A few months ago, I read about a study indicating that people are happier when they spend money to buy themselves free time (by outsourcing chores) than when they spend the same amount of money on material goods. (The study was widely covered; you can read more about it here, here, and here.) The authors reported that the reduction in time-stress resulting from paying others to perform daily tasks and routine chores led to greater life satisfaction across a wide range of income levels. In other words, even people who are not wealthy benefit emotionally from spending their discretionary money on services rather than goods. Given this information, why am I, like so many people, still cleaning my own house and weeding my own flower beds?
COPD stands for chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. COPD is an umbrella term that encompasses both emphysema and chronic bronchitis. It’s the disease that led to my father’s death this summer and that made him struggle to breathe for years. According to the National Heart, Lung, and Blood Institute, COPD is the third leading cause of death in the United States, killing more than 135,000 Americans each year. More than 15 million Americans have been diagnosed with COPD, and many more are likely unaware that they have the disease.
Last Saturday morning, my husband asked if I wanted to drive to a nearby town and have breakfast. I glanced at my to-do list and replied that I had too much on my plate for the weekend and would rather just stay home and start on my chores.
One of those tasks was to replace a perpetually leaking tire on my car, so at about 11:00 AM, we drove together to the tire shop. By the time we left, I needed to eat something (pregnancy hunger can be sudden and intense). Rather than swinging through a fast food drive through lane, we decided to stop by a downtown coffee shop that we rarely visit. Though they had healthier options, I indulged in a delicious cinnamon roll and a chai latte.
A friend who has two young children asked me to write about some positive things my parents did when I was a child that have shaped who I am today. So many things contribute to why we are the way we are, from genetics to early friendships to traumatic experiences in our youth, but there’s no denying that our parents’ choices, behaviors, and attitudes have a significant impact on the people we become. Reflecting on our childhoods is valuable for all of us, and it holds particular value for me at this moment, as I prepare to become a parent. Read more
I came across this article yesterday that reported the findings of a study showing that “[o]nly 10% of consumers now love to cook, while 45% hate it and 45% are lukewarm about it.” The 10% number surprised me, as many people in my social circle cook most of their meals and seem to enjoy making their own food. I’ll admit that I tend to fall into the lukewarm category, though it’s more accurate to say that my desire to cook ebbs and flows.
I know that cooking my own meals is generally healthier and more cost-effective than eating at restaurants. Cooking can be a lot more satisfying, too. I don’t live in a big city with an endless number of restaurants, and sometimes I’m just not that excited about my options for eating out. On occasions when I want a specific dish, my chances of satisfying the craving are sometimes better if I make the dish myself rather than trying to find the precise offering at a local restaurant. I also imagine that for families with kids and hectic schedules, eating at home is probably easier than going to a restaurant.
This week, Hidden Brain, one of my favorite podcasts-slash-public-radio-programs, explored the topic of regret with a researcher and head of an academic “regret lab.” The program discussed the various positive and negative consequences of regret.
I think I’ve reached a point in my life when I’m able to put most of my regrets to rest. Yes, there are opportunities I missed, chances I wish I’d taken, different paths I could have chosen, and times I acted selfishly or treated others poorly. The last category is, of course, the hardest to get over, because it’s regret combined with guilt. But we can’t undo what we’ve done in the past, and at some point we have to forgive ourselves and commit to behaving better in the future, now that we know better.
Yesterday, I spent some time tidying up my living room. I hadn’t planned to spend my morning that way, but I came downstairs and saw the ever-growing pile of papers on the table that serves as a catch-all, and I just couldn’t bear to look at it anymore. This is usually how cleaning goes for me. I have no set schedule for it, no weekly cleaning routine; it happens in bursts when I feel the urge.
The last month and a half has been challenging for me. I traveled to Greece for two weeks, which disrupted my usual routines, though I still managed to do some meditating and blogging while I was there. Then my dad was hospitalized and died, and for a while it seemed nearly impossible to focus on anything else. I still think about my dad constantly, and my mom and I are doing our best to figure out this new normal. To top it off, I am pregnant with my first child, making me both excited and exhausted. Simple tasks like eating and exercising have become much more difficult than they once were.
When I was a kid, my dad was what today we might call my lead parent. My mom was involved in my life too, but she often worked 60 hours a week and sometimes had to travel for work. My dad’s work day ended at 3:00, and he had a little more flexibility in terms of taking time off, so he was the one who picked me up from day care, took me to my first day of kindergarten, and attended school events. I spent a good bit of time with him when I was young, and he taught me many of life’s essential early lessons.
I sometimes took my dad for granted in my adolescent years, as teens often do. He went through some hard times and battled some demons, and I didn’t always understand or appreciate him. When I was in 11th grade, and again during my first year of college, he was hospitalized with serious health issues. These brushes with death transformed my dad and my relationship with him, and I’m especially grateful for the person he became and the times we spent together over the past 15 years.
My father passed away on Friday, July 7. He had been in the hospital during the preceding week, which is why I have not published any new posts recently. There is so much I want to write about my dad, but I need some time to process everything. And I can’t imagine writing about anything else right now. I will be writing new posts soon, I hope, but I’m not sure exactly when. Thank you for your patience and understanding.