I Might Not Be Motivated Anymore

I feel like when I was younger it was easier to be motivated. I secretly wonder if other “‘grown ups” feel this way or if it’s just me. Sometimes, I think maybe I just “used up” all my motivation in my twenties simply getting through the complete chaos of my life at that time. Like, maybe we are born with a certain amount of motivation and over time we deplete it like the gas gauge in our cars and after a while we just run on empty until we come to a puff-puff and stop.

It’s funny, because I have spent over two decades coaching hundreds of women and I hear it over and over again, ”I don’t feel motivated and I just don’t know why!”  So that makes me think maybe it’s not just me. Women who are stuck in a rut, wanting to change, but finding themselves procrastinating, and avoiding doing the actual work that is required for change.  Over the years I’ve watched big dreams and goals die simply because the dreamer was waiting to, “feel motivated.” 

Unfortunately, I get it. As I’m writing this I am remembering I promised one of my favorite nurses I would do a video for her (God I hope she’s not reading this) and literally every day I say, “Em we have to do that video!” It’s a month later and alas no video.

I also have a desk I want to repaint. It’s my grandfather’s, one of the bigger projects in my “redecorate my home saga” and I keep avoiding it. Because truth be told, having to pick out a “light shade of gray paint” starts to bring on an anxiety attack simply because we all know there is at least 50 shades of gray and probably more like 50,000 shades of gray according to Lowes.

I could go on and fill up this whole page with a list of things I’m “planning” on doing as soon as I start to get going to get motivated….

In my head, I know this stems from a basic misunderstanding of motivation.  In my work life, I have found motivation always follows action.  Sure, we might be briefly motivated by an inspiring speaker, a hyped up video or a mind shifting book, but those tend to be fleeting temporary moments of motivation. Only when we start in action and see results, does motivation last.  It’s like this crazy diet I’m doing. I’m not motivated to eat a salad for lunch or drive 20 minutes to my yoga class.  Sure, I want to lose weight and fit back into my jeans, but when that donut is calling my name and it’s raining outside motivation is hiding warmly tucked into my covers exactly where I want to be. It’s only when I put on those skinny jeans after weeks of calorie counting, it’s only after I can do a perfect one armed plank and I see tangible results from my actions that I get a deep lasting motivation… and think, “Hey this is worth it!” (Ok let’s be real. I’m still trying to master a 20 second plank with two arms much less one…but one can dream….)

I was recently asked how to “get motivated.” So here’s what I came up with based on what I see works in business.

• Choose one small action that you can do in the next 24 hours that would take a tiny step in the direction you want to go.
• Choose to do just one small action each day for five days without concern for the results or the feelings. Just the action.
• Start with the end in mind. Think about where you ultimately want to end up. Break that down into small realistic steps and commit to 90 days of action only towards this goal.  You can change anything in 90 days if you stick with it.

So I guess it’s time to take my own advice and find one small project I want to complete and take one small action each day towards this. Which brings me back to procrastination…I mean I have a gazillion projects which one am I motivated to do first? So if I have to choose just one I’ll choose getting Making Cancer Fun ready for our next product launch because openly it feels 100% overwhelming.

So here’s to hoping if I commit to just the action, then maybe, just maybe, I might feel motivated after all….

* I’d love to hear your thoughts on this? Anything you are feeling unmotivated about too?*

PS if you want an updated on the Gigglers, they are back this weekend and this is the current conversation at my kitchen table while I’m writing.

Giggler 1: Do you know how much personal shoppers get paid? $70K! That’s like $18K more than teachers. We need to ditch the teacher idea and become shoppers!

Giggler 2 : I have a better idea let’s still be teachers and then be personal shoppers on the weekends!

Giggler 1: Or ice cream testers ,we can make $60K a year.

Giggler 2: That’s not a lot of money.

Giggler 1: Yes it is!

Giggler 2: No it’s not. Your house is probably like $300K (side note how does she know what houses costs?) It’s not a lot of money. But it depends where you live (and then goes on to explain housing costs and salaries nation wide….. ok confession giggler #2 is my giggler….)

Other ideas they are actively considering:

• food stylists
• ice cream testers
• water slide testers
• panda mommies
• professional bridesmaid (apparently you get paid $1K a wedding)
• Private Island Caretaker ($150K a year)

*UPDATE* They have decided on a professional bed warmer. ($200K a year) to take naps in other people’s beds.

