Letting Go Challenge: Week One

I have way too much stuff. Stuff I don’t use, stuff I hold onto “just in case,” stuff taking up room in my home and in my life that I simply don’t have the inclination to allow any more.

Perhaps it was the change in weather (it actually feels like Fall in October in South Mississippi–this is a new experience for me), perhaps it is the  post-RA feeling of purpose and identity and organization I’ve found, perhaps it’s just being done with the old. Whatever it was, I’m grateful for it.

I have too much stuff.

I’ve mentioned that a friend is doing a “Min Challenge” (as in minimalism) via Instagram, a 30 day challenge that asks that she rid her house of 1 thing on the first day, 2 things on the second day, and so forth, until the 30th day of the month.

That’s waaaay too ambitious for me.  So I modified it.

My goal is to get rid of 21 things a week, which breaks down to 3 items per day.  I figure this is doable. By setting my target for the week rather than the month, I’m able to cover for days I can’t do much of anything.

So here goes:

For week One, I rid myself of a shirt and 2 pairs of shoes (not pictured, since I’ve already given them away) and these items:

  • a purse I won’t ever use
  • a stuffed cell phone
  • a pair of Mardi Gras beads
  • a 10 year service pin
  • 5 small spools of thread
  • dog collar
  • pair of shoes
  • 6 old phone books
  • flash light that doesn’t work (Yes, I tried new batteries)

The recyclable stuff will go out for recycling; the toy stuff will go to my niece and/or nephew. The stuff I can give away, I will, and the stuff I can’t, I’ll trash.

Some observations:

  • I had phone books from 2010. Crimey.
  • In the process, I’ve already found a couple of things that  I’m experiencing resistance to getting rid of. I put them aside and will deal with them later–I have plenty of stuff that can come before it. I asked myself, “Why am I holding onto it?” but I didn’t have an answer.
  • I had an interesting reaction to finding my Years of Service pin. Because I’m still working there, I’ll table that subject for another time.
  • I managed to get my overflowing “junk drawer” cleaned out. A HUGE accomplishment. It’ll be an even bigger accomplishment when I find homes for the stuff that isn’t actually junk.

So that’s it for this week. Anyone up for doing this challenge with me?

Fabulous Friday: Fabulosity Part 2 (Living with RA)

(This is a part of a multi-part series [the total number of entries I as of yet do not know] regarding the question, “How has your life gotten better since you were diagnosed with RA?” The first part can be found here.)

Way #3 I prioritize my time better.

Because I have only so much time, and have only so much energy,  I have (as a result of mindfulness), have become much more attentive as to how I spend my time.

Before RA, I would have won an award for the World’s Best Procrastinator. I’m pretty sure I have a statue somewhere in my notebook-shrouded office. I procrastinated with everything, not just the things I didn’t like to do.  I’d spend time willy-nilly, mostly as an escape from a to-do list, as if I had an unlimited supply of time, and then scratch my head when stuff didn’t get done.

Now, I set goals both weekly and daily. I may not hit them (I usually don’t hit them), but I can see where I fell short.

The two best organizational tools for me have been a monthly organizer and a two-columned stenographer’s notebook.

The organizer is slightly-larger than notebook sized, and I put my doctor’s appointments, meetings, etc.  I also track my bills with it, listing in the side-column all of my monthly bills, and I check them off as I pay them. In the “daily” column for each day, I write the amount I paid and the confirmation number since I pay all of my bills online.  If there’s ever a problem, I can retrieve the information.

I also use it to make notes like, “Call So-and-So” on Friday, “Dinner with So-And-So” on Saturday. Things like that. Because my memory IS a sieve, and I will have every intention of meeting someone or calling someone, but unless I “schedule it,” I won’t remember.

Sometimes I forget to write them in, but I have done much better with “remembering” since I started adding to the organizer.

The second tool I use is the stenographer’s pad. This is probably THE most important thing to keep me on track, and I only started using this about a month ago.

Every Sunday, I spend about 20 minutes planning my goals for the week.  I am both focused on time and activity.

What are the things I want most to get accomplished this week in different categories? For cleaning, it may be cleaning the blinds. For writing, it is “book progress,” blogging, making quotation images. Even catching up on emails that I’ve put off for too long.

How much time do I want to spend on housework?  Well, the answer is none, honestly, but I’ve schedule 240 minutes (an average of 40/minutes a day). What’s my goal for the book? For blogging? For exercising?

I break those things down into 20 minute increments (which can be halved if need be), and do one thing at a time.  As I go along, I’ve needed to tweak things, add things.  For example, I “schedule” meditation and dog time so that I won’t forget them. Plus, I can, you know, make that check mark that I so dig.

Here’s the thing: I almost never make my goals, falling short in almost all of the categories.  Flares happen, exhaustion happens, deciding to go somewhere happens, getting caught up in re-watching Better Call Saul happens.  Too much reading happens.

But at the end of the week, I look at how close I came to meeting the goals and list reasons why I didn’t make it.  What where the areas that fell shortest? What were the areas that came closest to meeting the goals?

