Yes, and ....

Really, improv is fun -- if scary -- to do.

Wrote about my experiences with it and Houston's improv scene recently for The Buzz Magazines.

By Hand

Neither my husband’s car nor mine is equipped with spare tires, something I’m told is now normal.

When we got a flat recently, we ended up stranded for the night in Corsicana, TX*, till the tire shop opened in the morning.

I have zero idea how to change a tire and think the world is safer if I don't try.

My husband did once change the tire of a rental car on the Cross-Bronx Expressway, an awful stretch of pavement. Yes, everyone who hears this story wonders why he just didn’t call the rental company. He said when he turned the car in, he told the guy at the rental counter he had changed the tire and the guy just shrugged. Sure hope that tire was on right.

My point is we all seem to be moving away from doing things with our own hands.

It’s not just flat tires. Lots of things aren’t fixable; either they are disposable or you need specialized tools, including, maybe, a diagnostic computer, to even open them.

Children aren’t even taught handwriting in school anymore, which, research shows, may have some broad negative impacts on their abilities to learn.

Weirdly, there are games you can get for your phone where you play at cleaning a house or planting a garden by tapping your screen. It’s not the same.

Patience is required to do things with your own hands, an acceptance that things aren't perfect and won’t come together perfectly, a tolerance for frustration.

And when you are able to fix something, you feel accomplished.

*One thing to recommend in the tiny town of Corsicana: Collins Street Bakery, world-famous for its fruitcakes. The tow truck driver and tire-shop guys, all gruff and heavily tattooed, recommend the cherry refrigerator cookies – hot-pink little confections – and they’re right.

Mirror, Mirror, On The Wall

You Don’t Have to Show It All

Staying at hotels is fun, except for the mirrors in the bathrooms.

They all seem to have magnifying mirrors and lighting suitable for an operating room.

Gah.

Why would you do that to yourself?

Is there a conspiracy between the hotels and beauty companies? Do the hotels get a kickback when people run out and buy electrolysis and/or concealer?

Calling them vanity mirrors seems like a misnomer; insecurity mirrors would be more like it.

Seeing everything in detail on anything is not always the best option. For example, as a near-sighted person, I have discovered that Christmas trees and Christmas lights are best looked at without glasses or contacts. You don’t see the wires and the hooks and the bulbs and the extension cords. You just see what you are supposed to see: lights and colors and shine.

I would argue that the same holds for faces, your own and other people’s. We don’t have to see every pore and eyebrow hair, people.

The New York Times Magazine tends to employ a photography style on their cover subjects that zooms in on the pores on the person’s nose, which is just mean.

I think/hope that what I see in my own bathroom mirror (a regular one, lit by regular light bulbs) is what other people see when they look at me.

Another reason I think people aren’t seeing me in high-def: They are probably worrying more about their own faces than scrutinizing mine.

I’m all for not worrying about this. How about you?

Trying Too Hard

That little basil plant in with the mint.

It has always seemed counter-intuitive to me, but there really is such a thing as “trying too hard.” 

There is also such a thing as trying the wrong way.

This came to mind when I was watering my potted herbs the other day. I bought these as seedlings. Why? Because I have never been able to raise anything from seed. I’ll plant a seed and get a sprout, that tiny little filament stem topped by two little leaves. I watch it carefully, water it carefully – and one day, there the little seedling will be lying, wilted and dead on the soil, already turning back into dirt.

But that day as I watered my herbs, I saw a nice sturdy basil plant growing in the mint pot. It landed there by accident. It got through the vulnerable seedling stage without me even noticing it and there it was, a sturdy young plant.

You know what the most common cause of death for houseplants is? Not under-watering, overwatering. This link calls it “fussing your plant to death.”

Sometimes, benign neglect is exactly what’s needed.

And sometimes, you can approach something the exact wrong way. When I was a little kid, my mother tells me, I couldn’t figure out how to jump. I’d stand there, knees bent, face screwed up in concentration, think really hard about jumping and not move. I was always very verbal, but an absolute mess with anything physical. I was thinking the word “Jump!” in my head as hard as I could, but that, of course, didn’t get the job done. There is something distinctly not verbal in physical movement and I didn’t have the first clue how to access that.

So – I am going to try not to try, especially not in ways that don’t work. 

Mental Blocks

My tire-pressure light.

Yesterday, I had a flat tire. Had to get the car towed (no spare) to a tire store, where I was told it’s really time to replace all four tires. What fun.