And in other news I now may be changing careers…..

Photo by Zhang Kenny on Unsplash

Giggles, Diets and My “New” Medication

There are teenagers running all over my house. They are loud. A teenage girl giggle is apparently one of the loudest sounds on the planet breaking all sound barriers. It’s also more contagious than COIVD19. Once one shriek is heard expect others to follow.

I was trying to sleep last night. I kept getting woken up. I believe at once point I literally shouted downstairs, “I can hear your entire conversation, be quiet!” 

Emily yelled back, “Wait, you can hear what we’re saying??”

 “YES I CAN!” I may have screamed back.

Ok, so I couldn’t really hear exactly what they were saying but I figured if she thought I could she would quiet down simply out of, “I don’t want my mom to hear us” since it clearly wasn’t out of, “I don’t’ want to keep my mom awake.”

I am happy she is happy and that my house is filled with teenage giggles. I’m glad she has great friends who have great parents who have great values. I’m glad she wants them all over here to hang out and take over my house. Too soon it will be quiet and those giggles will be filling dorm rooms instead of her bedroom.

I also have to admit I am super cranky.  Recently, a lot super cranky.  (Emily will attest to this.) In case you haven’t heard I am on a diet. You can call it whatever you want, “Getting healthy,” “Creating healthy habits,” “Getting fit” or whatever other sad-attempt-to-put-a- positive-spin-on-it you can think of, but just remember the word is actually just DIE with a “T” attached.  I have lost over 10 pounds and a total of 6 inches in 6 weeks.  Today, I put on a pair of jeans I haven’t worn in a year. (Ok it is 2020, has anyone really worn jeans this year?)

This also means I am not self-soothing myself with Entenmann’s donuts and Oreos. I have had to come face to face with the fact that chocolate really is my self-medication and makes me feel better when I eat it. In the past I have joked that Oreos are my crack, however this is no longer a joking matter. I actually had to make an appointment with my doctor because my anxiety is through the roof.

I calmly explained that while I have suffered from anxiety in the past, it has always been caused by a specific reason.  (I mean being stalked by your ex and keeping a stage 4 kid with cancer alive feels like it should come with a free anxiety pass.) But now I am safe and my daughter is happy (hence the giggles at 2am) so why am I finding myself snapping and panicky? It’s bizarre and I can’t figure it out in my head. Things that don’t make sense in my head then … cause me more anxiety.  (Like how that works?) I have been told I am an overthinker and only recently learned not every talks to themselves in their heads.  I can’t even imagine going through life as one of these bizarre non-self-talking mutant-humans. (You can learn more about this strange phenomena HERE.)

Then, of course,  I tell myself to, “Get it together!”  I lovingly question myself with, “What the heck is wrong with you!!!” And finally blame myself with, “If you had a better routine, worked out more, meditated, or were more organized” you wouldn’t have this “problem.” All of which just seems to increase my anxiety.

My doctor thinks it’s my diet.  Now, instead of stopping at Wawa on my way home to literally soothe myself with the delicious smoothness of a perfectly crack-high inducing donut, I am snapping and hyperventilating.

So, it seems my choice is fat and happy or skinny and cranky?  She suggests I drink a glass of wine at night.  Yup, that is my prescription. She’s been my doctor for years. She says anything she gives me will have way worse side effects than a glass of wine. And, since I don’t have an addictive personality (maybe I haven’t been 100% upfront about my donut issues) she feels it’s the “safest” way to go.  If I start drinking a bottle a night that’s a different story. (I think about sophomore year health class and learning how all smokers start smoking just “one” cigarette.,.. but decide not to bring that up.)  I was married to an alcoholic so I am definitely leery although somewhat excited (?) about my new “medication.”

I have decided it’s more fun getting fat. I like margarita’s, donuts and anything covered in cheese. It’s less fun getting fit. I don’t enjoy working out, drinking water like it’s …well water, and measuring my cheese so I can log it in an app.  “Why God? Why did you make it that way?????”  I am angry and resentful of this “the way the world works” knowledge.

