When I first started The
Year of Giving—in which I pledged to give something away every day for 365
days—my friend Carolyn said she’d never have the discipline to pull something
like that off. I didn’t necessarily understand what she meant by that; having
just been laid off, I was more worried about not having the resources to give.
But nearly three weeks in, I am beginning to see what
Carolyn meant by that. Doing anything every
day requires discipline. And coming up with something new to give away every
day requires imagination. Right now my day job is finding a new job—and it’s an
exhausting effort that also demands discipline and imagination. As it turns
out, each ambition—both giving and securing employment—feeds the other.
Day 13 of 365
As a yogini, I am a proselytizer of the worst kind. Wherever
I am, whomever I’m with, whatever I’m doing, if anyone mentions an ache or a
pain or a symptom, I pounce. “You know, yoga could help you with that.” I’ve
got one friend whom I’ve yet to convert. Linda is a writer who, like many
writers, suffers neck and shoulder pain from all that “computer asana” (as my
yoga teacher trainer Michelle Fleming of Sanctuary Studios calls it). So I gave
her my super-duper heating pad, the one made especially for the neck and
shoulders. I got it when I got rear-ended by a kid driving and texting at the
same time; the heating pad really helped my whiplash. But what cured the
whiplash was yoga—and I don’t really need that heating pad any more. She can
use it—until I get her back into the yoga studio.
Day 14 of 365
I finally took down my Christmas tree—and gave it to the
birds. I dragged it outside to the backyard, down by the lake. This year winter
has come late, and the unseasonably warm weather means more birds are out and
about than usual. The spruce makes great ground cover for them—and gives me
hours of bird-watching pleasure as well.
Day 15 of 365
My son Mikey has been home from college for the holidays. He
and his best buds have been hanging out at the house, eating everything in
sight and playing video games long into the night. We only have one television
in the house, a big flat-screen in the living room (I know, I know, to hear my
children talk, we’re practically Luddites). So I whipped up a huge platter of
pasta, baked a chocolate cake, and went to bed early so they could feast on
spaghetti, Game of Thrones reruns,
and the latest Call of Duty in peace
and privacy. In recognition of my sacrifice, Mikey proclaimed, “Whatever, Mom.”
Day 16 of 365
Some women collect jewelry. Some collect shoes. Me, I’m the
queen of the party dress. For a woman who goes to maybe three soirees worthy of
that moniker a year, I have way too many “dress-up” outfits. So I gave away a
few of my favorites, including the little black number with the plunging back
and the black velvet wrap scattered with deep red roses. I don’t need them, I
can count the times I’ve worn them on one hand…but I miss them already!
Day 17 of 365
A writer friend called me today to tell me all about a new opportunity
she has to debut her own weekly radio show. She wanted to brainstorm concepts,
so I listened to her ideas, helped her zero in on the best of them, and then
gave her what very writer needs most when pitching any new project: A Great
Title.
Day 18 of 365
One of my many New Year’s resolutions this year is to get a
handle on paperwork, once and for all. So I sat down and went through several
boxes of old bills, receipts, manuscripts, notes for future manuscripts, cards,
letters—you know the drill. Most of it I could just throw away, proving that
Napoleon, who supposedly opened his mail only once a year on the rationale that
most of it was obsolete anyway, may have had a point. But I did find a few
treasures in the piles of paper, including several postcards depicting famous
writers I had intended to pin to my bulletin board for inspiration. But I
decided to abandon that plan, and send them to my writer friends instead:
- Graham Greene to Hallie Ephron and Brian Thornton;
- Lillian Hellman to Susan Reynolds;
- Lawrence Durrell to John K. Waters,
- Pearl S. Buck to Hank Phillippi Ryan;
- James Joyce to Greg Bergman;
- Jamaica Kincaid to Judith Green.
To spread the inspiration around, as it were.
P.S. I kept
Colette for myself.
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