Tag: Writing a Book

This is a writing accountability blog. I have committed to publishing a book by March, 2024. I invite you on the journey as I plough through the internal and external obstacles I face. As the great Bette David loosely said in the movie “All About Eve.” “Buckle your seatbelts. It’s (likely) going to be a bumpy (ride.)”

Mouths of Babes

I remember I liked going to church to hear “Jesus stories.” Jesus sounded like a nice man. And I liked that he seemed to get children. Or he didn’t want to see them suffer. Something like that.

Our elderly neighbor dear Reverend Oakley was always kind and approving of us kids, especially after we came home from Sunday School. I figured he was probably a good friend of that Jesus guy, too. Nice men tend to hang out with nice men.

Rev. Oakley was a war veteran and had a wooden leg. He let us knock our little fists on it and showed us the lower part. Rev. Oakley must have been very brave when he was a soldier.

I remember I loved singing in Sunday School. A favorite was Jesus Loves Me.

So I didn’t quite get my mother’s reaction when one Sunday after church, my sister and I pitched into an enthusiastic rendition of Jesus Loves Me for Rev. Oakley’s exclusive entertainment.

‘Jesus loves me, This I know, ‘Cause Old Oakley told me so” … We went on, “Little ones to him belong, They are weak and he is strong, “YEESSSS, Jesus loves me. YEESSSS, Jesus loves me, YEESSSS, Jesus loves me and then sotto voce and reverentially, of course, “Old Oakley told me so.”

It may have been my Uncle Scott’s fault.

He was a lovely man with a dry wit and frequently took it upon himself to teach us nursery rhymes.

A favorite went like this:

“Spider, spider on the wall, Have you got no brains at all? Can’t you see that wall is plastered. Get off that wall you stupid …… spider.”

Mom would “tsk, tsk” and my father would growl faintly and disapprovingly under his breath. My sister and I could not have been more proud than when we are finally able – word for word – to recite the whole spider poem that Uncle Scott had taught us. Uncle Scott was the best.

I long for the days of innocent wordplay. They seem unlikely to come again. Back then, there seemed to be respect for words and their power. To inform, to entertain, to amuse, or to confound. They were still largely innocent. At least they were to us kids who took such delight. in learning and reciting them. Which is silly to say, of course, because we were the innocents. We weren’t old enough to realize words could be weapons.

Memorizing poems used to be a thing in school. My mother used to recite countless poems verbatim. Such were the mandatories of her education. The Highwayman. The Charge of the Light Brigade. Others whose names have now escaped my memory.

For fun as teenagers, a bunch of us would sit around the living room with Ogden Nash books and read one or more of his poems at a time. Each poem was more humorous and delightful than the next.

Sounds archaic, doesn’t it? Today teenagers sit together anywhere and converse via texts. Language has been stripped down to its’ barest of bare bones. Which is a kind of code for decimation.

Perhaps that is why I cleave to my tale-telling posts. To defend the honor of words. To protect them from oblivion. To gently reminisce about Old Reverend Oakley and dear Uncle Scott.

Thankfully in holding up words, I am not alone in this undertaking. What will the world ever do if all the writers are gone?

Tadpoles and Fireflies

Chasing tadpoles was a great way to spend time on weekends when I was a little girl. Armed with rinsed-out peanut butter bottles with holes in the lid, we’d head for the ponds near the railroad track to collect them.

I don’t think we gave much thought to what we would do with the tadpoles once we caught them. They were fun to watch swimming around in the jars. It was fun to contemplate that those little squirmy black things would one day become frogs. Of course, none of our tadpoles ever did.

There is wonder to be found in the fragility of nature. On other expeditions, we would sit quietly at night watching and then capturing fireflies in our trusty peanut butter jars.

I know now there was something in those activities about chasing and holding on to wonder. As much as I know now about phosphorescence, it never fails to amaze me. As the captive fireflies blinked on and off in their glass prisons, I was sure as a kid they were speaking directly to me if I could but interpret their messages.

