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In a nutshell, the 50% rule says instead of trying to do all the things, do the half that most resonates with you. At first blush, one may think that it’s all about doing a half-ass job, but in reality, I embraced this practice years ago with a different analogy.
During the 2022 Olympics, I sequestered myself at home, due to the pandemic. In addition to watching more TV than ever, I saw more of the Olympics than I ever had. A novel thought overtook me: countries don’t send one olympiad to do everything; they send a team. And every Olympiad participates in events where their talents and skills lie.
After my Olympic revelation, I approached my projects with a more realistic expectation of how much I could achieve in a given amount of time, while also acknowledging that other things must also be accomplished. Although I rarely ask for help, I quieted my inner perfectionist, reminding myself that “done” is better than “perfect.”
What works best for me is to schedule doing things in a small increments of time. For example, during the workday, I get two 15-minute breaks. For the first break, I read a little from four books. The afternoon break finds me working on some creative project or studying. And whatever time I have left over from my hourlong lunch and 15-minute vibration plate workout, I blog.
The weekends are when I have the most time to leisurely work on projects the way I would if I didn’t have a day job. Nonetheless, the biggest priority on the weekends is to rest. May not seem that way since I never just sit and veg. Having an open schedule IS relaxing.
I’ve never thought of how I scheduled my time was doing 50%, though. It’s optimistic to think that things which bring me joy occupy at least 50% of my time. Some days, that allotment feels closer to 10%. Yet, when I look back over all the projects that I’ve completed over my lifetime, I feel blessed to have had the time to get them done and have something to show for my life.
I’d wanted the same friend who’d attended the modified Barre class with me last month to attend the free introductory class with me as well. She told me that she was already paying membership at three places and didn’t want to add a fourth. I threw my head back and laughed.
I enrolled in a 4-class monthly membership, making Barre my fourth. To recap, I have a 12-class monthly membership for pole fitness; a renewable 20-class pass, mostly for hot yoga, although I’ll do an occasional warm or cool class for a different discipline; and a gym membership for access to an indoor pool and usually one hot yoga class and an occasional Zumba or water aerobics class.
Would I love to combine all of those things conveniently under one roof? Of course! And yet, there are seven days in the week and most of those days find me in one exercise setting or another.
The yoga studio I used to be a member of in Austin had a tagline: Yoga Is Medicine. Well, it’s not just yoga. The key is to keep moving and for some of that movement to be in a group setting.
I’d always heard people complain that working from home felt isolating. I avoid that feeling through exercise. I don’t worry too much about non-exercise socializing because that usually isn’t active and costs money.
Adding to the challenge, I’ve recently started the 6-month adventure of studying for my pharmacy technician’s license. As much as I enjoy nerding-out and learning something new, the truth of the matter is that I want to advance either up the food chain or at least make more money in a different position. The cherry on top is that the company is paying for both the course and the exam.
Regardless of my professional ambition, I have to dedicate nearly an hour a day to keep pace with the online program. So far, it’s inviting coursework, which I can do all on my iPad. I manage to get it all done without having to sacrifice any of my workout time.
One of the reasons the “Freshman 15” was a thing was that more time was spent sitting around studying and not eating well. Unlike when I was freshman in undergrad, I schedule exercise classes and even stand on my vibration plate for 15 minutes after lunch, Monday-Friday, just so I can make sure there’s movement once I put my standing desk down for the second half of the work day.
As one retired woman told me at the gym, for the first six months after retirement, she thought she could become a couch potato and relax into her golden years. At the end of six months, she could barely walk without a walker.
I’ll definitely heed her lived example. Although I’ve aged out of certain strenuous activities such as capoeira, mainly because I’ve slowed down and not in the mood to dodge a kick, there are other strenuous activities that will keep me moving for the rest of my life.
In my latest attempt to align my lifestyle with my health goals, I researched what meals are better to eat a few hours prior to working out. Turns out, the egg and avocado pairing that I usually eat every morning is perfect for a light meal. The challenge is that I’m not going to eat that twice in one day.
I had to find something uncomplicated to make in the morning for myself since I also make breakfast for Dad. As a matter of fact, that “eggs every morning” breakfast I prepared was Dad’s expectation. For the sake of simplicity, I cooked enough for the both of us.
Years ago, I’d kicked the vast majority of breakfast foods to the curb, given the sheer amount of diabetes-inducing sugar they all contained. As I’ve gotten older and menopausal, weight gain occurs as seemingly easy as merely looking at food and alcohol.
