September Reads, incluso un libro en español

On October 1, I completed the 50th book of 2020. A handful of those were DNFs (Did Not Finish), but the rest I read in their entirety.

On the Psychology of Meditation | Robert E. Ornstein & Claudio Narranjo (read September 1-12)

Inhale the fragrance of old books.

Our outgoing pastor invited my husband to his office to collect any books that he wanted. What a gift, right? Among many, he brought home this volume about meditation.

It’s an ongoing joke with one of my sisters and my therapist that I hate meditation but should really try it. (I did actually! This month I did a short video on YouTube from beloved Yoga with Adriene.) Often the first step I take when I’m trying to expose my mind to new ideas is to read about it. I want to know the experiences and science related to a new idea. Meditation was no exception.

This book was divided into two parts: “Meditation: Its Spirit and Techniques” and “The Techniques of Meditation and Their Implications for Modern Psychology.” The first half discusses the role of meditation in the major world religions (yes, even Christianity).

I would say the big concept I got from this book was that meditation is a process of letting go:

The practice in “letting go” that [the negative way] entails, in the sense of “surrendering to” or “allowing,” cannot be completely divorced from a letting go in another sense, which is the essence of the negative way: letting go of habits, preconceptions, and expectations; letting go of habits, preconceptions, and expectations; letting go of control and of the filtering mechanisms of ego.

page 75, emphasis mine

Earlier this year I read Welcoming the Unwelcome by Pema Chodron, and The Untethered Soul by Michael Singer, and I’d say this book formed a nice trio with those as background and guidance on letting go and living in the moment.

Jack Glass | Adam Roberts (read September 12-23)

Checking out books from the library has become like Christmas morning. You stop by and pick up your books in a paper bag –
it’s a gift every time.
(Note: Tidelands on the docket for October).

I read this book as part of a book club read for award-winning sci-fi and and fantasy. I will say, I’m not a science fiction fan generally. I do love the cover of this book, and strangely that is one thing that kept me motivated while reading. I was also very intrigued by the characters, particularly Jack Glass and Diana, and the story was so readable and frankly, enjoyable. The world building was solid but not overly extensive, and by the end I found myself actually siding with the murderer-main-character (not a spoiler). I read this both in hardback from the library and partially on Kindle. There was a good basis of philosophy sprinkled throughout the book, namely:

“The best analgesic for mental discomfort is work, of course.”

38% of the way through

This resonated with me because not only do I believe it to be true, but I think that might be one reason Americans are kind of known for being workaholics. When you look at the current state of affairs in the US, COVID-19 and social unrest has taken the giant Band-aid off of our collective “mental discomfort” and exposed the fact that we have a giant rug under which we sweep everything.

But taking a total view, death is the bell curve upon which the cosmos is balanced. Without it, nothing would work, everything would collapse, clogged and stagnant. Death is flow. It is the necessary lubrication of universal motion.

82% of the way through

This is also true. If there’s nothing else that all humankind participates in, it’s death. We all die; there’s no way around it. I found this quotation to be very comforting, as I started this book only a couple of week after my Nana passed away, and a couple weeks before RBG died. We need death, whether we want to or not. A very Stoic thing to bear in mind, for sure.

De qué hablo cuando hablo de correr | Haruki Murakami (leído el 24 de septiembre al primer de octubre)

A little rejected slice of the Seattle Public Library

Les hablo de este libro en español. Una de mis hermanas me mandó este libro hace meses, tal vez años. Es una traducción del japonés, y el estilo es muy conversacional. Me alegría de eso porque no he leído un libro espanol hace muchos años, y honestamente, no me apetecen muchos los libros españoles aunque tengo muchos estudios en español y su literatura.

Me gusto este libro porque se trata de ambos correr y escribir, dos activitidades que a mí me encantan. Me di cuenta que si, quiero ser autora, y ya soy autora. La verdad es que he sido autora a través de la vida mía.

Me gusta mucho leer de la vida de una persona que se convertió en escritor mas tarde en su vida, en los 30s. Trataba de leer este libro para disfrutarlo, no como un gran estudio del idioma español. No obstante, aprendí algunas frases y vocabulario nuevo.

Me dio satisfacción y ánimo para perseguir leer otros libros españoles.

Snap out of it

The world is at a fever pitch right now. Everything is heightened, stressed, tenuous, uncertain. Almost anything could be the straw that broke the camel’s back, as it were. Everyday I resist the urge to actively look for said straw. It’s tempting to fall into a feeling of hopelessness and live just for today.

I’ve had thoughts of “I can’t believe this is the world I’m living in” or “I don’t want to live in this particular world anymore.” Let me be clear: this is a thought of escapism that all humans are prone to, not one of suicidal ideation.

This thought usually comes to me at the strangest times while participating in the most mundane tasks: driving home from an uneventful grocery store trip. Sitting outside on the patio. During seriously normal things that I would be doing in any world at any time.

There are days that feel totally normal; at my school we’ve been back in the building for a week now. A week ago I was pretty nervous and unsure about it, and really having a moment saying goodbye to my home office and my furry work assistant (for now). As a person who is very easily distracted and needs a good solid block of quiet time to get good deep work done (Have you read Deep Work by Cal Newport?), I’ve curated a really cozy, quiet space at home.

It’s quite a change from when I began working from home in mid-March. I hated mixing work and home life. As soon as I walked in the door, the teacher persona came off and the regular Elizabeth returned, along with comfy clothes. But then I was Teacher and Regular Human Being in the same space. But as the time went on, it got easier and as it turns out, for me it was all a state of mind.

Being back in the building was actually nice. I was able to be in my classroom, making it quiet and cozy just like my office at home. I was able to interact with my students virtually and even get some really good deep work done.