The mind of a child isn’t particularly logical. That is both its blessing and its curse. In a freeform brain still unmodified by life’s harsher realizations and realities, a child can imagine damn near anything. And does. The best children’s authors know that and taper their stories to that malleable world of dreams and imaginings. I envy children’s authors for that ability. And they seem to have a lot of fun in the mix.

My friend Canadian Sheree Fitch has published dozens of children’s books It is hard to say what is more delightful and pleasing to the senses: the words or the pictures.

Parenting allows us to revisit the world of childhood which most of us lost touch with somewhere around our transition into puberty. In the course of reading bedtime stories to my children, favorite storylines and characters inevitably emerged. Watching children’s movies with kids transports us back to what was important about that time in our own lives.

Children seek structure and consistency and certainty. The best stories provide that or focus on seeking it out. There is a lot of gratuitous violence in children’s stories. Some academics say that is because childhood is full of nightmares for children. Children are largely powerless and have little to no control over what goes on around them.

I have read that is why the Harry Potter series has been so wildly popular. J.K. Rowling imbued young Harry with qualities and characteristics children long for. He was odd and longed to fit in. He had powers that could only be accessed through rigorous training. He made strong friendships with other weird and different kids like him. From a difficult beginning, Harry Potter took control of his own power and destiny.

That’s an easy sell to kids trying to sort themselves out as they grow up and experimenting with where their powers will lead them in adulthood.

In one of my unversity yearbooks, each faculty’s title page portrayed silhouetted adult graduates as children. On the Law page, a young boy no older than nine wore the black robe and white tabs of a future attorney holding a weighty tome in his little hands. The Engineering faculty was portrayed by a little girl of about seven years old who wore a hard hat and dungarees and held a slide rule and blueprints.

If I have grandchildren one day, I hope to help them explore the world around them beyond the world of bits, bytes, and WhatsApp. I want them to feel confident to test their own part in the world around them. We’ll bake cookies so they will know the magic of making their own creations. We’ll spend more time playing cards and puzzles and board games instead of in front of the television. We’ll wander in nature to encourage their appreciation of the world around them. we might even camp out and make S’mores over a campfire. That will be the greatest act of love. I detest S’mores.

And who knows? We may even find some tadpoles to collect and take home. We may talk about their dreams to become biologists or veterinarians one day. Childhood should be a time of dreams and wonder. In these fragmented times, dreams and wonder that can one day be put into action is needed now even more than ever before.

Things I Think About

What are people going to do in the future with all the digital pictures they take?

Will everyone keep all of their old photos? If so, where will they store them?

What will happen if people come across their grandparents’ old love letters and can’t read cursive?

When will the number of available bytes of storage in the world stop growing? Is there an endpoint?

What will humans do when AI can do everything? (I am not the only one asking that question.)

Will the internet ever crash? What will we do if it does?

When will we actually be able to attend “feelies” – Aldous Huxley’s concept in Brave New World – where feelings are transmitted through the arms of movie chairs?

Is Soma already available by some other name?

Will all world religions one day realize they are all basically saying the same thing and meld into a single world religion in the interest of peace?

Would that single-world religion eliminate religious wars?

Will men and women ever fully appreciate their value to each other and act accordingly?

Will people ever be judged first for what is inside of them and not for what they project on the outside?

Why are people judged more favorably for the amount of money they accumulate instead of the good they do with the money they have?

Will movies ever revert back to producing captivating stories instead of just blowing things up?

Will humanitarianism one day be regarded as a strength and not a weakness?

Why do humans seem to prefer living on the brink of disaster instead of changing how they live to avoid disaster in the first place?

Why are there so many preventable tragedies in the world? What would it take to stop them?

Dream Scenario

Busy! Only natural from time to time but busy still needs to be managed. The last month has been super busy and I’m feeling it. Physically and psychologically. We’ve all been there.

A daughter’s recent ten-day visit (VERY busy, but great in every other way). A pending house purchase. Medical maintenance to attend to. Writing a book. Daily dealing with both the necessaries and nice-to-haves in life. This blog.

