Pot Luck

After the bread challenge and trying to start this neighborhood group, I suddenly realized it was time to do something that I am so very comfortable doing: having a party.

Now, when I say I'm comfortable having a party, this might give you the wrong impression. Here is the kind of party I love to give, and have since forever. Invite a bunch of people over (one might even say...too many people), ask everyone to bring something to eat, stress the fact that it's very casual, and try to set everyone's expectations very low. The key is that everyone I invite is really nice, and I have to make a point to keep the preparations simple, simple, simple. 

Then people arrive, and the party has itself while I float around in a succession of half-finished interrupted conversations. And here's what always happens. It happened in Austin when I was single. And it happened the other day with neighborhood families: everyone is really pleased and friendly and wants to get to know each other, and they eat and chat and figure out who they know in common, and have  a great time. 

And I know everyone, at least a little, and like everyone, and don't really get to talk to anyone, but I just bask in the warm glow of a developing network of friends. 

Your Fearful Leader

I like to tell my kids the thing about how being brave doesn't mean that you're not afraid of something. Being brave is about being scared...but doing the thing anyway.

Things are progressing with the neighborhood group and the associated neighborhood garage sale. I and a few helpers put about 250 flyers into and onto and around mailboxes last week, telling everyone about both the group and the sale. The group is now up to almost 25 members (hey! that's, like, 10%!) and I think 16 people have signed up to participate in the sale, and it sounds like more are planning to, but haven't signed up yet. Which is all really exciting!

Passing out flyers was a little wonderful and a little horrible. The weather, most of the times we were out, was gorgeous. When I was with my gregarious friend, L, she talked to everyone who was out in their yards and met new people and got people excited about the group and the sale. When it was just me or me and Dr. Jay, we would nudge each other, "Hey, go talk to that person!" "No, you go talk to them."

I worried that the flyers would blow away and everyone would be mad at me for messing up the neighborhood. I worried that the mail carrier would give us a ticket for putting things in mailboxes. I worried that people would think I was selling something. I imagined that people would think I was a young hippie mom, dragging my kids around to get paid a few dollars by some stupid company  trying to sell them something they didn't want. I imagined that a lot. (Not that I have anything against young hippie moms. I just have a terror of being misunderstood or misread or misjudged. Which is a story for another post...maybe.)

But I got through, and at the end, I felt like I knew the neighborhood better, even the parts I never go to because they're not on my way anywhere. And the few people I talked to were very nice. And then people started signing up, little by little.

In A Short History of Nearly Everything, one of my absolute favorite books, which I keep listening to over and over on audiobook, Bill Bryson talks about Max Planck, and how he learned, after doing much work on entropy, that someone else had already done the same work but published it in an obscure source. After describing this, the next paragraph starts: "Undaunted--well, perhaps mildly daunted--Planck turned to other matters."

I have been daunted by this neighborhood group project. But I have to remember that many people eventually succeed with something, despite being daunted along the way. But they keep going, and then, someday, someone looks back and says they continued, undaunted.

Generosity of Spirit

I have been going on and on about how my skin is so thin, I take everything personally, wah, it's so hard for me to put myself out there, my feelings are hurt, yadda, yadda, yadda.

I am on a committee at the kids' school to put on a fundraiser that includes a silent auction, so we need to find donations, and encourage people to attend, etc. There's another mom on the committee, who, like me, is showing up and trying to be helpful, despite maybe not having fundraising so much in her blood. She is a professor at the university near here, and came up with an idea that all the profs who are parents at the school (about 20 of them) could go in together on an ad for the program. They could all meet to have their picture taken somewhere on campus, and it would only be about $10/family, and that would give a bunch of people a fairly easy way to contribute and maybe help faculty parents meet each other and feel some connection. Sounds like my kind of idea.

So she sends out an email to twenty faculty. Ten respond and say they are interested; one responds and says he or she is not. So she sends out another email, to coordinate the next step of scheduling the photo, and only four of the ten respond. So now she's in a position of a picture of 5 people in the program, not really representative of anything, and the price has now gone up from $10 per family to $40 per family, and so she's going to have to email those four people, tell them this, and see if the still want to do it. She was very surprised and disappointed, and, I think, pretty hurt that she was trying to do something thoughtful and helpful and got so little response, when what she was suggesting would have involved so little investment from the people involved.

As she was talking about this, I just kept thinking, "I know how you feel! That's just how I feel about the neighborhood group!" But before I could begin to commiserate, Madge spoke up.

Madge is the development person at the school. It is her job to ask for money and donations and to get other people to do the same. When Madge addresses a group, she tells jokes, she warms up the crowd, she never uses notes, she is funny and engaging and gets her point across at the same time. And this is what she said: "Aw, that's frustrating. But I really believe that people are well-intentioned. We all let things slide, but it's not because we mean to. Except for a few actual duds out there, people mean well and want to help, but sometimes they just don't. For whatever reason, it just doesn't happen. They'll probably come up to you at the event, holding the program, and ask you if it's too late to participate!"

