its topper, as the temperature is only about 10 degrees, significantly colder than yesterday’s high of 32.
When I wasn’t outside shoveling the driveway with the kids yesterday morning and afternoon, I was taking care of household chores. That included putting away Christmas decorations (not the tree, though) and making a dent in the dust and dirt of the living room. As I wiped down my desk and the things on it, I realized that it has been months since I used my little Canon Selphy to print any pictures, so I sent a multiple exposure/composite image through the machine, and it’s now sitting on my desk, where it pleases me, but also leaves me asking (yet again) if my own art is good enough. It doesn’t really look like anyone else’s, and though I keep telling myself that’s how it should be, the evil little voice in my head keeps saying, “You’re doing it wrong.”
Oh, if I could strike a statement from my life, it would be that one. I’ve heard it over and over (in one form or another), from parents, teachers, friends, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins, in-laws, kids, and yes—my husband. Thankfully, however, we are both aware of how demoralizing such a phrase is and say it jokingly to one another to remind ourselves that we never again want to say it for real.
Interestingly, I’m now back around to Dale Carnegie. Last year—for the first time—I read How to Win Friends and Influence People. I wish I had read it at the beginning of my parenting journey. Nevertheless, you can teach an old dog new tricks, and I’ve learned a few, like these:
Principle 1: Begin with praise and honest appreciation.
Principle 2: Call attention to people’s mistakes indirectly.
Principle 3: Talk about your own mistakes before criticizing the other person.
Principle 4: Ask questions instead of giving direct orders.
Principle 5: Let the other person save face.
Principle 6: Praise the slightest improvement and praise every improvement.
Principle 7: Give the other person a fine reputation to live up to.
Principle 8: Use encouragement. Make the fault seem easy to correct.
Principle 9: Make the other person happy about doing the thing you suggest.
Now, if you were to ask my kids whether I regularly employ such practices, they would unhesitatingly say something like, “Not that I’ve noticed,” and I can understand why. My intentions may have changed, but my actions don’t always follow suit. That’s okay. I have all day to try again.