My canary in the coal mine is my left eye. Ever since I was in middle school, when I started wearing glasses, it has been the weaker of the two eyes. Now my weaker eye has the added phenomenon of experiencing a dull ache whenever I’m too stressed or have consumed too much sugar. My left eye has even gone temporarily blind with an overload of stress.
Most of my stress relief has been exercise, which, up until I hit menopause, also helped with weight management. Now, I’ve entered brand-new territory as I navigate how to maintain an enjoyable and healthy life. Those two pursuits don’t have much common ground.
The goal is to ward off diabetes and other ills through diet and exercise. I already exercise on a regular basis. Plus, I’ve stopped having a daily glass of wine. It’s no longer feasible to buy the large boxes of wine since it goes bad before I finish drinking it.
So, I have oatmeal for breakfast, followed by my biggest meal of the day, lunch, with a light snack for dinner, then a small serving of mixed nuts with dried fruit after working out. I’m still trying to gauge if that post-workout snack has too many calories to sleep on or if weight gain is inevitable regardless. I don’t want to negate the workout, but I cannot go to sleep without a little something to keep stomach growls at bay.
For once, I attended a different exercise class on Sunday mid morning. The cherry on top was that I’d invited a friend who drove us far enough out of town that it could be considered a daytrip.
We set up our yoga mats under a pavilion in the front row, thanks to my aversion to having other people’s feet in my face. Although we were too close to the portable speaker, I easily remedied that by wearing my ever-handy earplugs.
I’d never taken a barre class before, but I was amazed at how the smallest movements created a huge effect. My friend kept saying that she would be very sore the next day. I teased her about approaching the drop-in class as if it were a military exercise. I, on the other hand, took everything in stride. Plus, I use CBD, so I knew that would help alleviate any soreness, especially due to inflammation.
One thing that I found challenging was seeing the food truck in front of us nearly the entire time. As the class progressed, the smell of burgers and fries permeated. I’d eaten breakfast, but that seemed long gone in the middle of that late-morning class.
Since our payment for the barre class included a drink ticket, we put away our yoga mats after class, then claimed our spicy apple ciders. As hungry as I was, I know that wasn’t the only reason that cider was delicious.
With drinks in hand, we waited in line for food. My friend wasn’t hungry, but she kept me company. While standing in line, I did my usual: talk a mile a minute. Even so, I made an effort to mind my own business instead of focusing on the middle aged couple behind us who kept loudly kissing. I figured they weren’t a long-time couple.
After I’d received my order and we’d sat down, I shared my observation about the amorous couple. My friend had overheard them asking one another those basic “first date questions” and had wanted to tell them to get a room. I laughed because I had been tempted to tell him that he’d have to kiss everyone. Or least tell her to hook a sister up. Of course, I didn’t find the guy attractive, so no need to joke about that with her.
After I finished eating, I went to the bathroom to wash my hands when I noticed the “Date Gone Wrong” sign. I loved everything about it. A part of me felt sad that women needed such a plan B, but I was very happy that there were strategies to help a sister out. A woman’s safety shouldn’t be compromised just because she’s looking for romance. Ideally, she’d be as happy and secure as the woman behind me in the food line.
Since the Farmers’ Market was in progress, my friend and I walked around to see what was available. I figured I wouldn’t buy anything, but I’m always in the mood for a post-meal stroll. That’s precisely why I came across something that I ended up buying.
Months ago, I’d bought reusable woolen dryer balls. The box contained a teaser bottle of essential oil to spray on the balls. When I returned to the place to buy a larger bottle, there was none to be found. I’d been searching for a suitable replacement ever since. The challenge was greater than I would have originally figured.
So, when I came across some bottles advertising “linen spray,” I thought that was close enough. I asked the vendor if the spray was for dryer balls and she confessed that she hadn’t thought to use it in that way. I liked the sound of “Berry Apple Bourbon” before I confirmed by smelling it. She asked me to try the “Jamaica Please” scent, which was her favorite. I couldn’t decided between the two, so I bought both.
After all, whether the linen spray worked as dryer ball scents or not, I’d be helping out a Black woman-owned business. Definitely worth the effort in more ways than one.
I was blessed with another year around the sun. Similar to my other birthday celebrations, I planned what to buy for myself and how to spend time with others.
I actually got started last month when I discovered that I’d left one of my bathing suits at the gym and the other one was so worn that the elastic had gummied. So, I bought myself two other two-piece swimsuits as replacements since that was on my list of birthday gifts to myself. Just in time to kick off my 54th birthday celebration.
As par for the course, I took a day off. Not THE actual birthday, which landed on a Saturday, but still, I had to reward myself with a day off from work, which started off by sleeping in for about 30 minutes longer.