It’s Saturday night and I’m typing this in my office (yes it’s 24 hours later and there’s still squeals of giggles coming from the other room … only now with “new” gigglers added” ). I just picked up pizza, salad and poppers for the gigglers. I was upfront with them. I’ll feed you dinner I just won’t cook it….what do you want? (Don’t worry, I have long ago given up on that pre-child fantasy about being the Pinterest mom who has an adorable Halloween themed Saturday night dinner planned for the giggler and her friends…that mom probably drinks way more than a glass….or at least that’s what my jealous judgment thinking rationalizes.)

I cut a tiny slice in half and savored every bite.  Pre-DIEt I would have had 2 slices. My sad half slice will have to do if I want to keep wearing these jeans.

Then, that horrible voice which must truly be from Satan himself starts up:

“Do you really want to wear these jeans Tara? I mean COVID cases are going up and there’s a more than 50% chance you’ll be in full lock down again soon and wearing yoga pants and no one will see you anyway because zoom is from the waste up afterall…”

Then I remember these last six weeks and how gooooood it felt today to put on these jeans… and I sulk away with my pathetic half slice and a mason JUG full of water.

I already drank my glass of wine too so no luck there.

I hear it has been said, “Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels”…apparently that person never had an Entenmann’s donut. 

Here’s to being the skinniest anxiety ridden person you know. Cheers.  

PS Literally as I am trying to post this the gigglers have just intruded and taken over my office and are planning a fashion show in the pile of dresses I have set out for donation/consignment. I am equally grateful they want to hang out with me and confused on how such small humans can make so much noise.

Stairs and Self Esteem

In my quest to “decorate” my home I started with the stairs. They seemed less intimidating. I mean, everything else involved multiple steps (kitchen counters need kitchen floors, dining room chairs need to match living room and involved way to many options that gave me a headache). Stairs? I can handle stairs.  They were also horribly disgusting and scuffed. So my choice was to paint them and just watch them get scuffed again…which ok, how do stairs actually get scuffed to begin with? It’s not like I’m kicking them as I walk up them. I don’t have a toddler coloring on them.  It’s like socks missing in the dryer…how does this actually happen???

Anyway, I saw some place (a place I wish I could now give credit) an easy stair fix that involved ZERO paint. Stair wallpaper!  Or at least that’s what it looks like to me.

I read a bunch of reviews. Funny how those work.  The same item has a five star review and a one star review. Again, like the socks and the scuffs, how is that possible?  Since Amazon and I have become BFF’s this COVID19 year, I searched for a few different patterns and found one that seemed to have more fives than ones so ….winner winner chicken dinner! (You can view the winner HERE.)

Seemed easy enough. Count the stairs. Six rolls per package and twelve stairs. PERFECTION.

Whole project took about an hour (maybe more, but that’s because I got bored half way through and finished them later). I’m learning this about myself. I like the idea of re-doing things but then the actual re-doing becomes tedious and boring after about 15 minutes. I expected it to be the opposite. That I would experience a meditative – disconnect from technology hour of joy. I pictured a very zen like stair- papering experience. Not…even…close. The only zen thoughts I had were, “How fast can I get this done, just get through this because I’ll be happy when it’s finished.”

Anyway, I cleaned all the stairs with straight rubbing alcohol and used scissors (which actually worked better than a straight edge) to cut and stick. (Yup, they are basically giant stickers!)

Super easy, and as I was laying on the last one…Taa Daaaaa….crap!  Apparently twelve stairs actually translates into thirteen steppy-ledgy-things (have no idea what they’re called). I was ONE SHORT!  So my cheap-o project now meant I needed to buy a whole other set for one stupid stair thingy.  Ugh!  (Ok so it’s like $19 bucks but still …)

I also saw on the reviews that when people bought packages in separate orders (yes it appears many people make exactly the same mistake) the second order colors don’t always match the first (I blame China).

I briefly contemplated just painting the bottom step white.  I also briefly berated myself that I didn’t place them out first because then I could have just painted the most inconspicuous step white.  And finally, I acknowledged that every time I saw this white painted step it would slowly destroy myself esteem because it would be a constant reminder that nothing in my life is perfect, finished, or looks the way I want.

Off to Amazon’s BUY NOW button I went.

And guess what? The colors matched PERFECTY! And even better? I posted the remaining five strips on Facebook marketplace for $12 and they sold in a hot second. So that second stair really only cost seven bucks and made someone else happy at the same time.

And now, every time I see them I think how they are perfect, finished and look exactly the way I want.