Stepping out of my classroom after a long but good week of work, I looked at the blue sky and changing trees and realized that we have a little less than three full months left in 2020. There is a presidential election looming. Who knows what else could happen.

However, there was a salient moment when it all came together for me, and I return to this moment in my memory often. Usually I’m jolted awake by my alarm, but there was a day (probably a weekend morning) where I slowly woke up, first my mind woke up, then my eyes opened, and I found myself on one side of a very cozy Missy sandwich. She and Aaron were still fast asleep, and I just lay there, letting myself wake up, and realizing that this is what it’s all about – we’re healthy, safe, have curated a pretty nice life, actually, and we’re grateful for it.

Routines are hidden self-care

I have always thrived on routines. Though I held them with disdain as a child I know that children thrive on routines. It feels safe and comfortable to know what’s coming next in the day. The feeling of safety allows you to be more present in the current moment.

That said, shifting to a work-from-home play-at-home do-everything-at-home routine six months ago was not easy. It was touch-and-go for several weeks while we figured out what teaching might look like from home. I finally set up a proper office this summer, knowing that we were at least starting online. If anything, I imagine snow days will be a thing of the past – they could turn into online learning days. (Not sure how I feel about that quite yet…)

But now this week my routine changes again. I am willing myself to welcome my routine of driving to and from work. I am willing myself to welcome the routine of packing a lunch and leaving at a prescribed time. I am willing myself to think twice the night before and get everything as ready to go as possible for the morning, which are earlier for me than they ever have been.

When certain routines become more rigid, everything has to shift. Shower time shifts; bed time shifts. Wake-up time shifts. (I went without setting an alarm from March through August.) Planning meals and grocery shopping have to shift. Doing little chores as “brain breaks” throughout the day will have to shift.

But in the end, all these routines are good. They bring a sense of peace and normalcy in a very trying time. While I have been through many things in my life that have upended my routines, I welcome Routines in the Time of COVID.

On one hand, it feels selfish to engage in some of these routines, as they naturally diminish time I have to catch up with family or friends or volunteer for all the things. On the other hand, keeping certain routines sacred is necessary for my mental health. I know this time won’t last forever. At some point, fluidity will make its way back into my daily life.

As we enter into fall and winter with shorter days and cooler temperatures, into flu season and into more uncertainty about what regular life looks like, there are some routines I’m not going to budge on.

Coffee and reading before work. If this means I need to wake up two hours before I hit the road, so be it. I started this routine when I made a promise to myself to read more and have found it indispensable. (Check out my Goodreads shelf to the left.)

Physical fitness every day. Some days this looks like leisurely dog walks. Others it looks like yoga on the patio. Still other days will find me going for a run.

Cooking real food at home 95% of the time. So far, we’ve still been only ordering out once per week, usually pizza on Friday nights. I can’t not cook for an army of people, so there are always leftovers to heat up. Plus I gotta keep up my sourdough game… it was a little deflated this week if you know what I mean. Oh, I’m sorry, is my millenial showing?

Tea and reading before bed. I’ve been partial to Tulsi Turmeric Ginger with honey. So calming, earthy, and delicious.

These routines have proved to be a God-send as well as sustainable for the time going forward.

The Year of No Zero Days – Garden Edition

Disclaimer: This is not a tutorial. There are no “here are 5 steps to gardening.” Nope.

I came home one day from work (well, from actually being in the school building) and found a little green bean peeking out from the chicken wire I tried to nicely place around the garden bed. I felt such a childlike elation it made me think that I shouldn’t have waited so long to have a garden.

After all, we’ve been able to live in a single-family house for almost 10 years (“This is my own private domicile and I will not be harassed”). I’ve told myself I don’t have a green thumb, I can’t grow anything, etc etc. The truth is I’ve never made the time to have a garden.

I’ve been religiously, I mean religiously, following homesteading and gardening channels on YouTube (Garden Answer, Planterina, Simple Living Alaska, Elliot Homestead). It wasn’t until I actually made the decision to build a garden bed and tend to some late summer-early fall veggies that I realized that farming/homesteading is neither cheap nor not time-consuming.

After we built our patio, I used many reclaimed bricks left over to build a simple but rustic-looking garden bed, kind of raised, kind of built into a hill. I used two simple items – bricks and construction adhesive. Plus some leftover sand from the patio leveling adventure to put under the bottom layer. With ten bags of top soil later and a few trips to Home Depot, I ended up with this:

I knew I had to get this done no later than the first of August so I could plant a few veggies & herbs before it got too late. I think I finally planted everything the first full week of August.

This I considered the “soft opening” of my garden. I didn’t want to put too much pressure on myself, and I had waited too long for spring/summer crops.

Today I harvested the first green beans, organic Blue Lake variety. I vaguely remember picking beans when we had a small garden growing up, and I know how to snap them. We probably canned them.

I’m pumped. And I love this one-handled yellow colander I found at the thrift store. Like, it made my day to get in there and harvest the ones that were ready. I’m pretty sure I planted the seeds too close together because it’s a veritable jungle. But I have food that I grew myself.

I also have some Sumter cucumbers, carrots, and cilantro growing. I’m proud of the fact that I know my cilantro is now taking off because it’s getting cooler outside. And that it’s good to harvest a lot of things right before the frost because they’ll store more sugars. It’s a heck of a lot more than I knew a few weeks ago.

But then again, I’ve been wondering as I’ve taken so well to plants and gardening and working outside, how much of this inclination is genetic. After all, on my dad’s side of the family, we were farmers going all the way back to when my ancestors came across the ocean and settled in New York. Maybe it explains why I look lovingly on tall yellowing corn, or appreciate how the wind blows over the soybeans at the height of summer. Or how I get so damn excited to realize that even I can grow simple vegetables.