Category: House

There’s No Place Like A Home For The Holidays

That Irving Berlin song – Count Your Blessings Instead of Sheep – from the 1954 movie classic White Christmas – is a great little tune I’ve heard every holiday season my whole life. I love it, and it only took a few decades for its meaning to sink in.

We’re a week away from Christmas and winter truly arrived last week with a polar vortex that brought record-breaking, dangerously cold temperatures to the Northeast and we felt it. Really felt it. So much so that I shed a tear for the poor animals who live outside when I could barely get from my car to my front door without legitimately feeling pain. Although we live in the city, our home is on 23-acres of conservation land where all kinds of creatures make their homes – deer, wild turkeys, birds, fox, coyotes, it’s quite amazing. I worry about them in the brutal cold.

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On the first day of the nasty vortex, grey and dreary, winds whipping over 30 miles per hour, I stood in the window and watched a flock of wild turkeys pecking for food around the front lawn. They had to be cold. There I was in my house, all decorated for the holidays and cozy, and I was overcome with gratitude. I not only have heat, but a big wood-burning fireplace we enjoy using several nights a week. It wasn’t just the warmth, it was everything. I was bursting with  gratefulness.

Finally feeling the peace, Sir Husband and I are finding this a lovely place to be – on the other side of hardship – dreams seized and nurtured. Sure we still have stress, but normal stress, the manageable stuff that doesn’t seem so huge when you realize you are overjoyed to have heat. And other things, like food, clothes, jobs, and a roof over our heads with indoor plumbing.

I never realized how valuable those things truly were until I was standing in the hallway after a holiday carol service a couple of Sunday evenings ago while it was still fairly warm out (funny that 40 degrees is now considered warm.) I noticed two people right outside the window sitting down on what looked like a ground-level ledge of the building.

161211carolservices32We were in a big, old Catholic church built in the early 1900s. It’s stunning actually, and the floor to ceiling windows reveal the fairytale-esque city square that looks like it’s right out of a movie. It was hard not to be mesmerized by the magic of this extraordinary church let alone the amazing voices of the choir performing there that night. And there these two people were, sitting there huddled together talking. I thought it was two college students since we were in Harvard Square. But when I looked closely I could see they were layered in clothing partially-wrapped in sleeping bags, next to them was a full plastic garbage bag – of something. They were homeless and settling in for the night.

I stood there wondering who they were and why they were there, tucked into the nook of a big, brick church trying to stay warm. They looked unfazed actually, I could hear them chatting as if it were two people talking over a dinner table at home. I assumed they would be there all night and wondered if this was their “home.”

While we were inside completely moved by the choir’s angelic voices singing beautiful carols in Latin, German, and old English by candlelight …  Silent night…holy night…all is calm…all is bright … they were outside with only the clothes on their backs and a garbage bag by their sides.

Count your blessings instead of sheep. Because baby, it’s cold outside.

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Happy holidays ~ See you next year.

 

 

(*winter scene photo courtesy of NOAA)

If My Walls Could Talk They’d Ask For Fresh Paint

old-paintbrushesEvery day I look around our new house – well new-to-us old condo – and cringe at the tired paint on the walls. In fact, I’m not sure it’s been painted in decades. It borderlines hideous to me.

I’m not ashamed to admit that – or maybe a little I am. I grew up with an interior decorator mother who made everywhere we lived look good. Maybe sometimes it wasn’t my taste, but it was the finest in decorating style.

Combine that with 24 moves in my life…24 moves…and I have learned a lot about myself figure-out-at-onceand my surroundings, and what matters most to me. Paint of course is one of them. That’s fairly easy to rectify – it’s the time and effort involved. So until I can muster up the energy, I’m trying to deal with the drab.

But it’s gotten me to think a lot about our essentials for comfort and style. For most of those 24 moves I hauled around all my furniture moving truck after moving truck across numerous state and city lines carefully packing then unpacking and precisely placing everything so it looked and felt perfect. It never seemed silly to me to utilize my nurtured ability to create a magazine-photo-worthy space. After all, we want to feel good in our surroundings.

live-in-possibilityI don’t know if it’s midlife, or hormones, or exhaustion, or burn out, the lack of budget, the fact that we have decided to rent for a while or all of the above, but our last move has changed my perspective. We had to super downsize, which at first seemed fairly hard. There’s a lot of emotion involved in getting rid of most of your things. But the longer I live without my stuff, the more I want to ditch. The simplicity or lightness associated with being surrounded by no more than a few key things is revealing an interesting freedom.