After breakfast, I attended a water aerobics class. I let the instructor know that I was kicking off my birthday celebration a day early. At the beginning of class, she led everyone singing “Happy Birthday” to me.
After class, I went grocery shopping. Then, I went REAL shopping. As a matter of fact, I’d cashed in 2500 recognition points from work, which translated into a $25 gift card at the Apple store. A drop in the bucket, considering that I ended up buying an iPad, case, and pencil, which all added up very fast even with trading in my old iPad.
The closest Apple store to me was a 90-minute drive. That alone was reason enough for a PTO day, but my birthday day off doesn’t require me to leave the house, much less the city.
I had a choice of several tempting restaurants at that mall. Instead, I ordered online for a local, family-owned Mexican restaurant, which I’d timed perfectly for a pick up when I arrived in town, on the way home. Topped off with my own homemade coconut margarita, that was a perfect topper to the day and the best part, the sun had not yet set.
On the morning of my actual birthday, again I slept in. Since Saturdays are my normal cleaning days, I continued that domestic ritual.
For two Saturdays a month, I meet virtually to discuss race-based articles. During the last meeting, I told them that for the next event, I’d wear a tiara to celebrate my birthday and invited all of them to join me. Two other women wore tiaras and two other women wore fascinators. So, even though the conversation was heavy, I’m grateful that some chose to share in my joy.
The joy continued when the family met at a family-owned seafood restaurant. We’d never eaten there before, but months ago, I’d ordered takeout, which was yummy. The dine-in experience was even better. Not only did we start off with cocktails, but all the food was delicious. First time that I had to wear a plastic bib with plastic gloves. My nephew dug right in with his eating attire. I was apprehensive about it, saying that I’d eat the bulk of my food at home as leftovers. My sister, on the other hand, didn’t give a shit, didn’t wear any of it and still managed not to get food all over herself.
Later that evening, I had the pleasure of going to a musical with both of my sisters. Originally, my out-of-town sister was supposed to head back home after lunch, but a change of circumstances meant that she and her family were staying in town for a few days longer. So, my nephew agreed to allow her to go in his place. That was truly a birthday miracle. Besides, had he gone, his mother would have had to wake him up. In a way, I’m envious at how easily he can fall asleep even with a lot of sound and commotion going on.
On Sunday, we all met at a Mexican seafood restaurant. They served up margaritas in one size: punchbowl. My spicy mango margarita came with a tanjin straw, which I nibbled on for a sweet and tangy appetizer. One of my sisters talked so much crap about the spicy candy until I let her taste it for herself, then she admitted that it was actually good.
We’d never eaten there before, but it was an instant hit. My niece, who’s a vegan, researched the restaurant and came up with a winner. I can tell my family’s come a long way since fish came out with the head on it and no one freaked out about it.
Another delicious thing: my sister and her husband have been pescaterians for several years. Throughout the meal, they were praising the yellow rice that most of us received as a side dish. As I packed up my leftovers in a to-go box, I tasted a forkful of my rice without the salmon and detected the secret ingredient of why the rice was so yummy. Chicken broth. Lord knows how I enjoy flavoring my vegetable dishes with animal product!
Although Mom’s birthday is three days after mine, this year was the first time I’d taken a PTO day for her birthday as well. Since Mom’s dad’s primary caregiver, one of the best gifts to give her is time away from him. So, I took her to breakfast while a caregiver was with Dad. Yet again, to a restaurant we’ve never eaten at before.
I’d researched breakfast places and was amazed that I’d never noticed it before in one of the newest shopping areas. Mom and I hit the restaurant at the best time, missing the breakfast rush. As a matter of fact, the place was so empty, I spied my favorite hot sauce.
Mom had been so preoccupied by the birthday wishes on her phone, that she reacted as if the hot sauce had magically appeared. So, she sent me to fetch her an inferior hot sauce, but it was her birthday outing.
Although Mom could have ordered a number of breakfast tacos, she only ordered one. Then, throughout breakfast, she said, “You sure won’t get filled up at this place.”
Ms. Smoothies-for-Breakfast was now worried about being full for her morning meal? I think not. Even though she enjoyed her lone taco, she had to find something wrong with the place.
Since I’d taken the whole day off, Mom got another respite day and went to get a mani-pedi. She was beaming with the relaxation of her gift of time for herself. And just like that, another new tradition I’m going to observe for Mom’s birthday!
These days, I don’t need elaborate plans to enjoy my vacation. As a matter of fact, thanks to a surplus of paid time off, I can pick and choose when I want to accommodate some elaborate plan to have fun.
