the shawshank redemption way of effectiveness training

If you haven’t seen The Shawshank Redemption, you really ought to netflix that puppy at your earliest convenience.   If you’ve seen it, you’ll get what I mean.  If you haven’t seen it, I’m not going to explain the title of this post because I don’t want to give any spoilers.  Just go watch the movie and then come back here.  I’ll wait.

The other day a friend asked me how I do it all.  “All what?” I said because on my end it feels like I’m hardly accomplishing anything.  She rolled her eyes.  “Homeschool your kids, write a novel a year, run a small goat dairy, daily yoga practice, and that’s for starters.”  It does sound kind of impressive put that way.  I once heard Donna Jo Napoli speak—she puts me to shame in all areas, amazing published novels, professor, a bunch of kids—”how do you do it all?” she was asked and, nonplussed, she answered, “I do all of that, yes.  And you can eat off my kitchen floor,” pause, “for a week.  And not go hungry.”

Something’s got to give, right?

Aside from minimal cleaning, something I also subscribe too, routines help.  For me, if I do a little every day, I get a lot more done over the long haul than if I try to do a lot, every now and then.  No matter how big the goal, no matter how long the tunnel one has to dig to freedom, a little every day will get you there.

Is this too cliche for a blog post?  But it really works!  I’m serious!  Any small amount, done daily, gets it done.

Also, if I ask myself what to do all day, the answers are usually watch some tv, read a book, hang with the kids, nothing bad, but novels don’t get written that way.  Better to have part of the day where I don’t ask.  Or where the answer has already been given.

Okay, I have fantasies where I’m one of those happy-go-lucky wild-childs, drifting from one adventure to the next, fearless and fascinating.  But honestly, I would probably hate that.  I’d be a bundle of anxiety about a million uncontrollable things, and there’s probably some mental illness in here somewhere, some seed of OCD or a path down which I could easily become a shut-in with twenty cats, because usually, I’d rather stay home.  Sad truth: I like having the same thing for breakfast every day.  To my great shame, in many ways, I’m really rather dull.

So, the routine at the moment makes me terrifically happy, because I love it, and because it helps me get a lot done.  And it’s embarrassing, because it’s a routine, and because, well, it doesn’t include nearly enough housecleaning.  Or any, really.  Okay, maybe a little.

Here it is.

Get up at 5:30.  I stall and fiddle but I’m writing by 6.  My whole day is vastly improved, just by getting this one thing done first.

I do that until the kids come and get me, sometime around 7 or 8.

Next, I make breakfast for the crew.  Coffee, hooray!  Talk to Paul before he leaves.  Do a load of dishes.  Usually.

By 8:30, Sophie and I go out and milk the goats.  Unless it’s just me, because she has decided it’s too cold, or too boring, or what’s on tv is too good.  Chickens, cat, goats, milking, clean up the barn, put up the milk and eggs, clean out the milker.  Get dressed—that’s right, I do barn work in my pajamas, so sue me—put in a load of laundry, some minimal grooming and…

…hit the yoga mat by 9:30.

That first surya namaskar is just divine.  Sophie often does some art project, making a bracelet, painting, something like that, or maybe she and Luc watch some Scooby-doo or kill some Zombies.  We chat a little while I do my yogi thing.  I’m done by 11 most days.  Which is good because we’re hungry again by then.  So lunch, a bit early, but then the morning routine is done by noon.

After lunch, we go out.  Outside, to the yard, to the forest, to the pond, or out to the store, park, library, museum, planetarium, horseback riding, aikido, whatever.  Play.  They don’t get much of me in the morning, so I give them as much of me as I can in the afternoon.  We get home, play some more around here. Maybe a game, maybe a book, maybe we wander away from each other for a while.

Until we’re hungry again, time to feed people, time to milk goats again.  Paul gets home, and I get my blessed twenty minutes by myself in the bath (thank you Paul!) and my new amazing discovery, tv  in the tub!  Hulu on my laptop, which sits (safely) on the table at the foot of our bathtub, it’s awesome, add a pomegranite martini, some bath salts, and a semi-dark room and I’ve got a half-dozen relaxation techniques going all at once, ahhhhh….

Then kid baths, a load of laundry, clean up the yurt a little, maybe, if I can still move, okay, probably not.  Hang with Paul, that’s more fun.  Then slide into bed.  Another day, another homerun, another few steps in the right direction.  Not thousands of words, just 1000.  Not a heroic yogic effort, just today’s practice.  Not all the laundry, just one load.  But do it every day.

But here’s the thing about routines: the minute I get comfortable in one, it changes.  A kid starts sleeping at a different time.  A kid starts NOT sleeping at a different time.  A class, an activity, somethings changes.  I’ve had this routine going for a while now, so I know its half-life is approaching, spring is coming on, and then summer, it will all probably morph i.e.fall apart, any minute now.  Which is fine.  There’s always the next routine.

But this one is a groove I’m enjoying right now, and it does help me keep moving on my long term projects, even if it isn’t a whole lot of movement on any one day.  It adds up.  It does. That’s how I do it all.  One pocketful of crushed rock at a time.