Now I realize these are the necessary items for a happy home life (besides special people of course) — a comfortable couch, a solid kitchen table, and an awesome bed. Really, what else do we need? I’m not talking about dishes or lamps, or even a TV. Those things are accessories to the most important items at hand.

couchsoft-bedNothing feels better than stretching out or curling up on a completely comfortable couch. The kind that fits perfectly to our body, so we sit down and don’t want to get up. Whether we are reading, watching TV, napping or anything else we do on a couch, that wonderful feeling of sighing “ahhh” is the only key. Same with our bed – it should feel like the safest place on earth. The warmest when we are cold, the softest when we snooze, like wearing our most comfortable pair of shoes. A kitchen table is multi-functional, we can do anything there – eat, work, iron, create, whatever we may need.

distressed-table

Sure it’s about aesthetics as much as comfort too, furniture makes a statement about all kinds of things. Who we are, what we like, our personality flare, what we value…like art it’s intrinsically in the eyes of the beholder. It’s a matter of what we want around us, what we feel matters most.

Furniture has lost some of its pertinence to me. But fresh paint I can’t do without.

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Is It Possible To Control Our Time Online When Life Is All Online?

It wasn’t the incoming rainstorm, or too much coffee, or a blood sugar low that made me sit at my computer and shake. I’m beginning to see a pattern now when I start to jitter. It comes on daily after I spend way too much time doing what we un-fondly refer to as “administration.”

wits endIt’s getting out of control. Incorrect billing issues, website technicalities, errors, glitches, wrong numbers, emails, documentation, scores of forms for whatever we need, Hippa this, privacy that, layers of security blips, spam, address corrections, changes, updates, by the time I come up for air, I’m fairly short of breath, not to mention half the day is shot.

documenting lifeBesides all the endless online time, there are just way too many “jobs” to take care of our basic needs. So I’m calling a moratorium. I simply can’t keep up. And I have some serious streamlining to do – well beyond the concepts of balance and simplicity – goals for which I continually strive.

There has to be a way to get it all done without it taking so long. But how? I’m ridiculously organized, process fast, am also efficient and quite thorough. The issue can’t all be me.

out to liveI started thinking about people I know who seem to “do it all.” You know who they are – successful at their jobs, look amazing, seem happy and healthy and fit – even if they have aches and pains. They’re graceful and kind and funny and fun whenever you connect. What is their secret? Because they must have administration too.

Do they end up at their wits end after hours on the phone with technical support, or billing issues, or redoing online forms that freeze and don’t submit? Do they delegate these tasks or just let them go regardless of any requirements for completion, compensation, registration or activation? There is so much administration required now to simply manage our lives.

unplugThe only answer I came up with after shedding a tear and some deep breathing, was to try to live more and technology less. Less texting, less emailing, less social media scrolling – just pay the bill and get off the device. Fill out the form and step away. Post the blog and go. It’s not that I don’t want to be social, I just need to lessen screen time.

I wonder if that’s even possible. Administration will always be there and it’s easy to get distracted by so much at our fingertips. But it’s more than a reconstruction of time, it’s also a mental shift. Less dwelling, less worrying, less ruminating – just striving for peace of mind. gritting teeth emojiRelax, read, get fresh air…breathe and of course also eat. Maybe then I’ll stop gritting my teeth when I sit down to administer my life.

offlineSo we’ll see how it goes to live more and tech less. I’m not the type to ignore emails or texts, mail or my friends, not to mention what news might I miss?

As good as it sounds to dial it all down – that may itself take time. winky face

 

turn off

 

 

 

Liking the Decor Of Our Home Is Just A Fact Of Life

property brothersI know there’s a lot of upsetting stuff going on in the outside world, but inside I’m in a decorating dilemma. I have this thing about making my home look and feel the way I want it to, within reason and budget. I’m not talking about creating an HGTV or Property Brothers show home. Don’t get me wrong, I like the Property Brothers, I just prefer more traditional verses their trendy new style.

Decorating is in the eyes of the beholder, and this isn’t a critique on people’s taste. The survey question today is, what do you do when the home you live in isn’t one you own, but the style of the place isn’t either?

homeFor the last couple of decades we have owned almost all of our homes – except for a couple here or there that were temporary in-between landings. We never rented for long so most of our stuff was in storage, decorating was a piece of cake. But now we plan to settle down and not move for a long while.

