Resolutions

A new year, another list to make! I love to make lists - of things I need to do, places to go, books to read - a list on paper is a visualization of possibilites.

I also use lists as a way to get information out of my head so I can quit stressing. Why give yourself the pressure of trying to remember things when you can easily put it on paper? Mom taught me this valuable tool when I was a stressed-out teenager who couldn't sleep due to...well, whatever teens stress about. One night I lay in my bed staring at the ceiling, and when she asked me what was stressing me, I said in tears, "Everything!" So she sat on the edge of the bed with a pen and paper and made me list every single thing that bothered me: tests, rehearsals, an upcoming speech, an insensitive comment from a friend. And once everything was on paper, I saw that it wasn't so overwhelming after all. We looked at the list and determined whether or not I could do anything about any of the items. And after it all was out of my head and onto paper, I could sleep.

And boy does it feel good to mark off things as I accomplish them. When I was a kid and hated to clean my room, Mom used to write a checklist of jobs to help me complete the sometimes huge task. At the top she wrote "Shannon's To-Do List," and then drew boxes next to each item. I got immense satisfaction in putting a checkmark in each box as I put all my books on the shelf or put my stuffed animals on the bed. Lists made the job bearable.

I have about eight resolutions on my list for this year, and I predict that I will complete three of them. But that's okay. Some are difficult (finish my book, eat better) and some are easy (walk George to the park instead of driving, take my vitamins every day) but either way, when I accomplish anything I will be happy in the mere knowledge that I am bettering myself in some way. I'll find happiness in any small success.

Tonight my husband and I are going to watch the movie Patton, because we are making our way through the American Film Institute's list of the 100 best movies of all-time. When it's over, I will cross out the word "Patton" with a bright blue highlighter and bask in the satisfaction of another accomplishment.

Travel Bug

My husband says I have a “jet-fuel ass.” This eloquent description is supposed to depict my love of travel. And I have to admit that lately I have been dying to get out of the country. Well, maybe not dying, but the feeling has begun to gnaw at me and could escalate to such extremes if my need is not met.

Last week I met the passport-carrying dog Cowboy, but he is not what got me into travel mode. It’s just a desire I get every so often when I haven’t taken a trip in a while. I know my husband will read this and say, “But we just went to Laguna two months ago!” but that is not what I’m talking about. And yes, we will be going to Indiana/Kentucky/Tennessee for Thanksgiving, and to Disneyland in December, but that’s not what I’m talking about either. (A trip to visit family isn’t an actual journey, and Disneyland is, well, Disneyland.)

What I’m talking about is the need to connect with a world that is bigger than myself. To challenge myself by speaking other languages and getting out of my comfort zone. To step out of daily life and see that our way is not the norm, globally. To be anonymous and mysterious, away from myself.

I have a Bucket List, although I hate that term. I call mine a Life List, and it has nearly 100 entries, half of which are places I want to go. By the way, since listing my wishes on paper, many of them have actually happened, instead of remaining in my head as a “someday I’d like to…”

The top travel item on my Life List is to walk the length of the Thames Path. It’s the trail that starts in England at the source of the Thames and ends somewhere past London, meandering along the river as it gets wider and wider, ending at the Thames Barrier. How cool would it be to walk the leisurely path every day, stopping to explore castles or cathedrals or to have lunch in a riverside pub?

Other travel items on my list are to go to Thailand (to the beaches and inland), to visit my family’s origins in Ireland, to un-touristy Latvia and Estonia, on a safari in Africa, and to New Zealand. My domestic wish list includes Alaska, Key West, and a bike trip through Wine Country. Believe me, my list is endless. I constantly hear of new destinations and add and add.

In fact, I just thought of another item to put on my list. Someday I want to go to the airport, passport in hand, and pick a destination right then. Then I’ll frantically research the destination country during the flight and then step onto unplanned, spontaneous soil. How fun! Watch out husband, my travel bug is growing as I write!

So, I invite all of you out there to change your wish lists to To-Do lists. Make them things you plan to do rather than things you wish could happen. It will change your mindset about your dreams by changing them into something attainable.