Here’s the thing:

I didn’t know I had a tire going flat. A guy noticed from across the parking lot. And he had even told my son, a couple days before. My son thought he said front, driver’s side. So, I looked at the front tire on the driver’s side, which wasn’t flat. Done.

I didn’t even think to look at any of the other tires.

It was the rear tire on the driver’s side.

How weird it is that that guy notices things on other people’s cars, while I don’t even notice things on my own?

Honestly, I can’t even keep in mind what model year my car is. I always have to look that up.

I have a mental block against all things car-related.

“Pop the trunk,” says the mechanic and I’m like, “How do I do that again?”

(Yes, they totally see me coming … Gotta say, though, I don’t think I’ve ever been ripped off.)

My husband patiently shows me how to check the pressure in my tires every time that little light (which looks like a butt to me) goes off. The next time it does, I have no idea how to do it.

I think everyone has mental blocks. Maybe your mind shuts off when someone starts talking budgeting. Or you really don’t want to hear it when the repairman starts telling you exactly how they’re going to fix something. (OK, that’s me again.) Or the person from your health insurance starts talking out-of-pocket and deductibles, blah, blah, blah. (Health-insurance companies are obtuse on purpose, though.)

So, what are your mental blocks?

My Little Dog Has ADD

Evidence: his morning pee session

Willpower Isn’t So Simple (And That’s A Good Thing)

The phrase “nose to the grindstone” makes no sense. How is pressing your nose to a grindstone a good idea?

When I was in college, I didn’t sit at the desks in front of the library’s floor-to-ceiling windows. I sat in enclosed cubbies: surrounded by blank walls, I thought I would concentrate better. How awful.

Sometimes I think civilizations advance, and individuals mature, when they figure out not everything is black and white.

And willpower is an example. It’s not so simple. It, or its lack, is not a matter of character.

You know the famous marshmallow test? Researchers told preschoolers they could have one marshmallow now or, if they waited a bit, they could have two. Then, the marshmallow in front of the child, the researchers left to see what the child would do.

Decades later, the kids who waited had better life outcomes: did better in school, had higher SAT scores, were in better health, were less likely to have gotten in trouble with the law and made more money than those who didn’t.

The news coverage of this was basically, “See? Willpower is good. And some people have it and others don’t.”

But that wasn’t it. The lead researcher has written a book and has been giving interviews, such as the ones here, here and here.

The real story is the kids who could wait knew how to wait. They played mental tricks on themselves. They turned their backs on the marshmallow. They sang to themselves.

Another researcher, with equally charming studies (one of his involving radishes and fresh-baked cookies) has shown that willpower is like muscle strength: it can be developed and wisely used.

It can (and should) be a happy thing – sitting in front of a pretty view or singing – not a grind. Yay.

Pay Attention!!!

Image courtesy of Sixninepixels at

 FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Is there an adult in America today who doesn’t wonder, if they haven’t already been diagnosed, that they might have attention-deficit disorder? (And if there is, can they tell me their secret?)

A study done at Harvard in 2010 showed that people’s minds are not on the task at hand 47% of the time.

That’s all?

This New York Times columnist, quoting a survey, says currently the average human attention span is eight seconds, shorter than that of a goldfish.

That sounds about right.

As I’ve sat here, my daughter, away at college, texted me. So did several other people, including a spammer. Even if I don’t respond, I look: Who is it? Is it an emergency?

Then, the stupid thing beeps a second time several seconds later.

I supposed I could figure out how to reset that.

But meanwhile, since I looked, I see my mom responded to my email.

Oh, and I have some notifications from Facebook.

Facebook is its own particular distraction vortex. Oh, awful: A childhood classmate died. Oh, sweet: Another is getting married. Oh, a sponsored ad is looking for women who suffer from ovarian cancer who used talcum powder. Is that something to worry about? Oh, I feel sick: A video automatically plays of an abused dog so skinny, he can’t stand. Oh, but there are some sweet horses or goats or kittens or babies who are obviously doted on … My brain struggles to process all of this.

Where was I? Oh, yes, distraction.

But who am I kidding? I can remember the pre-Internet days. And I distinctly remember veering away from tasks I didn’t want to do.

Attention, at least for me, is this fleeting, fluttering, easily damaged thing.

It’s like herding butterflies.

And I still don’t have the hang of it.