I love the structure of our new digs – the set-up, the bones, the nooks and crannies, the small cottage-style feel of condos made inside this old antique estate home. High ceilings, hardwood floors, a great big working fireplace, real wood doors and windows, classic tile, horsehair plaster, not a spec of vinyl here. But it hasn’t been cosmetically updated in a very long time. The paint is 20 years old and tired, the light fixtures need to be time-capsuled, even the cabinetry is fairly worn. And there are a few structural issues like the huge old heavy windows need thick sticks to keep them up. I love the place but it needs help.

wake up wallsIt may sound like easy fixes, but it’s not my place to fix. Yet I live in it. So what do I do? Our landlord hasn’t set foot in here in years, beyond showing the place in between tenants. He lives far away and he is very hands-off, so I’m not sure he really cares.

It comes down to something internal – the ability to let things go. I’m not good at that, especially when it comes to my home. I have a wee talent of decorating skill, so it taps at me all the time. I want it to look and feel comforting – I want to like the paint colors, the walls to be clean and fresh, the light fixtures not dated and the windows to safely work. It’s a personal thing.

We don’t have the budget to do updates on a home we don’t own, but I need it to be more mine. And that’s the funny matter – why do I have the need? Can’t I just pay my rent and enjoy it the way it is – tired, worn, and in need of TLC not to mention someone else’s style? The short answer is no, but I’m trying to let it go.

Seems silly now that I mention it, it’s important to learn to just live. Enjoy my home environment simply for what it is – which I really do – except for the incessant knocking at my psyche to run to Benjamin Moore.

paint the stars

A Funny – Not So Funny Story About Fire

When you hear a fire alarm do you automatically jump and run? Or do you assume it’s a false alarm and go about your business?

fire alarmI’m not sure what past conditioning I have around fire alarms, but when ours went off extremely loud and clear in our new home the other day I tried to ignore it. I thought it was a test, the fire department had been here a few days earlier to check that the system was working. It was. Only the alarm now screaming loudly inside and outside of my condo wasn’t a test. Oops.

My son came flying down the stairs, Mom, do we need to leave?

Um… I don’t know… hmmm… not sure… My mind was swirling because moments before, the appliance delivery men showed up to deliver my new stove. I actually thought they had tripped some alarm. So while this insanely loud siren was going off they were checking to see if the new stove would fit. Oops again…it wouldn’t. But that’s a whole other story.

They looked at me with “what do you want to do?” faces — assuming that I would be leaving in case there was a real fire.

BRAYNK-BRAYNK-BRAYNK the noise was so loud I couldn’t think.

Mom! We should leave!  Ma’am what should we do with your stove? Mom! Ma’am? Mom! Ma’am? BRAYNK-BRAYNK-BRAYNK

Then I saw smoke float past our window.

I looked at the delivery men and pointed to the window.

I yelled to my son to get the cat carriers and shut the bedroom door where the cats were hiding under my bed.

FullSizeRender-3The delivery men ran.

My son ran.

I ran upstairs and screamed MOVE THE BED! We moved it together without noticing it’s heaviness. I grabbed the 8-pound cat by her scruff and put her in her carrier, I grabbed the 16-pound one by his body and pushed him into his. My son and I each took a carrier, we ran downstairs, I grabbed my purse and we flew out the door down two flights of stairs and outside where several firetrucks, police cars and the rest of the people who live in our building had already evacuated. We were the last to get out.

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Short of breath and hearts racing, we tried to make sense of what was happening. And we realized we failed the non-test. It took us way too long to get out.

Turns out a mason was grinding cement in our building’s basement and allegedly dust turned to sparks, the alarm went off and well… the information was sketchy at best. The poor guy was standing outside with his equipment looking shocked and panicked.

“Um, Ma’am, we gotta go. What do you want us to do with your stove? It won’t fit in that space.”

Good grief.

I sent them on their way with the stove that wouldn’t fit, sat on the grass with my son and cats until it was safe to go back inside. No damage done that we could see, but definitely a lesson was learned.

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There’s a moral to this story besides fire alarms are always real, even when they’re false.

That was not the first fire alarm we encountered that week. (Here’s where the story gets interesting.)

We needed a new stove because the old one that came with the condo is quite old and dysfunctional. When we turned the oven on it never turned off – even when it was turned off. Seemed like a fire hazard to us.

When a new stove was delivered, the fire alarms went off.

When I called the appliance store to tell them about the stove not fitting and the fire alarms, their fire alarms went off.

fire elementWhen we went the next day to a different store to look for a different style stove, their fire alarms went off right when we walked in.