When someone else had agency over my daily schedule, daily life was somehow easier. Easier as the priorities were clear. Nothing else got done while the demands of the job had dibs on my time.

I eventually came to realize there was a frustrating paradox. When I had time, I had no money. And when I had money, I had no time. Now, at least, I have sufficient time and money to cover my needs without stressing over the lack of one or the other.

So, now what do I do? The dilemma of spending time is actually no less intense. The shift in priorities has moved away from what I need and must do every day. Now I get to decide what I want to do after I have done what I still need to do. Life is tricky like that. It doesn’t ease up the “to-do” list significantly until and unless we decide it does. I actually like keeping busy.

Retirement from a paid job must be a total buzzkill for workaholics. I am sure they could find other ways to use their time and energy. I have seen many people who derived their entire identity and sense of self from their work. It is their entire raison d’etre. Too many times I saw situations where the work went away and, shortly afterward, so did they. Post-retirement deaths seemed endemic for a while.

I often think slowing down for workaholics is similar to having a toxic tsunami overtake them when they cannot distract their minds from busy work any longer. Workaholism is an addiction for many, they are trying to fill an unfillable hole inside themselves. They can’t seem to face the void or heal the pain and start to break down. Sometimes fatally.

So I deliberately wove in pleasurable activities and pursued other interests even while I was working. Now that I am out from behind the paywall, other activities feed my mind and my soul. One day it might be cracking open a new book. It could also be a bike ride around the neighborhood just to get out to get fresh air and sunshine. I have always enjoyed remodeling and interior decoration.

On days when I am feeling committed and energetic, I go to the gym. I am aiming for that sweet spot where “working out” is more a rewarding activity than a chore. That said, my approach to physical exercise can be all wrong. I jump in with great enthusiasm. I take on every machine by creating an intense series of reps and sets – all of which is highly illogical for a self-described couch potato.

I then kvetch as my muscles hurl obscenities at me for the next three to four days. I swear I actually hear them laughing at me as I toy with the idea of visiting the machines again any time soon. I don’t blame them. I collapse in defeat not long afterward and have to ramp myself up again psychologically to go anywhere near the gym at all. I believe the situation I am describing is called “self-defeating.”

I strive daily for that elusive sweet spot of balance. Not too much of anything. Everything in moderation. Honing my vision and energy in on a few important tasks a day instead of a baker’s dozen. I do better some days than others. It has helped that my definition of success and happiness has evolved.

I derive more pleasure some days by just sitting. Or staring at a lovely landscape off in the distance. Maybe thinking about stuff. Maybe not.

When I contrast these halcyon days with the mad days of busy work fuelled by endless ambition, I breathe a deep sigh of relief. I am happy I do not have to choose not to live like that anymore.

It is a gift I realize is not automatically afforded to everyone. I luxuriate these days in having a hot cup of tea, a new book, and sitting in a comfy chair by a picture window with nothing urgent to do. That is my very definition of living a dream scenario.

Another Street

It has taken me my whole life to learn the simple lessons in this powerful poem. I refer back to it frequently. It is something of a guidepost that I use to check in on when there is chaos and drama in my life. It helps me sort out my part from the part being played by others or external forces. Hope you find it as helpful as I have.

An Autobiography in Five Chapters
by Portia Nelson

Chapter 1
I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I fall in. I am lost….I am helpless.
It isn’t my fault.
It takes forever to find a way out.

Chapter 2
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don’t see it. I fall in again.
I can’t believe I am in the same place.
But it isn’t my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.

Chapter 3
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I fall in….it’s a habit…but my eyes are open.
I know where I am. It is my fault.
I get out immediately.

Chapter 4
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.

Chapter 5
I walk down a different street.

Lived Experience

Does anyone else have the same problem I have? I am dumbstruck by the number of people who have lived and died on Planet Earth. Neil deGrasse Tyson says approximately 10,000,000,000 (that’s 10 billion for those of you who, like me, are numerically challenged.) Given the world population is hovering around 7 billion. or so, that represents some intense population growth in the past couple of hundred years.

