Hamilton Challenge

Today I made the (possibly foolish) promise that the revamped course for my new training site would be done in 2 weeks.

*gulp*

That means it’s time to buckle down and get shit done (my unofficial company slogan) so that I can meet that promise.

But as soon as I commit to spending 2 hours mapping out what needs to be done, distractions show up.

First my dogs, insisting they need to go outside again to sniff and bark and investigate the yard. Since my privacy fence is not up 100% I can’t just put them outside and ignore them. So I tie Wilson to the rope line and do my best to move things in/out of the garage as needed while the dogs explore. Then I take out the trash. And the recycling.

Finally we’re back inside. It’s all good until I need a drink. Going into the kitchen these days is a hazard. I have ONE more box of kitchen “stuff” to unpack so some shelves are packed, others are organized, but there’s still lots of stuff on the counters. I want to do the dishes up, organize the Tupperware cabinet, prep some potatoes and zucchini for dinner.

I grab a bottle of water and go back to the office.

I’m working on outlining the course as it’ll look in its new format. Playing around with the format of dummy copy, I decide I’ll need some new graphics.

Off I go to canva, playing with the backgrounds and font choices, colors, gradients…. I created the graphics I needed in record time and then closed out the tab before I could get further distracted.

But the #1 sign that I’m distracted is that I feel the tug to go on Facebook, even when I have no desire to read what people are doing and posting about. Instead of staying on the page and on track with what I need to get done, I welcome a change of pace. A distraction that doesn’t judge me for not being done with this project.

Every time I notice that urge creep in I have to fight it. Sometimes I fight it by doing another task to give my brain a break. I have plenty of things to do around here. But more often than not, I need to push through and finish what I started. After all, I’m on a deadline.

So many thing influence what we pay for variable services, like insurance. In the US, where car insurance is mandatory, you can pay more or less based on your age, gender, location, driving distance per year, type of car, age of car, driving record and marital status.

And I’m fine with all of those, except the final one.

You cannot accurately predict someone’s risk based on if they are married. Simply cannot.

The outdated and archaic belief that married people are happier, more stable, and drive safer because they have someone to go home to? Bullshit.

I am less likely to argue with someone in the car, less likely to drive off angry, less likely to spend the evening drinking at a bar before going home, and less likely to let some idiot drive my car and wreck it.

There are a lot of jokes about the “single tax” such as my friends who pay for online dating sites, a monthly reminder of how much it costs to be alone, and tax benefits only available for married couples.

Don’t even get me started on every story of a person who died young whose mother cries saying, “she never got to get married and be happy” as if those two are guaranteed to go together. It’s almost as annoying as “once they have kids they’ll have a real family.” Fuck all the way off please.

But I don’t really care if family meals aren’t conducive for a single person or it costs more (per person) to travel and rent a hotel room. I do care that I am charged 10% more, every year, for car insurance because I’m not a Mrs.

At the start of this year I began a new journal, thinking I would definitely fill it up by mid-year. Instead I’m maybe 40 pages in and wondering why I don’t make it a consistent habit.

I mean, I would love to look back on the clusterfuck of 2020 and read, in my own handwriting, what I was doing and thinking. There’s something a bit romantic about hand written stuff, tell me you wouldn’t rather have a personalized birthday card rather than an e-card.

But aside from the fact I haven’t had to hand write long form consistently since high school, and we’re not talking about how long ago that was, I think I’m just out of habit.

When I sit down to journal my mind immediately goes to all the things I am grateful that I accomplished (like today: laundry, grocery shopping, new license plate on the truck) and those things I have to write down so I don’t forget to do them (renew my passport, fold the laundry, give the dogs a bath).

So I get all my thoughts out on those things instead of my thoughts on life. How I feel, what’s frustrating me, what brings me joy, what I anticipate next in my life… you know, the good stuff.

It’s not that the mundane stuff is unimportant, but in a world where we have The Price is Right does anyone really need to know that it was $3 for a can of pineapple so I just bought pineapple juice instead?

As I work on my new house it’s always a balance between the major and the mundane. For example:

• I bought LED lightbulbs so I can actually see the rooms I’m renovating. Boring!
• I need to measure the first floor square footage so I can shop around for hardwood flooring. Boring!
• I’m testing paint colors for the exterior (which needs a lot of work). Major project.
• I’ve started to work on the landscape plan, cutting back some bushes and planning the fencing. Major project!