So, when coworkers asked how I planned to send our latest three-day weekend, I proudly said eat barbecue (my sister is a grill master), drink (red wine and tequila, but not together), and juggle various creative projects while binge-watching TV. One coworker recommended a tequila brand to me. That was a timely recommendation since my sister, the grill master, had used all but a corner of my tequila in her quest to make “Smoky Peach” margaritas.
As if grilling on Saturday wasn’t enough of a cooking task, my sister also made a Banana Split Cake on Sunday. Mom used to make this dessert on a regular rotation when we were growing up.
My sole cooking contribution to the long weekend was making breakfast on Labor Day morning, consisting of waffles with a mixed berry garnish; scrambled eggs with cheese, cayenne and garlic powder; and bacon.
In between all the eating, drinking and TV-watching, I worked on several projects: typing up my past journals, illustrating, and I finally managed to complete the digital film of my family reunion, which had taken place this past June.
Not only had I shot and edited the video, but I sound mixed it as well. That left the podcast and my aunt’s surprise birthday post-production to do. After I finish those two things, I’m not taking on any other new projects until I get my pharmacy technician license…I’ll just see now that I tempted fate.
For months, my sister took deacon classes on Saturdays. She read more for that class than I’d seen her do in years.
Finally, the moment arrived for the ordination ceremony. I’d never been to this church before, but I spent more time than I’d expected to spend.
Mom rushed us out of the house 90 minutes prior to the start of the event since she had no idea how long transporting Dad to and from the wheelchair accessible van would take. He’d recently received his wheelchair “cadillac” and none of us had mastered maneuvering it.
The only upside to arriving at the venue far too early was we had a premium choice of handicap parking and once inside the church, we had convenient seats in the back to park Dad.
I’d grown restless prior to the start of the event, which started out with some brief words once the choir sat.
Then the would-be ministers and deacon candidates entered.
Once the candidates sat, the choir sang a moving selection.
Afterwards, I thought the ceremony would begin. Yet, what I thought of as the “ceremony” did not include an actual SERMON by a guest pastor, who was introduced after his wife had an opportunity to say a few words.
Admittedly, I tuned out during the sermon as I usually do in a regular church service. The only part I remember him saying was, “At every level, there’s a new devil.” I don’t think that comes from scripture, but I know from personal experience the truth behind those words.
After the sermon, the presiding minister asked all the candidates to stand together to pray for them. Then, he asked my sister to stand since she was the lone deacon candidate. She confirmed that she was ready to take on her duties. Despite the simple exchange, Dad had wanted to hear her say more.
Once all the candidates were asked to sit in front of the congregation, Mom took that as an opportune time for us to exit. As I attempted to take a final picture of the ordained group, Dad assumed that I wanted his picture as well since he’s never met a camera he didn’t like.
When I asked my sister what she was going to do now that she was an ordained deacon, she flashed her gap-toothed smile and said, “Raise hell.”
At the reversal of Roe vs. Wade, I feared that my country was rapidly returning to primitive times. Then, last month, the most energizing thing happened, the Democratic presidential candidate made the ultimate, patriotic, political sacrifice and withdrew his name from the race and endorsed his Vice President, who was already the first woman of color to hold that position, now poised to become the first woman of color to have a realistic opportunity of becoming POTUS.
Political endorsements, donations, and sheer excited energy poured in. The optimistic momentum continued when the Democratic VP was picked. Some sheepishly stated in a hushed tone that the candidate had to be a white man. Why be shy at being realistic? When lies from political opponents are confidently shouted, pragmatic statements should be asserted with the same boldness.
The burden/worry that I had not realized I’d been carrying had been lifted. With waves of renewed optimism and positive developments, I attended my usual Sunday morning hot yoga class. As a fluke of fate, we were a crowded room of women. When our yoga instructor realized the all-women’s attendance, she knew exactly which playlist to use: all-female artists.
When Beyonce’s “Run the World (Girls)” came on, I knew that was the theme song of the class. I couldn’t help but believe that the song should feature in the upcoming Democratic National Convention as well.
I normally don’t watch the DNC because at this point in the election season, I already know who I’m voting for. I didn’t bother to watch the first day, but of course, I saw clips. The second day, however, I tuned in to watch the Obamas. Those political rockstars never fail to inspire and entertain. Michelle Obama brought the house down in such a way that even President Obama admitted that he was the only fool who’d dare follow her.
In reality, they had helped one another with their speeches, so he knew full well that he was setting up Michelle with a speech full of zingers. My favorite one dealt with who was going to tell the Republican presidential candidate that the job he’s working so hard to get, is a Black job. My sister and I screamed and threw our hands in the air.