All we can ever know of people who went before us are what we hear about them or stories we read about them. We make huge assumptions about who they were based on hearsay and material artifacts and what people of an earlier time wrote. Our imagination of the lives of our forebears is largely apocryphal.

Understanding how others live today is a lot like that, too. We make assumptions about people that are based on scant and usually superficial information. Or more likely, curated information. I have seen resumes that are the greatest works of fiction ever published. Scandal du jour joker and “alleged” felon George Santos is only the most recent public offender.

I often wonder what daily life must have been like in the old days. Television and movies are great for filling in holes in our imagination. In movies and on TV, we are served curated scenarios that allow us to imagine the lives and lifestyles of those who lived long before we did or very differently. And in astonishing variety. Courtiers, family farmers, aristocrats, or maybe the occasional itinerant pastor who roamed the countryside with his horse and buggy spreading the word of the lord.

What fascinates me are the assumptions we make from what we observe. We can only speculate what is going on intellectually or emotionally inside other people. Past and present. I sometimes feel this frustration watching Holocaust footage. It is not only what you see, that is horrifying, but what you can’t see. Broken, skeletal, barely-clinging-to-life bodies twisted in pain convey some of their reality. But not everything.

One can only imagine the terror and humiliation of young Jewish females shaved bald and stripped naked before being paraded in front of leering Nazi camp guards. What must those young women have been thinking? What questions must they have asked themselves? What panicky racing thoughts did they have? Was their imminent demise clear in their minds or were they actually lulled into the delusion of the gas chambers as showers?

In the Steven Spielberg movie Schindler’s List, there is a particularly poignant scene – among many – where an elegant and clearly wealthy young woman disembarks from one of the trains at a camp. She dismissively gives a healthy handful of Reichsmarks as a tip. Her Jewish compatriot is already wearing the trademark black and grey striped pajamas and humbly takes away her bag. We have only the sad look on his pained face by which to gauge his reaction.

I do not understand evil very well. I do not understand what causes a teenager to walk into a building full of precious human beings with a semi-automatic weapon and deliberately start spraying bullets. Worse, I do not understand how a creature like Alex Jones who identifies as a “broadcaster” could consistently call the Sandy Hook massacre of innocent children a hoax, let alone have anyone believe him. I cannot imagine being a bereaved parent of a child victim futilely defending against that level of evil insanity. Those parents were bullied by people who believed Jones! I often wonder how those parents have made sense of their lives.

The only explanation I can come up with is that when nature is out of balance, life goes out of balance. We are a society wildly out of balance. Important institutions that were nurseries for human souls like communities or churches or extended families and even steady consistent parenting or any kind of certainty have broken down. Combining that with the information overload of our current epoch and mass breakdown was all but certain.

How is anyone supposed to internalize enough sense of self to navigate the exceptionally murky water and future that is presented to young people today? My daughter tells me that is why “mid-century” chic is so popular. People are looking backward more than forward. She also says it is why young people spend sinful amounts of money on gaudy self-care such as colored hair and three-inch acrylic nails. It is a world of “Why not?” and “What does it matter?” It is also a world of addiction. a teen suicide epidemic, easy divorces. All are indicative of a nationwide – even global – and communal loss of direction and purpose.

All of this external frazzle puts the onus back on us to create a better way of being for ourselves and our loved ones. Find a healthy and productive path and walk it with like-minded individuals who want to live better, richer, saner lives. I have a mountaineer friend who cured her booze addiction by climbing on rock and ice faces. I saw many brave if tremulous individuals surrender their to take the white chip in AA meetings as a first step toward sobriety. I know single mothers who go without to give their children everything they can give them.

Pain and obstacles are part of life. But so are joy and love. At an earlier time and maybe still in some places in the world, the interwebs of love in which people live function well enough to hold communities and each other together.

It wasn’t so long ago that a sense of community was widespread and dependable. Not without their own issues or problems to be sure. Where they don’t exist today, it behooves us to keep our counsel and to keep looking for one or create one that works for us.

