Piggybacking off my last post, I’ve started thinking recently about various activities, and the way they make me feel; or, conversely, which activities and thoughts I tend to gravitate towards when I’m feeling a certain way. Open vs. closed. Fearless vs. timid. Or “growth mindset” vs. “fixed mindset,” terms I’m sure many of you are familiar with. I realize I don’t need to define these concepts for you, but I thought it would be fun to make a list. I’m not sure it’s going to make total sense, and these items are specific to me, but I think you’ll get the general picture.

What I know (and of course this is true) is that open feels so much better. And I’m working on residing in that space more often.

I was getting into my car after a work event the other day, and plugged in my phone to pick a podcast for the ride home. But I accidentally hit one of the recently played songs from my Spotify account, which was “Bourée” by Jethro Tull. J taught Gabe about this song because he’s playing the flute in the school band, and really enjoying it.

Gabe has been throwing it on every now and then, at random and very loud. I protest, I proclaim. “Not this! Not Jethro Tull! Not someone rocking on on the flute. PLEASE!” I’m not sure when these certainties materialized and settled in the deep recesses of my brain, but I have always known that I do not like these things.

But that afternoon in my car, I accidentally put on “Bourée” and I sat there as the heat kicked into gear, listening to the base and the flute run sneaky, subtle little circles around each other and I loved it. I loved that my flute-playing son had ratcheted it up to the top of my algorithm, catching me unaware. And as an invisible attitude shift clicked somewhere deep inside (annoyed to delighted) I thought, “What the hell? Where did I get the idea I don’t like Jethro Tull?!”

Fixed mindset:

Scrolling Instagram and actually watching the ads for anti-aging serums
Thinking that one thing (new clothes, a haircut) has anything to do with anything
“This keeps happening”
Storing the to-be-donated items in the back of the car for 6-8 months, then eventually moving them back into the house
Sending harried text messages
Waking up early and letting my thoughts spiral while thinking about how I could be on a walk
Checking my email as a means of distraction
Deciding to keep the dentist appointment that will be really difficult to make because I don’t want to be “that mom who always reschedules her kids’ appointments”
Plan-free Saturday mornings —> everybody asking me to make them lunch
Rapidly flipping through songs I already know on my phone in the car/on a run

Growth mindset:

Getting the lunch menu out of the school folder and putting it on the cork board
Composting
Buying plane tickets
Meditation
Going for a walk when I do “not have the time”
Taking the to-be-donated items to the donation site right away
Repotting a plant
Waking up early, making the coffee and reading nonfiction (even though we will be late)
Creating a semi-detailed plan for the week
Exploring ski lessons for Gabe, while fully, happily, accepting that I will not ski
Booking exercise classes
Eating well because it gives me energy
Classical music while I work
Writing; always
An afternoon espresso
WWKD
Scream-singing “Closer to Fine” in the car
Emptying my personal email boxes
Putting a load of laundry in the dryer
Walking the kids to school; seeing faces I know and love in my neighborhood
Listening to new music, not skipping any songs
Finally signing up for Goodreads
(Sorry, it’s true, I have to say it…) Looking at the stars

Our family often plays the game 20 questions while we are having dinner. Several months back the children created a new rule: “no feelings.” Not, as you might imagine, that the players are forbidden from feelings of anger or injustice during the course of the game (which do, indeed, occur). But that the item-to-be-guessed can’t be a feeling.

This rule evolved following an incident a couple of years ago during the holiday season. We were well past 20 questions, trying to figure out what little Aidy was thinking, after resolutely announcing “I’ve got one!” with a mischievous smile. Finally, irritated, we gave up, and she announced that her 20 questions stumper was, “the feeling you get the day after Christmas, when you look out the window and all the decorations are still there.”

Not a household item like the toaster or pair of sneakers left by the front door. Not Albert Einstein or a kitten or Taylor Swift. The feeling you get when you look out the window the day after Christmas. And all the decorations are still there.

I can’t be sure, but I think what she meant was the wistful feeling of something being over. Imminent nostalgia. Sad, grateful, maybe relieved.

I know I’ve pointed this out before, so please forgive the repetition, but the fact that my birthday - January 5 - falls just after the new year, and a couple weeks after the holidays, provides an additional layer of meaning to this unwieldy period. The heady rush of holidays followed by a welcome and unstructured break from it all and, finally, renewal. The first day of the first month.

Then I turn a new age. Forty five in 2023.

I’m not unusually excited about it. It’s more like: awed by the sheer fact. One recent morning I was walking out to our car (minivan, to be totally clear for illustrative purposes, minivan), in a dress and boots and my work bag, with my sleepy teenager on her way to high school and I was suddenly struck by the reality of our collective existence. There we were on the stone walkway that leads to the our house. In a friendly neighborhood in Connecticut. With the rest of our family bustling inside. But wait a second. What?

Although I write about these moments of existential reflection quite a bit, I don’t live my life in a perpetual state of wondrous disbelief (at least, not all the time). I spend many mornings having aggressive heart-to-hearts with Gabe about his shoes, which are old and falling apart, quite literally, with spaces where his socked toes poke through. There is a new, clean pair of new sneakers in his closet. New-ish. I bought them months ago, and they’ve yet to see the sidewalk. “Buddy,” I say, leaning on the kitchen counter, pushing a smoothie towards him, like a bartender with all the right answers. “Wear those.”

“I’ll wear these,” he says, and because you should choose your battles - it’s empowering when they’re little, and less time-consuming when they’re big - I leave it.

I don’t spend the entirety of my waking hours in a daze, questioning the meaning of it all (although I do have a daydream alternate life where I became a philosophy professor) because we are busy with the details of actual living.

However, since 2023 began, or maybe since my birthday (it’s hard to tell which, or if it’s either) I have to admit that I have spent some time worrying.

Worry - and more specifically, anxiety - is my Achilles heel. And it’s a fool’s errand. “Worrying,” I tell my three children - 14, 11 and 8-years-old, “gets you nowhere. It’s understandable, sure, but not helpful.” Yet I don’t always listen to my own advice. It’s not obvious in my demeanor, I don’t think. It’s deeper than demeanor; not sinister, but it’s gotten a little louder with recent age. It asks: What if? What if you make the wrong decision? For these three beautiful kids? For yourself?

I’ve been thinking about this a lot this month. Why now? Who knows. The would-be philosopher in me, when released from the grip of sixth-grade-boy shoe and other issues, knows that “worrying through it” isn’t the right answer, so I’ve been breaking out the tools I’ve learned in the many years leading up to this particular moment. I’ve been mindfully embracing the better feelings, and - over deep breaths - reminding myself of the sheer facts.

This is my teenage daughter, who makes me tea at night. And my busy 11-year-old son, with his one continual question (what’s next?!) This is my 8-year-old blond youngest child, who comes home from school, goes up to her bedroom, and does hundreds of cartwheels. Every single day.

This is our house and our minivan. It is January, 2023.

This worrying, maybe it’s hereditary, maybe it’s natural. But among these bright facts, it’s just a post-holiday feeling, worthy of exploration, but not rumination. This is know.

That feeling you get when you just aren’t sure. But you look up - maybe out the window! - and remind yourself: “aren’t sure is just fine.” What if it’s great?

growth vs. fixed

8, 11, 14, 45