Two other times in that 48-hour time period we heard more fire alarms going off around us.

Think there was a cosmic message there? Because it’s not always where there’s smoke there’s fire. Sometimes there isn’t smoke, sometimes there isn’t fire.

Pondering that, the message for us was one of two things. Either our old stove was truly a fire hazard (and we didn’t take any more risks,) or we maybe we needed to finally chill out – from our busy and stressful move, from our menacing histories, from our exhausted emotions.

Fire represents many different things in spiritual, mythical and wisdom traditions. Whether we believe in fire as an element, or simply a dangerous hot force, the bottom line is the same.

Pay attention to life’s subtle and not-so-subtle messages, and by all means let the past go.

chill out

Who Cares If The Bed Isn’t Made. I Wish It Wasn’t Me

hospital cornersOld habits die hard for sure. It took me until my third son was 16 years old – which just happened a month ago – to stop making his bed. I know, I know. But there’s something about having all the beds made in the morning that I find appealing, even soothing.  Maybe it’s because when I grew up the beds were always made, and I had to make my own. My mother taught me early, and taught me well. I had hospital corners down like an army sergeant.

But that’s not necessarily a good thing. Because in addition to growing up learning how to make my bed without wrinkles, empty the trash every day, clean the house to pass a white glove test, do the laundry being sure whites were separate, and whatever other chores I was enlisted to do – I also became fairly OCD. To the point that my house until recently was ridiculously neat – everything has its place.

unmade bedThat’s why I’m a little proud of myself for looking at my son’s bed and not making it. I’m not going to lie, it hasn’t been easy. I get that pull to pull it together in no time flat, ensuring it’s fluffed and neat. I ask him to do it and he knows how, he just doesn’t do it like me, if he does it at all.

It’s ironic, all three of my boys are not neatniks, in fact much to my dismay, they’re sort of all big slobs. I guess I get that – they swung the other way after watching their mother toil daily over her version of house-perfection. Which in the great scheme of things is stupid, but it’s engrained all the way to my bones.

OCD

So I’m trying to change that, I just don’t know to what degree. I can’t go cold turkey and be a slob, and that’s not even necessary. I just want to ease up on a few things, so I’m starting with my son’s room.

Most people know OCD is a control issue – when we feel out of control we have these rigid ideas about how things need to be, so our actions, reactions and thoughts all steer us toward that sensation that everything is ok. It’s a relief to me when I look around my house and things are in their place. The beds are made, the laundry is done, there aren’t any hairs in the sink. But I really don’t like that about myself, I’m tired of being uptight.

I told Sir Husband I was going to try to lighten up on my incessant need for neatness as I ponder getting a job that wouldn’t be working from home, where I can work and still clean up.

He said to me, “Yes, things would definitely change and you’d have to let a lot go, but truthfully I like your neatness and how organized the house is, it’s nice to come home to the clean.”

Say no more. He doesn’t know this, but he sort of let me off the hook from breaking my habits too fast. Not sure I can go from hospital corners to leaving dishes in the sink, although I guess anything is possible. But for now, baby steps are okay.

small steps

 

 

 

What’s My Definition of Cool? Not A Mouse In The House

Some people are just really cool and are phased by very little. Like my childhood friend who lives in New York City. People who can live in the heart of New York City to me, are the epitome of cool. It’s the place of infinite everything from good to bad, I could not live there. Although I’m a city girl, we all have comfort levels in our location that match our personal vibe.

I have several friends who love the countryside – another location that at various times I have had the pleasure of experiencing. That’s where I first learned about mice when we had them in our big farmhouse barn. They didn’t bother me, and I didn’t bother them.

Unless they are your pet in a cage, nobody really wants to deal with mice. But they’re a reality whether you live in the city or the country. And yesterday I had the pleasure of a real life Tom and Jerry experience that left me wondering if the cosmos are having a field day with my recent intention to be more calm and cool.

When I got up and went about my morning routine I wondered why the cats were hovering around the sofa and not their empty food bowl. So I reached underneath to rescue what I FullSizeRender-3thought was their favorite jingly ball that gets stuck under there IMG_2237a thousand times a day.

You know where this is going.

At first I shrieked and ran when the grey furry rodent made a dash from under the couch to under the nearby chair. Then I called Sir Husband at work and begged him to come home and get it. (Yes, gender roles are real.) Of course he didn’t and said he’d do it after work.