Playing The Long Game

Many people are searching for “the meaning of life.” It is the biggest of all mysteries. The big question seeks an answer: “Why are we here?” Ultimately solving that mystery comes down to finding an answer that makes sense to us. We learn what matters to us by how we spend our days and find meaning in doing what we love. Spending time in a way that generates consistent rewards and satisfaction is our challenge and life’s work.

Each day, most of us get up, make coffee, pull out our daily “to-do” lists, and saddle up. I used to moan about going to jobs I didn’t like until I came across this reframing: “We don’t have to do this. We GET to do it.”

I learned that every menial, boring, petty job I had prepared me for something else. I was a demonstrator at Walmart as a teenager. I showed the public the great merits of Duralex glasses, spray-on shoeshine, and mandoline food slicers.

I learned the fine art of “salespersonship/manipulation.” I was taught to make a small pyramid out of 8-ounce Duralex drinking glasses. I’d put them in a stiff cardboard box with four sides: three glasses at the bottom, then two, with one on top. Sort of like a teeny-tiny cheerleading squad formation.

I would hand customers a soft rubber ball inviting them to “knock the pyramid down” “to prove their durability. “See?” I would chortle. “They are unbreakable,” Except when they weren’t. One or more of the glasses might shatter and occasionally they did break into little pieces. I would quickly dive in with my backup pitch.

“See? They do not break into shards like ordinary glass. They shatter into small pieces. Like a car windshield. They are so much safer than other glasses. Imagine how they would protect your family? Especially the little ones?” Duralex glasses flew off the shelf. No one wants their precious babies getting nasty and preventable cuts.

It took years to accept what humility has taught me. There were many jobs I took but I felt were “beneath me.” Some were. And others underutilized my capabilities. I eventually learned “How you do anything is how you do everything.”

Human resources types generally like to see a seamless work history with few gaps in a resume, for example. Employers are wary of workforce-age adults taking any more than two weeks a year out from employment to pursue something “frivolous” like travel. Any gap during my working years was judged as suspicious.

I worked for a manager in the federal government who had joined its ranks at 17 years old. He signed up right out of high school and had no post-secondary education. He never traveled farther away than his nearby cottage.

He took no courses except those that were necessary to keep up his job skills. He retired in his mid-50s with a full government pension and then got himself rehired as a consultant at an exorbitant daily rate. Double dipping it is called. Good planning I call it.

I know me and doubt I could have taken that route even if the opportunity had been presented. The term soul-crushing exists for a reason. I look back with gratitude at the many breaks and deviations from my work path. I wrote stories and sometimes they paid for my trip. My writing credentials got me into high-ticket conferences for free. I was exposed to great learning and then got paid for it. That was sweet.

I have landed in a place of security and stability and age-appropriate adventure. Travel was always worth it. Wise people advise you to focus on cultivating relationships with your friends and family as you live your life. At the end, they are what really matters.

The career, the fancy job titles, and the status and prestige may all dry up and blow away. Then you are left with only yourself and with your loved ones. If you are lucky.

So if your workstyle is Type A, overachieving, or workaholic, sit down and have a little chat with yourself and maybe ask why. Those sales stats and successful cases aren’t going to bring you a cup of tea when it most matters. Somewhere along the way, I feel I was lucky enough to have learned that.

Relying on “work” to stick with you for the duration isn’t realistic to count on. I think I started to learn that right around the time I learned the duplicitous claims of Duralex glasses “unbreakability.” The other claim I have refuted is that a secure if soul-deadening, nine-to-five job is the best path for everyone. If I hadn’t taken that dumb job at Walmart, I wouldn’t have had this story to tell.

I’ll Be Brief

I aim to write a 2-3 minute blog post every day. And for most of the past 65 days, I have. Sometimes four minutes long which I consider excessive. I ain’t all that. I love that what I write sometimes surprises me. Like chasing a rabbit down a hole and finding yourself having a delicious and carefully prepared tea with some interesting characters.

As I consider how to approach this piece you are reading, I am reminded of a quote attributed to various literary luminaries. Often believed to be from Mark Twain but it was really Blaise Pascal: “I’m sorry that this was such a long lett­er, but I didn’t have time to write you a short one.” 