Later, there was discussion of a particular parent who had volunteered to help with something, but was basically MIA. Madge said, absolutely good-naturedly, "Yeah, every year she says she wants to help, but she just doesn't end up doing anything. And some people are just like that. And you just ask every year, and, who knows? Maybe this year is the year they'll do something."

She didn't take it personally. She didn't get angry. She just keeps trying things, sees what works, tries to put her energy toward the things that have the greatest return, but she never stops casting the net, seeing who wants to help or give, who will actually come through. And when I said that I was happy to streamline spreadsheets of contacts and send out letters, but that I didn't want to call anyone on the phone or visit any businesses to ask for donations, she didn't bat an eye. She is infinitely generous in her evaluation of other people's comfort zones, abilities, self-perceived abilites and limitations, forgetfulness, and general failure to do what they said they wanted or were going to do.

And generosity, you know, is maybe the number one thing that I think creates abundance. I mean, isn't it interesting that the same people who are uncomfortable putting themselves out there are often the same people who are quick to judge other people's non-action or neutral suggestion to be criticism? If I were more generous in my reading of others' actions, would I be in an atmosphere of abundance of spirit, where I would be less likely to assume other people are judging me harshly? Is this paucity of spirit a vicious circle that feeds on itself? And would more generosity of spirit lead to an abundance of spirit in my life, where maybe I would not see well-intentioned suggestions as angry criticism?

"Constructive Criticism"

Hi. It's been a while since my last real post. Almost a month. For a couple of weeks that was because I was just busy with other things like a birthday party and an erupting volcano cake and visiting family. And then, for the last couple of weeks, it was because of a vacation to Canada, a child falling downstairs, and an associated stay at a very nice hospital in Toronto. But here I am again, and things have settled down a little.


In my last real post (that wasn't someone else's cartoon) I was talking about putting myself out there and how uncomfortable I am with it and with trying to lead something, and how trying to start a neighborhood group is really putting me in touch with that. 


I am trying to start this neighborhood group because I want to feel a sense of community. Because I want my kids to have friends to play with in the neighborhood. Because they say knowing your neighbors is one of the biggest things you can do to increase neighborhood safety. Because twenty years ago, everyone in the neighborhood knew each other, and I think it can be that kind of neighborhood again, despite that fact that it's now a mix of empty-nesters who are on the verge of retiring and younger families with little kids, with others thrown in here and there.


We moved here almost four years ago, and I have been waiting for someone else to start some kind of group. An email list serve, maybe, or a Facebook group. Where we can share information about the Verizon VOIP conversion, or the repaving of a road, or robberies in the area. 


So finally, in February, heartened by getting to know a neighbor who seems like someone who can get things done, I suggested we start a group ourselves. She is very busy, runs her own company and takes care of her little kid, but she cheered me on, and I decided to go ahead and do it.


Now, the first part of the project was totally challenging me within my comfort zone. I tried out GoogleGroups, GoogleDocs, GoogleMaps, and GoogleSites. I made a website with a picture and a survey and a map, and a sign-up form that would automatically populate a spreadsheet that could later be available as the group directory. I got advice about neighborhood boundaries from a realtor friend, and advice about community building from another friend. It was a lot of work that I really didn't have time for, but it was fun, and Dr. J worked on it with me some, and it was the kind of thing I used to enjoy doing before I had kids. It was great.


And then it was time to "go live". And you may have read what happened over the first few days. 


Now, I like to think that I am someone who knows how to benefit from constructive criticism. But as I have said before, I have the thinnest of skin, and once I am out of my comfort zone, putting myself out there, it does not get any thicker. 


So over the first few weeks, in addition to two people leaving the day they joined because it was "not what I expected" and "I have a family to take care of," I got other feedback.

"The area is too big."

"These (waves hand, standing in front of her house) are my neighbors. I don't need to know all those other people."


"I think the area is just right."


"People are squeamish about putting information online these days." Yes, but the only required information is name and address, which are freely available on the county tax site!


"People don't want to get so many emails." This, for a group that so far has probably averaged less than 2 messages per week. I mentioned the digest option where you can get all of each day's emails, if any, combined into a single email. "One email per day is too many. I mean, from my friends, yes. But not from every Tom, Dick, and Harry." 

"I only want to get messages about topics that interest me. Can you change it so that I only get emails I'm interested in?" Uh, no. Actually, I can't. Google didn't design their Groups that way, and it turns out that hacking GoogleGroups is beyond my area of expertise. She then went on to suggest that I talk to a neighbor who is a professor of IT, who has expressed not a shred of interest in the group, because maybe he could fix it.

"I personally thought that the boundary of the neighborhood is too wide to start the group. Why don't we just start with [four streets] then expand it in the future? Actually, the apartment buildings over behind the shopping center may need this kind of connection also." So...it should be smaller, and not include the whole official neighborhood, but we should then add all the people in the apartment buildings on the next block who aren't technically in our neighborhood and who are bound to have different concerns, since they are not homeowners anyway?

"I think the boundary of the group is just fine."


