Emma, Who Saved My Life

There's a book a friend lent me called "Emma, Who Saved My Life," and I always smile to myself when I think of the title. When I moved to the U.K. I shared a flat with my wonderful friend Emma.

Well, we weren't friends when I rang her buzzer that day in Clapham, but I hope she'd agree that after she showed me around and we had a cup of tea we were already on our way. And if it weren't for Emma I probably would have high tailed it back home to the U.S. shortly after my arrival.

Now a lot of people have saved my life -- on many different occasions -- but back in 2002 Emma was my sanity. She adopted me, so to speak. If she went to see her family, along I went. Emma got me hooked on gin and tonics and explained football (soccer) to me. She made me a bacon bap while we watched an early morning World Cup game that first summer. And she made sure I watched The Office and didn't say "pants" when referring to my trousers. (In case you don't know, "pants" means underwear in the U.K.)

I had the chance to hear Elizabeth Gilbert speak at the Southbank Centre a little over a year ago. I wasn't sure what she'd be like in person, but she far exceeded my expectations. And there was something she said that really struck a chord with me. Ms Gilbert explained that she has written all her books with someone in mind -- as if she is telling the story to him or her. I love this idea. It also lets you get out of your own critical head as you type away.

I'm currently working on a non-fiction writing project inspired by my novel attempt (through NaNoWriMo). As I was re-reading my coming-of-age story of an American girl who moves to London, I realized how much of my experience and observations of the expat life I was trying to crowbar into the narrative. It didn't work because it got in the way of the story. So I've decided to split these writing projects into two: the first being to rework the novel in a different setting so I can focus more on the story and secondly, to write a non-fiction book structured in a series of essays on my experience moving abroad.

I am finding Ms Gilbert's technique particularly helpful at the moment, because if you haven't guessed already, it's Emma whom I have in mind as I write. It's the least I can do, since she did save my life.

Also it means that I better have something to actually show her when she comes to visit. Deadlines are good for former journalists like me.

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To Display Or Not To Display

Lately I've been obsessed with creating my "study". You've heard of a man cave. The hub calls it the Taron Lair. It's basically a whole room dedicated to writing this blog, among other things (such as more lucrative things, like the days when I work from home).

I have -- or more accurately -- someone whom I paid, painted it grey with white trim. And I bought a cheap retro writing desk, which doesn't feel that sturdy, but it works. It is north facing, so not directly sunny, but it does have a big window and feels calming and bright enough to me, even when it's overcast like this morning. It's still a work-in-progress though. Nothing on the walls yet!

One of the things that I decided during the life-changing clear out is that keeping things in boxes tucked away in an attic or a basement is not for me. It certainly does not bring me joy -- and I'm sure that it will never bring anyone else joy either. Because let's face it, it's usually someone else who goes though our attic boxes at the end of our lives. So I've made the more or less perilous decision that everything we have should be on display or at least vertically folded somewhere neatly away. But no more boxes!

Which brings me to my dilemma. As I've mentioned before, last summer my parents sent me my childhood belongings from America when they sold the house I grew up in. I got rid of a lot of crazy things that I've been saving, but there are still challenges lurking around. For example, I have a small collection of dolls that my Great Aunt Ruth brought back from different countries on her travels with my uncle after they retired. She also brought back coins and labelled them for me.

Now as childish or silly as this may seem, these items give me particular joy. I fondly remember watching all my aunt & uncle's slide shows from around the world and I believe that it was these memories and the gifts so carefully brought back for me which inspired my interest in living abroad. So last week when I had some shelves installed in the room, I tried my luck at displaying the dolls and the coins.

Alas -- displaying dolls in a room for adults is really only one thing: creepy. And I tested it out on the Hub, who pretty much shrieked when he came into the room. But what to do, considering my box rule? As with most small problems to solve, I let it stew over the weekend to see if I could come up with a solution.

And eventually one was presented to me. In my study I have a cedar chest, given to me by another relative who is no longer with us, but close to my heart. I am using it as a coffee table for the moment and it just had some spare sheets and a blanket inside, for which I was easily able to find another place. So in went the doll collection and a couple of other bits of sentimental memorabilia which I'm not particularly anxious to display, but would like to hold onto. Such as my "Most Improved Player" award from my high school swimming team, which of course I could never part with, as well as that recently refurbished Girl Scout sash.

Not sure if this is all still slightly creepy, but hey, no one ever has to know, right?

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Book Review -- Quiet: The Power of Introverts In A World That Won't Stop Talking

I tend to like people, and socializing, so I thought this meant I was an extrovert. In fact, on the Myers-Briggs personality test, I typically tip into the "E" category by slightly over 50% (I'm an ENFJ).