Was how I spent my time worth not accomplishing my goals?

Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn’t.  And sometimes things are entirely out of my control.

I still procrastinate. I still move slowly. My house is nowhere near as clean as I wish it to be.

But I’m accountable, and that’s a start. And I don’t think of it as “failure” when I repeatedly don’t meet my goals.  It’s still a hell of a lot more than I did before I started making them, and I’m making progress toward meeting them.

And, in a bit of unexpected irony, as soon as I typed “things are entirely out of my control,” I had discovered that I had locked myself out of my house.  Which, as I’m waiting for someone to come and let me in, I’ll get to the next way my life has gotten better.

I LOVE my new back door and the doggy-door with it.  A friend promised me that a doggy-door would change my life. It has. It really has. I can schedule appointments or run errands after work without having to worry about the pup busting a pipe.  It’s probably changed my neighbors’ life as well: sometimes I forget to close it before dragging my ass to bed.

I do try to do better. But onto the next thing:

Way #4 I’m a lot less stressed overall.

Sure, I have those moments when I get frustrated, panicked, and scared, but they seem to be far more fleeting than they used to be.

With RA, I’ve found that if I stress out, I pay for it doubly. Not just the stress of the moment (and the aftermath of things left undone while tweaking in my stress), but afterwards. For me, stress is a major trigger for a flare.

Funny enough, when I first made the connection, things got worse (way, way, way) worse before they got better. Apparently everyone has different triggers for flares–flares being  acute episodes of inflammation and pain (thanks www.arthritis.org for the definition).  According to some self-reporters, different things cause flares for  people. For some folks, it’s sugar or dairy, for others, it’s gluten or red meat or infection or a host of a thousand other things that they know of.

The only thing so far–for me– I’ve been able to definitely connect to a flare-up is stress.

And when you know stress will make things worse (which, after a point, it always does, inflammatory disease or not), and you’re stressing cause you can’t get your stress under control, which is making you stress more because the end result will be harsher…it’s a cycle that won’t end without outside interruption.

So I meditate. Very short periods (I have gone beyond monkey-mind, I think–my “monkey mind” is more akin to a Mexican jumping bean on meth.), but consistently.   And things are seeming to arrange themselves in a way I didn’t actively plan.

But because I’m scheduling time–or at least blocking dedicated chunks of it to specific tasks–I’m getting more done, being accountable, and not beating myself up for what’s not done yet because I’ve made a sincere effort to accomplish things.

Overall, I’ve noticed that my stress has gone down overall because I’ve taken an “active” (as “active” as meditation and scheduling can be, I suppose) step toward lessening them.

And, for a chronic procrastinator,  that’s a huge step, with or without a cane.

Straight Outta NSFW

I do not want this blog to be about RA.  Not constantly, and not as its focus. I want it to be about writing and good stuff and chipotle and unrepentant cats. I currently have 86 drafts: half-finished (or barely started) posts about everything from current events (not so current since they’ve been stashed) to writing to celebratory stories of pure awesomesauce.

It’s a big, big world out there, and something is always happening.

If my writing delves into RA, which it is apparent that it will, I want it to be about the inner transformation that is possible because of it. What happens through RA it is far more important to me than what happens from it.

And so, I have started a list of ways that my life has changed for the better since my diagnosis. I am writing them to post over a few “Fabulous Fridays.” (The first of which is here.) I was officially diagnosed about 5 months ago. It is still new. Things are still unknown, still changing. I suppose they’ll always be changing, RA or not. Just when I thought I was becoming accustomed to this new life and comfortable in what I could expect, things change again, and I realize that I have no idea what to expect from life any more.

I’m living in the vast ocean of the unknown.

“46 & 2” was the song of the week. The one I needed to hear over and over and over. It’s the song of change, of transformation, of excising “what could’ve been.”

I’ve been crawling on my belly
Clearing out what could’ve been.
I’ve been wallowing in my own confused
And insecure delusions
For a piece to cross me over
Or a word to guide me in.
I wanna feel the changes coming down.
I wanna know what I’ve been hiding in

I spent many years digging through and picking scabs, believing that I must get to the root of “it,” the “whatever,” the root of the issue, the root of the problem, in order to burn it all away.

I’ve always been a “Why girl.” Why’s the sky blue? Why does my cat hate me? Why are people hypocrites? Why did this happen to me? To them? To us?

Something has happened, though, and I have either moved through this stage or I have found it’s no longer necessary. Not for everything, at any rate.  I no longer require a “why” in order to choose my “what’s next.”

It’s the difference between spending endless energy on pondering “Why is the sky blue?” and being more solutions-focused. “Okay, so the sky is blue. Is this something that needs to change? If so, what do I do about it? What can I do about it?”

When it comes to issues like dropping things, much like changing the color of the sky, there’s not a whole lot I can do about it, other than focus on getting replacing my dinner plates with plastic.

I’m still clearing out what could’ve been. Perhaps that’s part of my de-cluttering challenge. There are some things that “could’ve been,” but will not be. I’ve accepted that. There are other things that may yet still be, but cannot be right now.  Swimming with dolphins, for example. Or road trips.  I’ve accepted that as well.