Each of those things I can write about, I just need to get out my pens and journal and do it!

Every box I open contains a surprise.

That book I can’t wait to re-read.

The clothes I put away for winter.

The family picture I haven’t laid eyes on in months.

As I have been emptying boxes, one at a time, and slowly finding new homes for all my “stuff” I think about how I am doing this very same process in my business at the moment.

I’m going through my email folders, Dropbox, Google Drive, external hard drives, chat conversations, notebooks, voice notes, email campaigns, teaching software, memos and ideas scrawled on paper from a dozen events and workshops.

I’m organizing it, discarding what’s no longer useful, planning around the rest. I’m settling it, piece by piece into a new digital home for systems which will be accessible later this year.

Even as I unpack into my new home, I have the idea that I may not live here forever. With my business, it’s different. I’m settling everything in, hoping it’ll live on here for many, many years.

Sometimes I watch organizing channels on YouTube or Instagram who come in an unpack a whole home in a weekend. I can’t do that in either my home or business. I’ll take out each item, consider where it goes and while it’ll take significantly more time, I’m happy with the tradeoff.

It’s no exaggeration to say that I’ve been decluttering stuff in my life for the last 5 years. Knowing that I wanted to move eventually, I’ve been culling things which are worn out, duplicates and no longer needed.

That said, I still packed 250 boxes for my move + a bunch of furniture and random items.

I’ve actually been keeping track during my unpacking process (1 week today since the POD arrived) because moving 20 or 50 boxes is easily trackable. Moving plant stands and bed frames and nightstands and fans and step stools and rugs is harder. And often more difficult to move, if the memory of me flip/dragging my desk up the porch stairs is any indication.

I’d always said that I would likely declutter again as I unpack and that’s proving to be true. When I’m hauling boxes, physically and mentally exhausted and ready for a shower and a beer, I am cursing my need to hang on to “stuff.”

But when I’m opening those same boxes, unearthing my books and flamingo plant holder and china and gumball machine, I love my “stuff.”

It’s interesting from a statistics standpoint to evaluate the physical weight of the things I own (thankfully the POD price was not impacted by weight, just distance), but I tend to think more about the emotional weight.

One thing I was careful about when packing was not to bring along too many unfinished projects. If something had been lingering on that mental to do list for years, hauling it 2,000 miles was not going to make it easier to finish.

So while I sweat from my shins and haul boxes and furniture and all my “stuff,” I consider if each item has a purpose or brings me joy. If not, it’s in an empty box headed for charity.

As soon as I find the closest charity shop…

I tend to oscillate between two ways of being, both of which I find valuable.

The first comes from my Type A planning nature which insists that I know what I’m doing and when I’m doing it. The second side of my nature requires me to live in the moment, feel into my body, and honor where I am, even if that means not having a plan.

This most recently came up when planning a road trip of over 4000 miles. The day before I left I was asked a simple question, “what time are you leaving in the morning?” I did not have an answer.

I could have said I will leave at 5 AM, but then if I slept poorly or decided to leave earlier or later, I would feel like I hadn’t kept my word. Instead I decided to say I would leave when I felt as if I had enough sleep. This frustrates some people in my life and even myself because I like to be somebody who can keep my word makes plans and follows through.

However, I have learned how important it is to honor myself.

This came up many times when I was driving throughout my house scouting trip and moving out to my new home. I could have spent hours researching hotels that allowed dogs, had great reviews and were on the route I’d chosen.

But in the midst of the moment, I might find myself pushing too hard to make it to the hotel I’d chosen. I might reach the hotel and decide I could drive another hour.

On one day I’d missed lunch, gotten badly sunburned and the dogs were overheating. While I’d planned on driving another 200 miles, I had no qualms pulling into a hotel and calling it a day. The headache I had was eased by the air conditioning and I woke up refreshed the next morning.

Of course, if I have a client commitment or have made an appointment than I am more likely to push through discomfort and keep my plan.

As I’ve become aware of this push and pull, I’m learning to live with not having a plan or making adjustments on the fly. It looks like checking in with how I feel, especially when I’m experiencing pain, considering the risks and rewards of changing a plan and trusting myself.