I suddenly had great sympathy for people who go into public office. I'm sure most of them do it because they want to do good and help people (whatever their political views). And then, everyone is mad at you because you aren't doing things the way people think you should be and/or acting like you are purposely trying to ruin their lives by trying to do right by everyone.


To be fair, those quotes above came from just a small handful of well-meaning friends, none of them mad at me. But every single not 100% approving comment or suggestion gets under my (as I have admitted, very, very thin) skin and tortures me. I feel as if the person is mad at me. As if EVERYONE is mad at me. 


And then I just want to hide.

Optimizers in the age of the Internet

This is and XKCD comic related to some posts a while back about Optimizers vs. Satisficers. Thanks to Dr. Jay for passing it on!

Showing Up vs. Getting Out There

I have lived in a number of places. And, sooner or later, I always make friends. It goes along with my belief that no matter where you live, you can find the great things, the great people, the great foods, the great festivals, that make that place special and that you can love.


This is how I make friends: I show up. 


It doesn't always work. I showed up every week to ballroom dance class in Austin, TX: no friends. I showed up every week to story time at the library in Cleveland, OH: no friends. I showed up every week to Playgroup for Kids Born in 2006 in Syracuse, NY: no friends. 


But usually it works. I show up to school. I show up to work. I show up to class. I show up to Prenatal Pilates. I show up to Baby and Me. I show up to preschool birthday parties. I show up to school volunteer meetings. I show up. I show up. I show up. And, eventually, I make some really, really, really awesome friends. 


This, to me, is "getting out there." 


Now, I am not a leader. I am much better sitting to the side, watching, helping, doing whatever is asked. Going above and beyond as much as possible, but never being the place where the buck stops. 


Another thing about me is that I often have these ideas. Some are big ideas. Some are ideas for other people. But I think about them for a few days, sometimes intensely, at 4 am, then all day, too. And then, 93% of the time, I get over them; 5% of the time, I try to convince someone else to try them; and maybe 2% of the time, I try them. You know. If they're small. And not too ambitious.  


Taking care of little kids, which, for hours at a time can involve 90% of your hands but only about 10% of your brain, is an atmosphere where I can spend lots of time thinking up ideas I never get to try out. 


One part of The Happiness Project book is about pursuing the Big Ideas and also not being afraid to fail. Finding the fun in failure, she says. So this year, I have been trying to try these ideas that I get excited about, to see if they're any good or not. 


That's where this blog came in. And the February Bread Challenge. And my glass etching hobby. And the neighborhood group I'm trying to start. Trying these ideas are ways of pushing myself. I talked in another post about different kinds of pushing yourself. The blog and the glass etching challenge me within my comfort zone, while giving away bread and starting a neighborhood group throw me WAY out of my comfort zone. Way out. 


This is a new kind of getting out there. It goes beyond showing up. It is putting yourself right out there. In the street. With a sign around your neck. Naked. And yelling. At least, that's how it feels to me. 


And what I've learned so far is that 1) not all my ideas are good ones; and 2) putting myself out there makes me very, very, very uncomfortable.

The Bunny Poop Trilogy: The Final Chapter

The other night my husband was away, so my friend J invited the kids and me over for dinner. It was a lovely, unseasonably warm evening. We ate out on the porch, and several times, out the window, I saw my friend L ride by on her bike, doing laps around the block, training for a race. It was beautiful: nice weather, and the feeling of being (almost) surrounded by friends in a neighborhood. I was feeling like maybe everything (i.e., living in this city; raising my kids in this neighborhood) was going to be all right. After dinner we were going to go finally get the long-awaited and much-discussed bunny poop. 


So we drove over in L's truck, J, L, and I. The bunny lady met us in the garage. She introduced us to a foster bunny she was taking care of because he had the sniffles and couldn't be in the shelter. His name was, I think, Jupiter. She told us about a funny trip to Rite Aid to get him medicine, and how that was the first time anyone at Rite Aid had filled a prescription for a bunny.


So we all stood outside in the twilights and talked about the weather and birds and chickens and farms and stars, and then we each went home with a bag or two of manure to put on our gardens. I was really looking forward to adding it to my garden the next day. After the whole long bunny poop saga, with the bread, and the celiac disease, and the emails to the neighborhood group, and the neighbors with families to take care of, I thought I was finally reaching a happy ending. 


There I was. I dumped it out, spread it around and then quickly emailed L and J:

Just threw the contents of the bags on the garden. It's a little different than last year. Lots of hay and lots of bunny food and very little poop. After all the trouble this poop has caused me, I can't imagine why I would be surprised about this. Honestly. There were also a few other things like tootsie roll wrappers and cardboard tubes and twist ties. Then, just at the end, after I had spread it all over my beds, I found, I swear to god, a syringe. A syringe. Seriously?! SER-I-OUS-LY!!?? I mean, there was no needle on it. And it must have been from the bunny's meds, right? RIGHT?! But I just stood here starting at it. I mean, come on! A syringe has got to be one of the very last things, short of maybe a human hand, that you want to find in your garden. Please tell me you think this is from Jupiter's meds, and not, you know, anything else. 

Wtf! I give up.