As for my list, I’m going to go ahead and skip to the end. The last item on my list (saving the best for last and all that jazz) is, quite simply, I’m straight outta fucks to give.

What this means for me is that, if someone gives me the shifty eye because I’m on crutches or use my handicap parking tag, so be it. I’ll smile and keep on stepping. It means that if someone attempts to draw me into their drama, I’ll swing my London lilac-coiffed, steroid-inflated moon-head toward them and say, quite calmly, “Not my circus, not my monkeys.”

It also means that if I’m gonna have to use a cane, I’m going to have a rocking-as-fuck cane.

Rocking-as-fuck
Rocking-as-fuck Sun-and-moon-and-stars. I’ll just call her Khaleesi. 

What this means is that I’m not as accommodating as I used to be–I simply can’t be. It’s not that I have given up the notion of service or of kindness. My day job title is secretary; my self-styled job description is “Serving People Who Serve People,” and I’m fiercely proud to do so.

But I am learning my limits, and I’m learning a whole new kind of exchange rate. My energy is my currency, and I’m learning not to spend it haphazardly. Everything has an energy price-tag attached; everything has a price.

And, as I write this, I have a treble-flare: my feet, my jaw, my neck.

But I’ve gotten exactly what I wanted:

I wanna feel the change consume me,
Feel the outside turning in.
I wanna feel the metamorphosis and
Cleansing I’ve endured within

This is what change feels like. This is what the outside turning in feels like. This is the metamorphosis.

Change has never been painless for me. In order for change to occur, for movement to occur, something must be lost or killed or moved away from, and something else must be found or birthed or moved toward.

Change always involves loss.

This is a cleansing, a wiping away of all that is not necessary. It is liberating, and it is consuming.

Despite the steroids, I’m not angry. I know that I tend to use the word “fuck” quite a bit when I’m angry, but this more…something. Pure. Unadulterated. Fuckery. It is a bit frustrating at times, but it seems that my fury has burned away, destroying with it the false self, the petty little bullshit and concerns and distractions that left me listless and directionless and stole away my energy.

I am not angry. I am joyful. In a halle-fucking-lujah sort of way.

I AM fabulous-as-fuck.

I could be better–I could always be better, but right here, right now, I’m fabulous-as-fuck.

Thankyouveryfuckingmuch.

Credits:

  • Cat on Fence: My own cat who never had any fucks to give.
  • Cane: Nova Medical Products. Image from Amazon.
  • Lyric excerpts in italics from “46 & 2” from Tool’s album Ænima, copyright 1996. Lyrics found at  azlyrics.

Sunday Something: Adaptation and Letting Go

Two of the biggest lessons that RA is teaching me involve adaptation and letting go.

I’m not quite as good as either as I’d like.  For example, I’m still steaming about the fact that all week I’d been longing for chocolate ice cream and, braving rain and being unable to drive (Thank you, Driver!), I managed to make it through the grocery store, buying supplies to make several meals and sandwiches, only to find that my chocolate ice cream had magically become coffee and donuts ice cream.

Who makes such a thing? Who chooses such a thing?

I haven’t quite let go of the fact that I didn’t double check it before I put it in the cart (I swear, I was looking right at the chocolate!) nor have I adapted by even tasting it yet.

So there’s that.

A friend of mine is doing a 30-day minimalism challenge on Instagram. On the first day, she gets rid of one thing; the second two things, and so forth. At the end of the month, she’d be rid of a shit-ton of stuff. Four hundred and something, I think she said.

I’m too lazy to count them for specificity.

I wanted to do something like this.  I’ve been in the house for six years now, and I still have boxes I haven’t unpacked. I have tons of stuff I never use.

At any rate, that’s waaaaay too ambitious for me, and so I had to adapt it so that I’d at least have a chance at success.  My goal for the next four weeks is to get rid of 3 things per day. That seems far more doable, and I seem to work best in 3’s.  I can’t explain it. Maybe it’s a memory thing.  But because there are days that I may not be able to do anything, I’m going to make it simpler: 21 items/week.

It is simple in theory, but the truth is, I collect stuff. I don’t mean to. I just do. I hate throwing anything away.

Cause, you know, I’ll need it as soon as I throw or give it away (is has happened), or magically, I’ll drop 20 pounds and be able to fit in my old-favorite jeans again as soon as I donate them.

That hasn’t happened, by the way.

If all goes well,  I will have 84 fewer things in it that I’ll never, ever use.

Today, I found a shirt that doesn’t fit and 2 pairs of tennis shoes that I’ve given up on trying to wear.  Those I’ll donate at work tomorrow. I also found — in my garage while waiting for my ride to the grocery store–not one but 2 broken coffee pots. In my junk drawer, I found a set of Mardi Gras beads that some of the beads have come off.

So that’s 5 things so far.  Sixteen more to go this week.

It’s a start. Here’s to a simpler life.

Have you ever done a de-cluttering challenge?  If so, how’d it work out?

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