We faceless bureaucrats often changed the text of that original quote to throw in politicians’ speeches for the laugh: “I am sorry I am giving such a long speech. I didn’t have time to write a short one.”

Today’s blog length is a deliberate choice. A short blog so I can focus on other writing. So I can organize some things I have been letting slip to the back burner.

One of those back-burner issues is taxes. I have about a month’s leeway on submitting everything with no taxes to pay. But I need the accursed annual nuisance off my plate.

The laundry needs folding. The fridge needs offloading. Mail must be posted. Unsuitable items must be returned to merchants. So today, and for most of tomorrow, I am going to focus on those.

I will see what new things the world has to show me and what insight or amusement I can gain from them. My car is stocked with a bottle of birdseed in case I see some compatriot Canada Geese looking for grub. It is always a pleasant activity to watch them gobbling up corn and sunflower seeds.

And yes, I almost forgot. We bought a new house. Closes in about three weeks. Now there is a major distraction if ever there was one.

There will no doubt be more to say about that acquisition. I am in the giddy-overwhelmed stage where we have to check all the boxes before closing and then actually move. If I survive, I shall let you know how it goes.

Meanwhile, if this blog post is more than a minute, I will hang a picture of myself on the WordPress Wall of Shame. Surely there must be such a thing.

Live and Let Live

“I think books are like people, in the sense that they’ll turn up in your life when you most need them. After my father died, the book that sort of saved my life was Gabriel García Márquez’s novel One Hundred Years of Solitude. Because of that experience, I firmly believe there are books whose greatness actually enables you to live, to do something. And sometimes, human beings need story and narrative more than they need nourishment and food.”— Emma Thompson in @oprah’s O Magazine.

I have a whole book I want to write about this phenomenon. Books and messages show up when you most need them. It is a real thing.

I want to write a book that is an homage to the many self-help geniuses who emerged in the middle of my life as I was facing different challenges. I was a single parent of two babies. Their father turned out to be financially and emotionally inadequate. My family had utterly let me down and abandoned me.

But my book coaches tell me I am not yet well-enough known to succeed at that type of “healing anthology.” Success in their view, understandably, means how many books will fly off the shelf. More sales, more profit. Duh.

I am really glad I am out from behind the paywall. I get to write whatever I want within the realms of good taste and what I hope is, readability. I don’t much give a care about that really. I mean, it is impossible to know what will strike other people’s fancy. I am mostly here to develop my own writing voice and to find out what I really think and feel about things.

So I have had the exact same relationship with books that Emma Thompson refers to. At the very moment guidance is needed, a book popped up in my life to comfort me or provide insight or help me find a resolution. For a girl that felt pretty odd and alone for much of her life, those books were nothing short of lifesavers.

I remember with fondness and some amusement the book The Dance of Anger by Dr. Harriet Lerner. Her book nailed and accurately described problem-solving in troubled families. Instead of tackling and working on issues to resolve them together, raising issues in many families just causes resistance and more turmoil.

The book jacket blurb puts it this way: “Anger is a signal and one worth listening to,” writes Dr. Harriet Lerner. While anger deserves our attention and respect, women still learn to silence their anger, deny it entirely, or vent it in a way that leaves them feeling helpless and powerless. In this engaging and eminently wise book, Dr. Lerner teaches both women and men to identify the true sources of anger and to use it as a powerful vehicle for creating lasting change.”

Did that ever speak to me. People bring up a difficult topic. Feelings get hurt. People hurl insults and blame at each other. The conversation you wanted to have escalates and before you know it, slam. Someone has headed out the door in a swath of anger. The issue – whatever it was – gets left on the floor abandoned and is ignored yet again. Nothing changes. The issue continues to fester.

When I first read Lerner’s book, I fairly danced with excitement. She gets it! Here is a way out of this horrible pattern! This will bring us all closer to each other! I rushed out to the local bookstore and immediately bought three more copies. One for my mother and one for each of my sisters.

