No, Marie Kondo never said you should limit yourself to 30 books. She wants you to keep what makes you happy, and for me that was most of my books. Although I kept most of what I already had, it allowed me to reacquaint myself with my collection and inspired my husband to go through his books. He was a little more merciless than I.
I have never gotten rid of any of my clothing, ever. This first week of sorting through my belongings was emotionally exhausting as I battled my own hoarding tendencies to part with perfectly good clothes that I’ve owned for decades. On the bright side, I can fit all of my clothes into the storage space available for the first time in my life.
Eleven months into quarantine, and despite my best intentions, I still haven’t started any type of cleaning or home improvement projects. With the COVID vaccine (hopefully) bringing an end to social isolation soon, I need to get cracking! Although I tried and failed with Marie Kondo’s method before, she has developed “an eight-week calendar of bite-size tasks to guide you through the tidying process.”
Over many years and several D&D campaigns, I have reluctantly become more comfortable with the concept of asking for help when I need it and letting someone else revel in a success. Incredibly, participating in this game with friends has not only made me a better leader and team member in real life, but it has probably also helped keep me healthy through stressful times.
We’ve had a rough go of it in 2020, and the year isn’t over yet. Between pandemic, recession, violence, and political strife, people are experiencing chronic stress in the best of cases. What if I told you there was a way to work through unprocessed emotions, celebrate successes through diversity, and release brain chemicals that are designed to keep you healthy and resilient?
Halloween is the time of year when we think of death and of natural cycles coming to an end. But what is Halloween like when we’ve already been thinking about death all year? This post examines our attraction to the expression of death in art. Watching outbreak movies during a pandemic and laughing at dark humor during times of crisis may actually be a psychological necessity.
I did not want this series of posts to be just another white narrative in the time when we should be lifting minority voices. However, I do see the value in sharing my personal journey as a roadmap for others who aren’t sure where to start, as well as for holding myself accountable to anyone who is reading. This series is only a starting point.
I recognize I live a privileged life, and my current position has been supported by racial biases. However, the hesitance to discuss that privilege and personally-held biases presents a huge obstacle in breaking down structures that prevent progress toward social equity. This post is a public examination of the racial narratives I absorbed when I was young and how they have persisted throughout my life.
It’s a subject we’ve been taught not to talk about. But in avoiding conversations on race and the privilege that comes with it, we can’t examine or change any biases we hold. I don’t consider myself to be particularly progressive, but I am incredibly privileged. And for that reason I decided to join a discussion group on the subject of White Fragility.
This is a great time of year for birthdays, though I may be slightly biased. For my birthday this year, I had planned to combine my loves of classic literature and craft beer in a joint “Leaves of Grass” poetry reading and Bell’s “Leaves of Grass” beer tasting. Unfortunately social distancing has complicated matters, but I’m still feeling connected, even while apart.