FullSizeRender-1For the next hour I sat on the stairs overlooking the living room like it was a lookout perch – hoping the mouse would not climb up – and trying to calm down. Self dialogue went something like this:

  • It’s just a mouse, it’s small and scared….Oh but it’s probably pooping everywhere in fear.
  • Maybe the cats will get it….What’s taking so long, are they are not ferocious killers? 
  • This after Monday’s post about my personality Type A wiring?…Not embracing the irony.
  • This is a perfect opportunity to change….Grrrr. Sigh. Ok. Thank God it’s not a rat. 

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FullSizeRender-4Eventually I went Home Depot, bought traps and set them around the living room. As the day went on I got more comfortable with the small, scared city mouse in my living room, hiding under furniture, watching the cats circle around its hiding spot like lions waiting to pounce.

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I never shook my own scaredy-cat fear of the little creature, but I sort of learned to live with it. Did that improve my less-than-calm m.o? Or was it a life test mandating I once and for all rid myself of my semi-princess personality – the very one I blogged that I want to dial down? Maybe it was an exercise in self-sufficiency…or futility.

Whatever it was, I tried to channel both my New York City friend and Oprah who I recently heard share one of her favorite Eckhart Tolle quotes:

“Life will give you whatever experience is most helpful for the evolution of your consciousness.”

I bet the mouse’s consciousness expanded. Mine definitely did. Who knows, maybe it will become our pet. Kidding. But that would definitely make me cool.

(At the time of this post the mouse was still hiding in my living room…)

 

experience in the moment

Call Me A Princess – But Know I’m Not Proud

We’ve all heard that life is about how we respond to it. Some people are able to flow through life lighthearted, relaxed and easy going, while others are more worried, excitable and high strung.

Whether we’re a personality Type A or B, our control over our reactor factor depends on how much of it is innate personality and how much is a result of our environment. But regardless of nature or nurture, everybody has their limits of what they can and can’t live with in their personal world.

It was brought to my attention more than once this past week, how I respond to life. The words were always the same – perfectionist…uptight…animated…a good friend even called me The Tempest. Definition of tempest? A violent, windy storm.

Tempest

Ok, there have been some times – even a lot of times in my life, that I tended toward a more tempest personality. Am I proud of that? No. Can I change it? Maybe. I prefer Sir Husband’s term of endearment: Princessa. I’m not sure there is even an official definition for Princessa, but it likens to someone who has a little “princess” in her personality.

calmI’m not particularly proud of being a princessa. I would love to be more serene, carefree, flexible, patient and relaxed. But I’m not. And a lot of people I am close to, love to point that out.

A couple of weeks ago I got a voicemail from a good friend on the day we moved, “Hey, just reminding you that you don’t have to do everything in one day. It doesn’t have to be perfect right away, you can live out of boxes, take your time, organize, fix and decorate as you go along.”

I laughed out loud when I heard that because while that’s absolutely true, it also felt impossible to me. I’m a perfectionist, always have been. When I don’t have things the way I like them, I am uncomfortable until they are at the very least, tolerable. I’m not sure why. Intellectually I know that it truly doesn’t matter if my house is perfect. But emotionally, I get a little wiggy if I don’t make quick order out of chaos.

The irony is that I don’t care how anyone else lives, in fact I almost don’t even notice. But for me, I have personal standards that seem to just be part of my make-up, part of who I am. Princessa…but not proud. It’s not easy to be a perfectionist, in fact, it’s exhausting.

IMG_2229I thought I was doing ok (and this happens a lot – I get my life in some semblance of order and feel calm,) and then I IMG_2231opened the dishwasher in our new home. I didn’t respond well when I saw how disgusting it looked inside, unsanitary, I never dreamed it would be like that.

After the initial upset, I reminded myself that I am grateful to even have a dishwasher, and all the other first-world amenities that we tend to forget in our day-to-day life truly are gifts. But I didn’t use it, nor will I, because to me it’s just gross.

Princessa? Maybe. But embracing and accepting who we are, while being grateful for our circumstances, is a pretty good first response.

calm princess

This Move Nearly Killed Us, But Hooray! We’re Finally Home

It doesn’t matter how many times you have moved, each time it reveals a unique blend of mystery, mayhem and occasionally miracles. My vote? Don’t move unless absolutely necessary, it might just about kill you.

For six exhaustingly long yet blink-of-an-eye short weeks, our lives were upside down. A little like immigrants of a past era, Sir Husband went ahead to our new home in Boston and worked his new job while I stayed in Maine managing the house sale, the packing, organizing, shifting, lifting, removing and eliminating of our stuff. He came home each Friday night for the weekend, then trekked back on Sundays with a Jeep full of boxes. It IMG_2840wasn’t easy for either of us.

