Jan. 7, 2004
New Year's Resolutions
I thought that I would make a lot of New Year's Resolutions this year. I had already made one, back in November: to take MARTA to work every day, like I used to, so that I will once again be able to call myself a serious reader.
The first day I went back to work, January 5th, was rainy. But, resolution bright and firm (and $50 already spent on a January MARTA card), I walked to the bus stop nearest my house, arriving at five minutes before 8:00 a.m., since the only bus is the 8:03, and if I miss that one, there is not another scheduled until 8:38. I stood at the bus stop in the rain, talking to my mother (she often calls me early in the morning, figuring it will be the best time to catch me), and at 8:10 realized that the bus had never arrived. So, I walked back to my house, got in the car (soaking wet by this time), and drove to the train station, determined to keep my resolution, get on the train, and read.
This experience made me remember several things about MARTA. First of all, when it rains, bus drivers often call in sick. No replacement for the driver is found, and the bus simply does not arrive. Calls to MARTA customer service are met with incredulity, followed by assurance ("Yes ma'am, that bus arrived at the train station at 8:03 a.m."), followed by hostility ("Ma'am, my computer is showing it right here! The bus was on time!"), followed by more calls after my arrival at work (following the harried arrangements for alternate transportation and the frantic calls to work to tell them of the delay), ending finally with an explanation from a supervisor ("One of our drivers called in sick today, and we couldn't find a replacement driver for that route. I'm sorry for the inconvenience, ma'am."). No, MARTA does not offer compensation for any work time you might miss as a result of all this. Yes, I have made these phone calls many times. No, it's really not worth it and doesn't do any good in the end. On rainy days, it's better to just drive, deal with the rainy day traffic, and be done with it.
Another thing I remembered about MARTA is that it involves much more walking than does driving to work, and so wearing heels is not such a great idea. All that walking makes my feet sore by the time I get to work. No wonder I went through a phase where none of my work outfits incorporated skirts.
But the cool thing is, I did get to read. After having finally finished The Corrections by Jonathan Franzen over the holidays (which I did enjoy in the end, after having not particularly enjoyed the first half or so), I am now starting The Sweet Potato Queens' Book of Love by Jill Conner Browne, a book leant to me by Penny's stepmother. This book is not Serious Fiction, but I am enjoying it so far. The first chapter is about the women who decide to elect themselves the Sweet Potato Queens of the annual St. Patrick's Day Parade in a small town in Mississippi, bypassing all the pageant nonsense and skipping straight to the part where they get to wear tiaras and sequins and be in the parade. I am in favor of that strategy, and I can relate to much of the Queens' wisdom. Following is my favorite paragraph so far:
God, how we love our majorette boots. Women of a certain age - I need not name that age - will empathize with this at once. When we were growing up, the Sears Roebuck Christmas catalog featured a wide array of costumes - the Bride's Dress, the Cowgirl Outfit, the Nurse's Uniform, the Princess Gown, and the Majorette Suit. With it were some crappy little spats that were supposed to pass for boots, but you could order separately Real Live Majorette Boots. Out of all the Queens with our diverse backgrounds, not one ever got a pair of Real Live Majorette Boots, and not one had ever gotten over that bitter disappointment. That is so much of what being a Sweet Potato Queen represents for us: correcting karma.... Don't waste your precious life moping over the vacancies of your childhood. Hell, you're full grown now. If you don't have Real Live Majorette Boots at this stage in your life, it's your own goddamn fault.
One has only to look at the glittery tiara and the Rock Star t-shirt I wore for the Were You Prom Queen? photo shoot (heck, one has only to look at the title of the record) to see just how wholeheartedly I agree with this sentiment.
I was going to sit down right after Christmas and make the rest of my resolutions; I figured they would mostly have to do with my music career - you know, to work harder, to play out more, to tour, to practice guitar more often, to write more songs, to be more disciplined... all the stuff I always beat myself up about, all the stuff that makes me feel stupid and ineffectual all the time, all the stuff that keeps me from ever truly enjoying myself because I always know in the back of my mind that a true artist would be using this time to create, a successful musician would be motivated enough to be working right now, not wasting time at this party or movie or restaurant. I figured I would have plenty of resolutions to put into effect on January 1st because there is always so much to fix, so much to improve.