So I was surprised to learn from Susan Cain's book Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World that Won't Stop Talking, that, according to her defintion, I am most likely an introvert who has learned how to appear extroverted in certain situations.

In fact, extroversion and introversion have nothing to do with whether or not you like people or socializing, according to Cain's analysis of the research. Instead, it is defined as the level of outside stimulation that you need to function well. Extroverts need new stimuli, like meeting lots of new people, are often thrill seeking, tackle work assignments quickly, make fast decisions and are comfortable multi-tasking. Introverts, on the other hand, prefer to work slowly and deliberately, listen more than they talk, feel they express themselves better in writing than in conversation, and typically dislike conflict.

I was amazed to find myself ticking nearly all the boxes on the list to put myself squarely in the category of introvert.

The Hub hates quizzes and definitions like these. He says there's no point in categorizing people as we're all too complex for that. I agree to some extent -- does it matter that I might be an extrovert by one definition and an introvert by another? And which definition is "right" anyway?

I will say though that reading Cain's book has helped me to understand a bit more about myself, particularly when it comes to a few things that were troubling me. For example, I do love socializing and going to parties, but I also find them incredibly exhausting and need time to "recover" afterwards. If faced with a week where there are numerous social events, particularly on consecutive nights, I don't cope well at all (just ask the Hub about how high the crankiness levels can get). But needing time alone to recharge, according to Quiet, is just par for the course for an introvert. This made me realize that being protective over my time alone and not allowing myself to be over scheduled was not a weird thing (as I have always thought), but something I actually need to do.

I find it is relevant to my work as well, and probably why I found being a journalist so draining, as it involved constant interaction with others. Although I have to participate in a lot of meetings at my current job, including external ones, and speak at conferences, I have always found myself needing to limit these events or group them together (I tend to try to schedule meetings in the afternoon so I have an uninterrupted morning to do research and writing). This is also not surprising for an introvert. Another mystery solved.

Whether or not you are an introvert or an extrovert, this book is enlightening. I am not naive enough to think that people do fit completely into one box or another, but I will say that this book gave me a much better understanding of human nature and why it is very important to "know thyself". And it gave me a justification for the fact that every weekend I try to kick the Hub out of the house (if for only a few hours!).

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A 30-Something Girl Scout?

Last year was my year of dealing with "stuff" as we prepared to sell our flat and buy a real grown-up house. Not only did I embark on my life-changing clear out, but my Mom sent over all my childhood belongings. Now everything I own (O.K., the childhood doll house was not shipped to England) resides under my roof.

One thing I discovered during this process is that not only have I struggled with chronic procrastination my whole life, but I also am not good at finishing tasks, even ones I'm enjoying. I have ventured to try to understand this and -- even without the help of a professional psychologist -- I have come to the conclusion is that this has been completely about perfectionism, which is completely about anxiety.

When I describe this to people they are always baffled as they perceive me to be driven, organized and together -- a honest-to-goodness nerd. But that's the problem: I am driven and organized, and I use those bursts of energy to make up for all the time I spend not getting around to things or not getting them finished. And then everything works out O.K. in the end (or even better than O.K.), so in a way it's never been a "problem".

Oh but it has. It's hard to enjoy life and the work that you want to do when you're in a constant state of anxiety about being behind on everything.

Which made me realize that something had to change. And when I saw my Girl Scout sash among my childhood belongings I decided to do something radical. The sash was not complete -- it was accompanied by a neat baggie which contained some of the badges that I had never sewn on. I was mortified: what kid wants to be a Girl Scout, does the work for a badge and then doesn't sew it on? There was even a sewing badge there! What the what?

So over Christmas, which we spent at my in-laws, I sewed on all the badges that were missing from the sash. Even the cookie sale ones. (Consequently my father in law said he had a badge he wanted sewed on a sweatshirt, so I did that one too. Everyone wins!)

I know it sounds nuts. But for me it was a symbolic activity. It was almost as if with each stroke of the needle I was telling that little girl who is still in there somewhere that there's no reason not to be bold. Whatever it is I want to do, why not do it whole hog and not care what anyone else thinks? Whether it's being a Girl Scout, a writer or something else entirely. And, maybe even more importantly, that I am capable of these things -- there's no reason to fear this specter of failure I've been running from my whole life.

I think Girl Scout cookie time is coming up soon, so if you live in the U.S., please support this great organization. It's still teaching me lessons, even as a 30-Something former Girl Scout. I have my order in already for a box of samoas.

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