My Season of “Yes, and…No”

It’s that time of year where I look for a word to frame my outlook for the year ahead. This will be my twelfth time doing so—but the first where my word (or phrase, in this instance) is one I am already practicing in depth and hope to continue until the end of my days.

I mean—I’m so committed to it that I’m getting it tattooed on my weary, aging body. (Which made for a wonderful moment when I told my father-in-law that his Christmas gift money was going to finance my tattoos. I’ve never seen his face drop like that. It was like a bonus Christmas gift!)

As this year finds me at a loss in so many ways, the one thing that I feel solidly rooted in is that I am living my season of “yes, and…no.” What exactly does that mean? It means I am doing my best at living my life trying to say “yes” to the things I truly want—and “no” to the things I don’t. Sounds decadently selfish, doesn’t it? Except it’s not—and I keep having to reinforce that with myself over and again.

I’m not talking about shirking responsibilities and living a life of hedonism. For me, this is growing into a place of learning what I actually want and doing it—and then also having the freedom to say “no” to the “shoulds” that can suffocate life. It is no easy task—especially for someone who has lived a life of hypervigilance trying to keep others—particularly one other—appeased. (Last year’s word touches on this.) But I am determined to commit to living a better life in this way.

I started working on this before I had my little catchphrase, of course, but the first part of the phrase dropped right into my lap when I took an improv class last year (something my heart knew I wanted to say “yes” to) at Westside Improv in Wheaton, Illinois. One of the very first things you learn in the improv world is “yes, and…” as a way to build a scene and support your partner. Notice it’s not just “yes”—the “and” is critical, too. It means you agree and add something of your own. It builds trust and helps scenes go places—not just come to a screeching halt. (“Hey, you look ten feet tall in those new jockey silks!”/”Uh…I’m not a jockey”…and…thud.)   

Now, for me, this kind of “yes, anding” was even more impactful because it was modeling the way to agree and support someone not to appease but to build something good and healthy. That’s a lot of unlearning for a girl like me, and the feeling of “yes, anding” for the right reasons is amazing. It fills up a tank I didn’t even know I had.

And guess what? When you come into a new community where that is the foundational principle? Wonderful things happen. Other tenets like listening, being fully present, and seeing mistakes as opportunities to be better add to the atmosphere and make Westside a place that has become a very important part of my life. And then there’s the fact that it’s pretty damn funny—which is a great fringe benefit.

All this goes beyond improv, too. Looking at life through the “yes, and…” filter can change relationships and situations for the better—helping me not only in discerning what to say “yes” to, but knowing it’s really hard to go wrong with listening and being present. And if my inner critic can’t lay me out because of a mistake? Bonus.

I’m grateful for this continual practice.

So…what about the “no” part? It may sound contradictory, but saying “no” is also a key part of this season for me—but in a different application. “Nos” come in when the “shoulds” that push me to say “yes” out of what others want rather than what I may want (or need) rear their heads.

While I know this happens to everyone, I think this is a burden borne more heavily by women than men, as we have been trained to attend to the needs of others from a very early age. Though things are becoming slightly better balanced in the 21st century, all it takes is a visit to a school activity to see who is expected to make the brownies and sew the play costumes. Of course, this stuff does need to get done (we don’t want kiddos performing in their birthday suits), but let’s hear it for a healthy rotation! Brené Brown speaks about how if we can get past the uncomfortable minute that a “no” creates, we can save a lengthy aggravation or upset for ourselves (and often those who live with us!) She actually spins a ring she wears to give her a moment to decide what is the right answer for her—and if it’s “no,” well that’s completely acceptable.

This is often a toughie—especially when I’m put on the spot. But I know I’m getting stronger—and each time a “no” is said for the right reasons, the reinforcement of why this is important washes over me (right after I attempt to eschew the guilt from disappointing others).

The truth is that with time as precious as it is, I just don’t want to be spending any more of it than I absolutely have to doing things that don’t nurture my heart and soul—and that doesn’t translate to a little girl stomping her feet and getting the candy she demands—because my heart and soul aren’t only interested in me. Rather, it’s about excavating the mounds of ‘stuff’ life heaps upon a person and figuring out what is true to remain or find—and then building on that. Knowing the “right nos” makes me a better person—and that makes me a better family member, friend, and community member.

I hope my “yes, and…no” season lasts until I take my own special dirt nap—and I hope the same for you. Seeing life as a world of possibilities to be realized through positivity and support of and from others—with healthy boundaries to protect the time we have to do so—is a way to keep afloat in this crazy riptide of life. And who knows? Instead of exhausting myself against the current, I just may end up on a beautiful tropical island!

*The photo above is the first tattoo I am getting early in 2025. I bet you can guess what the second one is.

Time Marches On…(and The Juggle Struggle Is 9)

I am both happy and sad when people ask me why The Juggle Struggle rarely sees a new post these days. Happy that anyone cares…sad that I am not writing like I used to. The truth is that I have a lot that I want to write, but my focus and discipline have hitched a ride out of town. I haven’t completely given up, though, and I am compelled to write a little now to mark the ninth anniversary of this blog.

On October 18, 2012, I wrote my first post. The ol’ girl’s been around for a while and seen many changes over the years…the blog, me…the world. So much is so very different. But one thing is always constant: There are 24 hours in a day, and the days just keep getting logged into the book of life.

My church is currently studying No Cure for Being Human, by Kate Bowler, and today we discussed the idea of “spending” time–as the currency that it truly is–and what it means about the choices we make. This perspective of time as a finite entity makes me think of something I came across a few years ago via Tim Urban’s Wait But Why site. He does some wonderful things with numbers, and one spin of his really drives home the point about our time on this planet. Below is what a 90-year lifespan looks like in weeks…and the blue line is where I am…

Image courtesy of Tim Urban’s Wait But Why)

…well past the half-way mark…IF I make it to 90. That’s a lot to take in.