I’m so proud of the fact that high-profile, successful Black people are turning that racist suggestion that undocumented immigrants are taking Black jobs on its ear. Black people define what jobs are for us. Not someone who had never been Black a day in his life and who consistently demonstrates the “soft bigotry of low expectations.”
As much as the opposition have derided the newly chosen Democratic presidential candidate being a mere diversity hire, as I looked at the enormous crowd that gathered to cheer her on, I saw a reflection of the richness of America. EVERYONE was there. Even lifelong Republicans who believed that their party had been hijacked by a(n) (insert your own label) .
Both the Democratic presidential and vice presidential candidates came from hard-working families and had not inherited political and economic power from their family. In other words, they are both relatable to the masses and living proof that the American dream can be attained.
Many were pressing the new Democratic presidential candidate for policy details. For now, I’m inspired that her campaign is bringing the joy. I’m not just ready for a generational change, but also a change from hatred and fear mongering. Bring on the joy!
As if I needed ONE more thing added to my already bountiful, jam-packed schedule, I started another professional pursuit: obtaining my pharmacy technician license. Part of the appeal, besides career advancement, is that my company will pay for it. That got my attention.
Also, I’m a lifelong nerd. I absolutely love reading, especially in pursuit of learning a new trick. First, a coworker emailed many study materials. Then, my supervisor emailed more study materials along with information about company compensation for employees who get their pharmacy tech license.
One favor I did myself was to delay registering for the exam. I’ve been juggling several creative projects for a few years. I don’t want to take away too much time from them since they truly make life worth living.
Instead, I plan to do work around my creative schedule. By not having a firm deadline, I feel relaxed as I read through 10 pages of the study guide during the week and 20 pages on the weekends and holidays.
Since I’m not doing a serious drill of the material, I read through the material rather quickly, with the exception of the calculations section. That part was more challenging than I originally thought it would be, but I figured it out for the most part.
Once I finish the read-through of the study guide, I’ll check out the other study materials, then take a few practice tests online. I’m not even sure if such a thing exists, but I’ll research that when the time comes.
Hopefully, the testing site will be in town. Regardless, I’m already looking forward to the day off. PTO is it’s own reward.
As I type up slew of journals I’d written, starting around 1992 when I was a Peace Corps Volunteer and ending roughly around 2011 when I started blogging, I mark the growth that I’ve made as a person, regardless of my inherent flaws, but driven through my passions.
I knew when I was a teenager, that most guys I briefly dated, bored me. I wanted nothing more than to combine the attractiveness I found in a guy with the intellectual creativity that I also craved. After many decades, I’m not ready to conclude that such a guy doesn’t exist, but he’s a unicorn.
Another long-running theme: the utter lack of money no matter what job I have. I learned long ago that “residual income” was the way to go, but that seems as unattainable as world peace and the end of all violence. Speaking of violence, at least I no longer want to slap or cuss out people who dare say in my presence that “money can’t buy happiness.”
I still find that saying to be bullshit, given the fact that, with the correct set of priorities, money is a powerful happiness tool. Case in point: for the past 20 or so birthdays, I’ve either planned an itinerary of birthday events that I’ve invited friends to participate in or, more recently, made a list of things that I’d buy myself.
The COVID shutdown nearly ruined my milestone 50th birthday, except that my sister and I were determined to not let happen. As a matter of fact, by the time September rolled around, one of my nephews had turned 20 and Mom had turned 80. Yes, we’re all 30 years apart. We had a combined Zoom birthday party with mostly extended family and some friends.
For the following birthday, I made my first birthday gift list and bought myself several life-enriching things: a portable standing desk, a vibration plate and two TYR tankinis. (Note: I love that swimwear line because its name is my initials!)
In June of 2021, I’d landed my first bona fide desk job, where I was expected to sit for eight hours a day. That job inspired me to dream up of ways to make my work life far more liveable. Three years later, I STILL use the standing desk and vibration plate, but I’ve recently replaced those two tankinis with two more since I’d worn them out over time with active use.
Plus, I’ve continued to make a combination itinerary/gift list for myself for every subsequent birthday. The thoughtfulness behind my list reflect solutions to challenges to enhance my life.
Another running theme is my creative project juggle. Never have I ever had enough time nor money to fund these projects to the extent I would have love to, but I’ve always done the most with what I have.
I’ve written novels and poetry; produced a long-running monthly theme-inspired spoken word and storytelling show; produced two podcasts; produced/directed/edited short films; edited different written works for hire; painted; illustrated.
