Goals again

I am still struggling with Not Tax Season, trying to catch up with all of the things I couldn't get done before April 15. I am making progress in some areas, though.

I bought a study program from Gleims to help me prepare for the Enrolled Agent Exam. So far, it seems to be really helpful. I can find out what I was missing right away, and figure out why I was confused. I am learning a lot, clarifying more, and feeling pretty confident that when I take the business portion of the SEE in June I'll pass. That is all I need as far as the exam, since I passed the other two parts last year. After the exam, I submit one of the IRS' clear and simple forms asking to be an enrolled agent. They will do a background check to make sure I'm not a criminal, and bam! there I am.

The healthy eating stuff isn't going so well, in large part due to the two for one Breyers ice cream sales the past month. Although my scale hasn't budged up or down, my clothes are shrinking. I'm afraid I have to admit that the scale is wrong, not my clothes. Bob is at least theoretically committed to a walking plan. I mapped out a route that is slightly more than one mile from our house and back. It has some hills, but the neighborhoods are quiet and shady, so it should be a pleasant walk. We'll see. I think we'll start Wednesday morning.

Starting tonight, we eat yummy healthy foods. Really. Bob suggested tostados, which surprised me. When we first married, his idea of a good meal was meat with a side of meat. Now, he likes veggies and more veggies. He doesn't even complain about the whole wheat pasta and brown rice any more.

Organizing is still going on. Cleaning is happening, sort of. Goals are getting closer. And now it's time to get to work.

Rememory

I have been thinking about the way that memory works. There are lots of reasons. For one, I am utterly amazed that two people can see the same thing and remember completely different things, down to directly contradictory direct quotes. But that isn't what I've been thinking about this morning.

I have memories from childhood and beyond that are just bits. I don't remember what happened right before, I don't remember what happened right after. I have other memories that are complete episodes, with scene changes and sound. Why is this?

I like to talk about my experience riding the school bus as a first grader, but I have been thinking about the two memories I have, and I wonder what went in between. I remember getting on the school bus and trying to sit down. A big girl (who was probably 10) told me I couldn't sit there because seats had been assigned. Then the bus driver (who was probably 16) yelled at me to sit down or get off. Since I can't see myself getting off, I must have sat down. I don't remember where or anything else about the bus ride. I just revisit the image I saw, standing in the aisle, staring at a white blur of a face telling me I couldn't sit. I remember the mouth moving. I don't remember the eyes. I know it was a girl.

I also remember hiding behind the bushes, waiting for the bus to come, then going home and telling Mom that I missed the bus. Since I remember the wait being pretty long, I have to think that my parents must have been suspicious. I was wondering if those were my only attempts to ride the bus in first grade. I know we joined a car pool at some point, which was pretty traumatic for Mom. I wonder if I ever rode the bus or if this was what happened in the first two days of school. I remembered just yesterday that before I was yelled at, I had really wanted to ride the bus. Maybe Mom had finally relented, then I changed my mind. I guess I'll never know, since Mom is gone and Dad doesn't remember that sort of thing.

As I write this, I think, good grief, where's your navel? I wonder why this small piece of memory sticks with me and affects my life even today.

I rode the school bus through middle school and part of high school, with many more traumatic incidences, but it is first grade that came to my mind when I decided not to make my kids take the bus to middle school. I decided that there are character building exercises, and there are exercises which tear your soul to shreds in such small ways you don't notice until you go looking for that piece of you. I'm still not sure what the bus ride was. Did I learn compassion because of that cruelty? Or did I become more timid and afraid? Or both.

But that's enough of my navel lint for today.

Listens well and follows directions

I always received high marks for listening in school, because that is what it looked like I did. From first through fifth grade, I ventured into class participation three times. Each one ended badly. I learned that even though the sign on the wall says “There is no such thing as a stupid question,” no one really believes that. I learned to research and ask books my questions rather than ask people.

Sometime between 9th and 12th grade, I became more open with my opinions. I became a debater. I learned to listen in order to think of a response. I listened to argue and the point was to win, not solve a problem, and certainly not to be convinced.

In an attempt to become a good listener, I picked up on the idea of echoing what a person says to make them realize you can relate, or something. I think I got it wrong, because I turned into one of those boors who responds, “Oh yes, I knew someone who had triple by-pass surgery like you are getting. He died.”

I developed into a person who needs to solve problems, even if they aren’t my problems and even if they don’t want to be solved. (And, no, I am not a man.) If you tell me your problem, my mind goes to work trying to fix it. You want me to listen; I am too busy solving your problem to hear you. As part of this, I often feel defensive about a problem. Even if it isn’t my problem and even if it doesn’t want to be solved, I feel that I have failed because I can’t solve it. See? This attitude isn’t conducive to listening.

And so, at an embarrassingly late age, I developed the ability to listen without thinking about solving the problem, without thinking of my response, without planning a counter-argument. It is a struggle. I had to realize that listening is a skill that is not inborn, but learned. I had to practice. I had to bite my tongue. I had to fail.

Now that I have developed this nascent skill, I have another problem.

Being open-minded can lead people to believe that I am easily swayed, simply because it is possible to sway me. Sometimes when I do a really good job of listening, others quit listening. Give them an inch, man…

I feel like I’m doing all the work. Compromise becomes the breakfast the chicken asked the pig to help her with. She said, “I’ll supply the eggs, and you supply the bacon. That’s fair, isn’t it?” And no, it isn’t fair.

And so, even as I approach 50, I still stumble between appearing to be a bully or a toady. I try to be an open-minded, calm, rational, mother-earth goddess type, and I end up stomping my foot and saying, “That isn’t fair. I’m listening and you should too.”

Oh well. As Jimmy Carter said, “Life isn’t fair.” And I’m not always fair either.

Promises promises

Now that it is NOT TAX SEASON, I will write more on this blog. I will eat better and more regularly. I will walk more and sleep less. I will plant the seeds I bought. (The pepper seeds I planted have sprouted!) I will think about what I want to do and where I want to take my life. I will search out new sources of information and knowledge.

I bought a used book yesterday. It is about the beginnings of the study of prehistory. A study on a study. It is interesting. Surprisingly well written. You know how social scientists are. If they write a readable book, they are accused of being fluffy, so they write tortured, convoluted sentences that last longer than the 100 years war. Like that one there. Bless their hearts.

I will study studies and other new and exciting things. I will... hmmm... nap time.