And in taking a peek back on this anniversary at some of my previous posts, I remembered the one that I am sharing below. I wrote it when my son was 10–and it speaks to how much time we had left before he turned 18. Well, guess what? That milestone was reached earlier this year. Reading what I wrote then is obviously poignant to me now.

It happened in a mere blink.

What will the next blink bring? How many blinks do I have left?

Time marches on…

So…happy anniversary, The Juggle Struggle! I am grateful to have the words to string together that can sometimes matter to people. And I am grateful for every reader who gives me a few minutes of their precious time to read those words–I appreciate you more than you know!

And now, if you care to read on, I offer you the post that I wrote eight years ago…thinking about the time that I am actually facing now. A blink indeed.


936 and Counting

Originally posted September 30, 2013

Time flies. We all know this. The only case where time does NOT fly is instances like when you’re stuck in a boring workshop where they have the thermostat set so cold it just may crack off a body part and all you can think about is lunch. Then it’s slow. But typically, another week comes and goes and it feels like a blip on the radar.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Recently, I had a 1-2 punch that was the kind of coincidence that makes me stop and think. I saw a framed graphic at a family member’s house that said something along the lines of “940. The number of Saturdays until your child reaches 18.” Me being me, I checked the math (52×18=936) and wondered why they added the extra month. Googling it, 940 is the number used again and again, but I like the number 936 better than 940 anyway, so I’m sticking with that. (Why the extra four? Can you guess?)

The very next day I was speaking to a friend, and she said her pastor’s message that Sunday was on pretty much the exact same thing. He had a jar of marbles that visually represented how many weeks were left before his daughter turned 18. The emphasis being, of course, that we use our time together wisely. It is fleeting.

So there I was, with two totally different avenues leading me to the same wakeup call: we only have so much time with our children before they are off and running in the world.

Of course, I know this. But when you put a finite number around it, it drives it home even further. Tick…tock…and another week is gone. Another marble leaves the jar.

I have issues with time management. I just do. I aspire to knock the hell out of each day, and before I know it, I’m brushing my teeth before bed.

But the clock of life is wound but once…

My son had his feet resting on my lap the other day, and…they were huge. What happened to the teeny ones that I nibbled on and made him giggle?

He was just sharing with me his fascination with the circulatory system that he’s learning about in science class. Only yesterday he was learning the alphabet.

I tell him—like my dad always told me—there will always be room on my lap for him. But the last time he tried it, we laughed together at how comical we must have looked.

936.

If my math is right, we’ve had 541 Saturdays together…and only 395 left before he turns 18.

395. 3-9-5. Holy crimony.

Thankfully, I am wise enough to know that these days do not need to be chock full and supercharged to be meaningful. I think back to my own childhood, and I realize that while there are some “big” memories of trips and special events—the real things that stick are the small things. The moments. It didn’t have to be anything special—just a time where I felt that I mattered. I don’t even think those thoughts typically cross our minds when they are happening—it’s like they just go into a special reservoir of love, where for some reason, we feel it and cherish it.

So, before I “lose my marbles” with my son, I need to remind myself that the moments count. That just because we may not be able to carve out the better part of a day to do something significant, I can still get out and play touch football with him and his dad.

I can genuinely listen to him catch me up on the first part of the “Full House” episode that I am sitting down to watch the rest of with him.

I can make time for a bike ride on a beautiful fall day, even if deadlines are looming.

I can share in his joy at the occasional 49¢ McDonald’s ice cream cone.

While we still do need to hit the “big” things and make those memories, it’s important to remind myself in the swirl of the day that not all is lost as long as we remember the moments, too.

Because that is what he will remember. The moments.

936 down to 395.

It’s not about us putting more stress on ourselves because who needs more of that? What it is about is keeping the perspective that we do have a finite time with our children, and it does matter—to them and to us—and it is all a blessing of unknown impact and meaning.

So amidst the flurry and chaos of everyday life, I’m going to strive to remember to jump in the leaves. Even if it means we have to rake them all over again.

Why Are Good Habits So Easy to Break?

I wrote my blog every Monday for over five years…and then I said I could change it up…and I wrote less…until I wrote nothing at all. Granted, this is partly due to time constraints, but if the cliché of it taking 21 days to create a habit holds true…how is it is so easy to break a habit of 5 years and 259 posts? Continue reading “Why Are Good Habits So Easy to Break?”

Yo, Joy…Please Pull Up a Chair and Make Yourself at Home

For the last five years, a thematic word to help guide the year has pretty much magically appeared in front of me anxiously raising its hand like Arnold Horshack crying, “Pick me! Pick me!”

Each year it has made complete sense to me as to why this word this year, and…this year is no different.  Continue reading “Yo, Joy…Please Pull Up a Chair and Make Yourself at Home”

Nobody Puts Baby in a Corner…Except Me

The times they are a-changing…aren’t they? The activities of this past weekend remind me of the opening line from A Tale of Two Cities… “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…” Which day—Friday or Saturday—that you consider each reflects our challenging, divergent times. I’m definitely a “former is the latter” kind of girl.

Continue reading “Nobody Puts Baby in a Corner…Except Me”

How Taking a Break Can Mean Making a Life

Often on Sunday nights my husband and I review the week’s calendar to make sure all bases—at least those that we foresee—are covered. Like so many people, we’ve got a bunch of things going on. Between work, our kid’s activities, and other responsibilities, it’s scramble, scramble, scramble.

Continue reading “How Taking a Break Can Mean Making a Life”