Finally when the big day came, we loaded the UHaul, teenager and two cats, and turned the page. We thought.

I’ll skip over the part about what it felt like to walk into our new home too tired to really see it, function or breathe. Or the part about movers arriving at the crack of dawn the next day to unload our truck, and the furniture didn’t fit up the tight staircase so we had to saw the bannister out. Or how we tried to direct them where each box and piece of furniture went knowing they were not really listening, later finding our underwear drawers in the kitchen, our dishes next to the bed, and our cat stuck under the furnace.

FullSizeRender-1   moving    IMG_0201

But we managed. Three days later and in so much physical pain because honestly we are too old to keep doing this, we drove back to Maine to pass papers on our house. We opted to sign a day ahead of the buyer due to conflicting schedules, took care of business, sighed a breath of relief, and headed back to Boston.

An hour later we got the call.

Our house – that had been sitting empty and closed for four days – was filled with gas to such dangerous levels the firefighting hazmat team was shocked it didn’t blow up. Allegedly there was a precarious leak at the stove that no one knew about until the buyer opened the door to do her final walk-through and smelled the gas. Not only could the house have been matchsticks within minutes according to the fire department, the leak may have been going on while we lived there and we didn’t know it because we kept the windows open.

We could have all been killed.

She bought the house anyway, as scheduled.

That’s more than one miracle.

The magnitude of the gas incident did not hit me until the next day. How do you wrap your brain around something like that? Especially removed from the situation. We were not allowed to go to the house since we had already signed the closing papers due to liability, so we heard it all through the real estate agent – her muddled play-by-play leaving us hanging and confused for hours.

But it’s over. All of it. Other pressing matters ensued after that – like my 31-lb Kitchen Aid mixer dropping on my leg when the box broke. You should see the bruises.

This was by far the hardest, most exhausting, most trying, nearly-debilitating and absolute best, happiest, exciting life-changing move for us ever. So, life goes on. Never, ever underestimate the meaning and miracle of that.

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Our Personality Has Layers, It’s Just Which One Opts To Comes Out

This is me before selling my house.

snow white

 

This is me during selling my house.

snow white attack

Anybody have dual personalities….that can turn on a dime….and make people around you think you just channeled a hungry bear or you’ve simply lost your mind? Raise your hand.

I’ve been a little edgy lately, not to mention exhausted, hormonal, and still recovering from a scorching case of PTSD from my former life. TMI? Sorry, stress takes time to resolve. Then add real estate agents, buyers and lawyers with our impending move, and it can get quite kooky.

I’m so sorry, I am just not myself…I apologize for my upset – venting – language – tone…oops did I say that?  I say all this a lot.

While I like to consider myself a seasoned homeowner, selling a house and moving is a ginormous ordeal. And of course in the midst of all that, life still goes on. We still have all the regular things we manage everyday. I’ve finally hit the wall and can’t do another thing.

mood swing

But it’s all good, even when my body aches, the fatigue is deep, and the mood swings prevail. Hence the dual personalities, which I know on the flip side of this big change, will naturally level out. I don’t mean real dual personalities as in a psychological diagnosis. I mean the multiplicity of ourselves in different situations, especially under stress.

We all act out various aspects of ourselves as we face different roles each day. Our feelings shift, our moods shift, we kind of bob up and down given our circumstances. I don’t know how many times I have apologized to my good friend who is working on our real estate deal and told her, I can’t wait until this is all over and I go back to being myself.

multiple personalities

At least I’ve acknowledged that during this transition my personality is maxing out. Sometimes it’s calm and rational, sometimes emotional, and sometimes it’s crossed its own personal limits. I’m not sure if it’s conscious or subconscious, but this concept of multiple sides to ourself has been studied by experts for years.

Human brains, according to neuroscientists, do not reveal one particular self, but instead a whole lot of programmed responses that turn on when different situations call for it. Nature or nurture they do not know, they just know these different wirings turn on and off in our consciousness as we need them throughout each day. The key is being aware of how we respond.

Thank goodness.

On some level we already know all this. These responses are what get us through the nitty gritty of our day and eventually we recalibrate. Whether it’s big stuff or it’s small, we’re just being ourself in that very moment — although some of us are better at showing ourself than others. Or should I say ourselves.

 

quirky self

 

 

 

 

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