Then, I got sick with the flu. (I vaguely remember shuddering at the notion of a flu shot and loudly proclaiming that I didn't believe in them anyway; I can only shake my head at my former stupidity and resolve to get my flu shot next year with all due haste. See, there's one resolution.) I literally was in bed for about a week. And, the thing is... I loved it. It was so nice. I mean, I was miserable and coughing and snotty and feverish and all that, and for a couple of days there I literally wanted to die, but I was actually completely relaxed for the first time in at least a year. I had all these projects that I was supposed to be working on over the holiday break, deadlines to meet, things to do, and I literally was unable to do any of them. And it was such a relief that I just wanted to cry. The lack of expectation from anyone, including myself, was so lovely. As I got better, I spent more time on the couch watching DVD's with Derik (who deserves the Best Boyfriend On Earth crown and scepter for heroically taking care of my every need while I was sick) and less time lying in bed, but I was still too weak and dizzy to contemplate doing anything productive. And I found myself thinking, "Now, this is the life."
When being very sick makes you happier than you are when you're not sick, that's maybe kind of an indicator that there's something wrong with the way you are conducting your life.
So, no resolutions. I'll keep the ones I already made, but that's it. No self-punishing regimen of diet and exercise, no strict rules (already doomed to be broken) about how and when and how often I'll play guitar, no sky-high, type-A goals to meet. My only resolution for 2004 is to take the time to enjoy my life. To spend as much time as possible with the people I love. To spend as much time as possible doing the things I love to do. Music is one of those things, definitely. But there has to be a way to do more of the music and less of the hated activities: the phone calls (the job description of a singer/songwriter who is her own manager, booking agent, and record label is actually much closer to the job description of a telemarketer than you probably think), the poster hanging, the internet marketing, the constant trips to the post office. It's three years now that I've been a professional singer/songwriter, and that week of being sick forced me to finally admit to myself that I'm going insane. I don't think it's an admission of total defeat to admit that I need a break.
There are things that are already in motion, things that I don't want to stop. I worked so hard on the new CD, and it's so good. I love it so much. I would be heartbroken if no one heard it, if no one loved it. I made a big spreadsheet back in November with everything I needed to do for the new CD release. It's a lot, but I can do it. I have to do it. But I'm not going to kill myself to get these things done. I am going to tackle one thing at a time, and if something doesn't get done, it doesn't get done. Who does it hurt besides me? No one. Who pushes me so hard that I'm always so freaked out, so stressed out, so sure that I'm undeserving of success? No one. I have the power to change my life. I have the power to make it fun again.
Anyway. That got a little more intense than I intended. I'm talking to the world, not to my diary. Then again, this is my diary, and, for better and for worse, it provides you, the reader, with a real-life, backstage glimpse into the real Lindsay Smith. For what that's worth.
I had a lot of great surprises this holiday season, but nothing was better than getting to see Jyoti (of "Molly and Laurie and Jyoti and Kim" fame), David, and their four (four!) daughters on January 4th. All four of the girls have inherited their mother's beauty and bewitching charm: I loved all of them instantly and forever, just as I've loved Jyoti since the moment we met during our freshman year of college. The last time I saw Ele and Ari, the two older girls, Ele was 2 or 3, and Ari was a tiny baby. Now they are 7 and 5 (I think that's right) and have their own distinct personalities, their own likes and dislikes. Chloe, the toddler, and even Pip, the new baby, are so full of life and their eyes so full of laughter, it's impossible not to fall under their spell. All of the girls seem to have inherited Jyoti's innate belief that people are good, that fun things are worth doing for their own sake, and that life is a constant adventure. Unlike their mother, they live in the world of children, with that slightly skewed (to us) perception that children have of what's important and what is not, what is a game and what is deadly serious. What fun Jyoti and David must have watching them grow!
Jyoti and David are organic farmers, and they live in England. Their daughters are learning how to weed a garden and how to make hay. For many years, they lived in a commune, and I have always wondered how the children would react to their upbringing, what it would be like to be raised in the woods. I still wonder whether they will always stick close to the earth or whether they will turn into pouty teenagers and rebel, running off to London to join motorcycle gangs. But now that I've really met them, I know I don't need to worry, either way. The foundation of this tight-knit family, full of love and light, will stand them in good stead throughout their lives.
I'm thinking of telling some old Asbury House stories at the Stitching Stars Storytelling Festival in March. Seeing Jyoti was just the inspiration I needed.
What’s in my stereo at home:
What’s in my car:
What's in my CD player at work:
Nothing today; I'm working on a song in my head
What I'm reading:
l-r: Ari, Ele, and Chloe on their idyllic farm in England