And whenever I book that trip to walk the length of the Thames, I will extend an invitation to you all to meet me for a pint in that riverside pub. See you there!

Mornings

I write this today from a basement breakfast room in a Best Western in St. George, Utah. The room is packed with familes and older couples and the air is filled with the smell of coffee and the occasional beeping of the waffle-iron's timer. My two girlfriends are asleep in the hotel room, tired from late-night gabbing after last night's musical Footloose at Tuacahn, the gorgeous outdoor amphitheater north of town.

But this morning I'm not thinking about last night's show, although it was made complete by the goat who pooped onstage. And they even re-enacted the tractor competition scene from the movie (when Kevin Bacon wins because his shoelace got stuck) and used two real tractors, one of which crashed and caused the bad-guy to fall in a pond.

Instead, this morning I'm thinking of the beauty of morning. As I walked across the parking lot toward the free breakfast, I met several peoploe walking back with cups of coffee. Each of them greeted me with a "Good morning!" and a smile. Strangers are friendlier in the morning.

It was fun leaving my girlfriends asleep and breaking out on my own today. I've always valued my alone time, gaining strength and focus in my solo trips or strolls. In fact, the last time I visited my friend Laurie in California I set my alarm two hours earlier than hers, just so I could sit on the beach alone - alone with five surfers, two fishermen, countless seagulls, and a brave sand crab.

Waking up extra early reminds me of the excitement I felt as a kid when Mom would wake me up for special occasions, like the start of a road trip, preparations for a holiday get-together, or even to stumble, sleepy-eyed, to the TV to watch a pretty lady named Diana become a princess.

Today, mornings represent waking up before dark to catch an early flight for a welcomed vacation, or getting up early enough to warm up my voice before an audition. Early mornings suggest that big things are in store.

But best of all, I love heading out early for a walk with George. The world is quiet then, the weather is gentle, and the world almost vibrates with the promise of what is to come. Oh, the possibilities.

Books

There’s a man at the dog park who is originally from Indiana like me, and every time he sees me he yells, “Hey, Paoli!” (I'm from Paoli, IN.) We’ve had some interesting conversations over the past year because our political and religious views couldn’t be more opposite. But I don’t really mind. He obviously likes to talk, and he thinks opposing opinions are amusing. Most recently, our conversation led to the safer topic of books. Now that’s a conversation I can get into.

I grew up always with my “nose in a book,” as Mom would constantly complain when I tried to read during dinner. But she didn’t really mind, because she gave me my love of literature, starting by reading me books such as Goodnight, Moon and Where the Wild Things Are, and reciting James Whitcomb Riley poetry she’d memorized when she was a kid. I was always excitedly scared by her rendition that ended “…and the gobblins’ll getcha if you don’t watch out!”

When I was young, Mom bought me the first of the Little House on the Prairie books. Every time I finished one, we made a special trip to the Bloomington mall, where I was allowed to purchase the next book in the series. And on New Year’s Day 1984, just after I turned thirteen, we sat together on our blue living room sofa as Mom began to read aloud the book 1984, beginning many deep discussions about its meaning. To this day, I’m disgusted when people think Big Brother refers to the TV show instead of George Orwell.

I was very lucky to have excellent English teachers in high school, including the eccentric Ruth Uyesugi, who taught Senior English. In fact, Mrs. U, as we called her, taught English for so many years that my mother had her for Senior English, as did all my aunts and uncles. Mrs. U made Literature seem scandalous and exciting, introducing us to novels that included incest, insanity, or murder. We thought we were getting away with something in her class, when it was actually just her master plan of giving us a lifelong love of reading.

When people see the huge library of books I have in our front room, I always tell them, “I buy books like most women buy clothes.” And I can’t resist the possibilities inside a new book. Certain books have a cozy feel to them, making you want to stroke their covers like a cat. And an old book’s musty smell brings back childhood memories of rainy days, curled up with an afghan and a book on a lazy Saturday.

I still have all the books from my childhood, and someday I look forward to sharing them with my children, introducing them one at a time, like precious gifts. They are, after all, aren’t they?