The Scuffy Before

Boredom Sets In

The Finished Project

I Guess It’s Time To Decorate

I’ve been living in my home for almost nine years and have refused to decorate it. This was not a conscious decision, but a deep subconscious rebellion born out of ressentiment about my living situation.

It started because of the home I had in Colorado that I loved. I bought it in 2004, all on my own, at 27 years old.  I loved my neighbors, had visions of filling that home with a family, and goals of remodeling it just the way I wanted.  Then life laughed at my dream and ten years later I found myself a single mom, living in an apartment, raising my daughter and trying to understand how this was my, “new normal” long before that became a 2020 catch phrase.  The irony of it all, was that before my daughter was born, my then husband wanted to wait before buying a house. He was content to have a baby in our apartment. I mean we did have the room. Three large bedrooms, a great community with multiple pools, a clubhouse etc. But I was adamant I would never, and I mean never, raise my child in an apartment! Kids need a backyard. A place to lay in the grass and connect with nature. A real home! Now I live on a third story apartment and my deck overlooks a cement parking lot. So much for nature.

Truth be told, it’s not a bad apartment. It’s two floors, three bedrooms, and two bathrooms. I have a nice size home office, my daughter has her own room, and it even has a large attic stuffed with all the things that in my mind should be in a “real” house.

I moved here quickly at the advice of my attorney and daughter’s therapist. I had no desire to ever leave Colorado. I literally sat on the shower floor and cried my eyes out the night before I left. I pathetically crawled out of the shower sopping wet, crawled across the floor into bed and sobbed, and I mean sobbed, myself to sleep. Yet, I had prayed about it. I knew deep in my Spirit God was calling me back to New Jersey. And once he spoke boldly into my heart, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that’s what I needed to do. Unfortunately, that deep knowing didn’t change the anger and sadness that filled me.  So rather than end up in the belly of whale like Jonah, I listened to God the first time, and moved. Resentfully, angerly, sadly, heartbrokenly and all the other -lys.

So it turns out, in some unconscious childlike-rebellion, I never decorated my home.  Initially, my plan was to move into an apartment for a year, establish my residency and finally finish the ongoing court battle with my ex-husband. I was still living in the midst of my nightmare, but at least would be surrounded by family and have the much-needed support for my daughter.

A year turned into five, and then three more, and now I’m looking at four more.  My current plan is to stay here until my daughter graduates High School. So yes, I will have raised my daughter in an apartment and she barely remembers her home in Colorado.  Even typing this makes my heart heavy and sad. It’s so not the life that I pictured for her. It’s not the dream I worked eight years prior to her birth building a business for. It was never my plan and I’m sad to think maybe it was God’s plan because I don’t like His plan.

This year as she entered High School she wanted to redecorate her room.  I’ve refused to even paint the walls because every time I think of painting I then think, “Why bother? I’m not staying here anyway!”  My furniture is a mismatch of pieces I took from Colorado, pieces people gave me when I first moved and was broker than broke, and random stuff I find for a deal. Unwilling to pay full price or invest in anything because you know, “I’m not staying here anyway.” 

After multiple pleas to paint her room, a heart filled with guilt that she’s in an apartment, and a half a year stuck in quarantine in the home I’ve refused to decorate, I have finally given in.

I figure just in case we end up quarantined again I might as well like where I have to hibernate.

So I’ll be sharing my journey of cheap-o renovation (because remember, “I’m (still) not staying here”) and decoration (which should be interesting because I care barely go to a TJ Maxx without an anxiety attack of overwhelm).

And since the first question when decorating seems to be, “What’s your style?” and my answer is, “I have no style.” I have no idea if this will be better or worse by the time I’m done.

Oh, and since I’m paying for everything in cash it will be a little a time and I’ll post and share as I go.  Maybe it will inspire you to upgrade your space, maybe it will make you feel better knowing that someone has 100% less style than you, or maybe you’ll celebrate my small victories with me (like the newly replaced mirror in my bathroom that should not be a big deal but somehow signifies the dawning of a new age of acceptance to me).

Don’t worry, along the way I’ll still be playing Jimmy Buffett, keeping my house at 90 degrees and dreaming of the day I decorate my palm tree for Christmas because remember, “I’m not staying here anyway.”

Woman photo created by freepik – www.freepik.com