Gathered around my kitchen table that evening, I gave my elevator pitch on the book. Why it was helpful to me. How it could help us.”If we all read it,” I reasoned, naively, “We could work at making our relationships better.”

My youngest sister picked up her copy. Glancing at the back cover, she curled her lip in disdain and threw the book down on the table: “You and your psychobabble.”

Yes, well, okay. That did not work. No one will likely be surprised that I have been estranged from her for decades and the relationship is unlikely to right itself in this lifetime.

Author Jeff Brown (https://www.jeffbrown.co) recently posted about a likely reality we need to accept if we have chosen a healing path. Not everyone feels the need to heal. Not everyone has the capacity to face up to their pain and demons. There is wisdom in the German saying made famous in the movie, Cabaret. “Leben und leben lassen.” “Live and let live.”

The choice to stay where you are and not grow is a choice everyone can make. What we don’t have to do is stay there with them or engage with them any longer. That single decision has made my life a much more peaceful and pleasant place to live. Considerably less drama and accumulated emotional clutter.

Fuggedaboutit

I hate being fooled. Or conned. Or realizing someone has tried “to put one over on me.” Whatever that means. I realize everyone has to make a living. But how they make that living is important.

A solar salesman called me today. He is the Texas-based boss of the local solar salesman that we put off last week. No reason to put him off except we are overburdened by other projects and not eager to take on a new one at the minute.

Did that deter them from reaching out to us again after we had already firmly and politely put them off once?

Of course not. Before he could ask me another leading question about how they might make the terms more agreeable and entice us to move forward, I calmly and firmly told him no appeal would work or be tolerated. we had already said no. If/when we decided to proceed and not a minute before, we would be in touch. If he did contact us again, his company would be relegated to our waste bin should we ever decide to proceed with solar. Thank you and goodbye.

I was a consumer reporter on television. The complaints that came into my email were often consumers telling me a salesman caught them at a weak moment. They had signed on to some service or subscription that they really didn’t want and seriously could not afford. This angered me. I have no time for the questionable ethics of “salespeople” who make their living on the backs of others’ weaknesses or vulnerabilities.

I have a particular soft spot for women in this regard. Women are financially disadvantaged compared to men. Not individually, but collectively. I have a particular disdain for pressure on women to be constantly “cooperative” or “nice.” It costs them.

Women regularly denigrate their own needs to keep peace and make others happy. I used to do this a lot. I don’t do it so much anymore. The scales of plenty tipped largely in other people’s favor. Not only was I not rewarded for my acquiesence, I was not given any credit for the opportunity my acquiesence created for them.

Learning boundaries should be a pretty normal part of any child’s upbringing. But it isn’t. Some children grow up with weak or non-existent boundaries and it makes life harder. Some have a very difficult time saying “no” to anyone or anything. Some go in the other direction and become difficult and unpleasant as a matter of course just to protect themselves from being taken advantage of. Neither way works out very well.

Finding out what I deeply care about and what matters most to me makes it easier for me to choose “what hill to die on.” What matters to me has changed over the course of my lifetime. It can change on the spot if I am forced to make choices among limited options. Hmm … Coke Zero or Diet root beer?? I’ll just take ice water, thanks.

Back in the day, I would go right to the wall for causes or issues I deeply believed in. I was a very junior social activist mostly devoted to social vanities or similarly lightweight issues. I overturned the “white shirts only” policy at our uniform-wearing high school. I got my first public taste of humility.

In a couple of years, the whole school dress code broke down and girls in their plain black tunics were wearing the most outrageous colors and styles resplendent with frills and lace and pouffy sleeves. Not sure that effort was worth it. But it did give me my first taste of “be careful what you wish for.”

The whole stress session dealing with the solar salesman today and then dealing with a couple of other external irritants like being overcharged without consultation got to me. For a little while. But the outrage I used to carry over seeming injustice has tempered now. I no longer go to any walls or leap any tall buildings when someone – deliberately or collaterally – annoys me.

I move on. I fuggedaboutit. Seems healthier all around for them and most especially for me.