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Meet Koko and Zazu.

These gorgeous pups do not live with us. They were two dogs that Lucy would walk for Maggie whenever she was out of town. She walked them pretty often and, especially during my recovery, I'd tag along. The dogs would eventually come and stay with us a couple times while Maggie was away. It was comical, these two big pups bounding around our tiny apartment.

And I fell in love.

I hadn't even realized it until Maggie said they were moving. Even as I write this, I can't help but get emotional. Occasionally, I'll drive by their old house (like I did today) because I miss them.

To describe what they did for me is to describe the rain on your face or the wind in your hair. If you've ever had a dog, you might understand how a pupper's presence can change so much. How it can improve a situation.

Is it weird to have fallen in love with someone else's dogs?

I'm weird, I guess.

You all know about my hysterectomy as a remedy for the heavy and constant bleeding I'd been experiencing for nearly a year. Leading up to it, I was angry, depressed, anemic, and feeling isolated.

Feb 2018: We're all smiling at the end of a celebratory night. You suck it up so people don't see.

 

A few weeks into recovery, I began to feel this deep sadness. A well of doom. I would cry and cry. I thought I was going crazy, and it was complicating everything. I didn't know how to connect with my family, who I'm actually close to. We'd have barbeques or beach days and I wouldn't know what to say to anyone. My marriage got ugly. I needed my husband and I didn't know how to ask for help.

You all know this story. I started seeing a therapist (whom I love). We went to couple's counseling-- loved THAT therapist, too-- and we're still happily the Boorish-Heathens.

But therapy doesn't solve your problems. You still have to do the work. And it's hard work. You have to face the shit you've probably been avoiding your whole life, and it's likely to rub you raw and disrupt your life. It'll transform your relationships because you're transforming.

So these dogs, Koko and Zazu, they helped me do the ugly work. They've seen me crying. They've seen me bundled up under a blanket, shivering. I've been on walks with them where I was breathless and weak. They never seemed to give a flying fuck, but they were always so excited to see me. We'd walk up to the house and they were already looking out the windows. Lucy would open the door, and out Koko would bound, her big, sturdy body, so reassuring and real.

In my limited experience, being with a dog when you're feeling like shit is like medicine. It's like they're immune to what ails you, and absorb your pain and filter it back out into the world a harmless thing. They help you bear the burden and improve the environment at the same time. And you just have to love them in return.

Koko and Zazu are not my pups, and I love them like I love my own Rascal. Koko and Zazu are not my pups, and yet they helped me through a perfectly shitty time. My own perfect shitty misery.

Maggie, we may not know each other very well, but for you I have so much gratitude and love. I'm always kind of amazed when things work out in such a cosmically beneficial and seemingly random way. Like you and Meredith and me and Meredith and you and Lucy and how our needs seemed to converge at that time. I didn't know I'd love your pups and I didn't know they'd help me, and I don't really have the words to tell you what that means.

So much mahalo to you and Koko and Zazu.

 

Digest This: Trust Yourself

Since I had what they call a cholecystectomy two months ago, itʻs been up and down. Recovery was quick-- much quicker than the partial hysterectomy-- and I was walking, pooping, and eating normally in no time. Until I wasnʻt.

After a few weeks, I wasnʻt digesting my food as normally as I had been, and even though I knew this could happen, I went to see my primary care physician. To be clear, I had been forewarned. I may eat like I normally did with no problems, I might temporarily experience problems, I might experience problems for a long time. My doctor assured me I was doing okay and encouraged me to be patient with my body. Iʻd just had an organ removed, she reminded me. Itʻs going to take some time, never mind what the internet says.

And I remembered it took a year to recover from the hysterectomy. There were still minor aches and pains even after the initial recovery period. The psychological and chemical balances had still been sorting themselves out even when we were camping at Bellows in May or on vacation in Maui in July. I had to see my Ob/Gyn every 3 months for 2 years, for crying out loud. It takes a while.

In addition to the words of encouragement, my doctor also prescribed some meds to help with my digestion. It has helped me physically and mentally. I can eat without the weight of "what if?" looming over me. Except, I canʻt help it sometimes, obsessing over what this feeling is in my tummy. Is this something I need to worry about? How long has it felt like this? Wait, is it still there? What could this mean? And on and on.

Then I read something in a book I borrowed, Digestive Health with Real Food by Aglaee Jacob: "Be careful not to look too closely at your symptoms. It may sound contradictory but sometimes itʻs easy to overfocus on the symptoms, almost to the point of looking for a reaction or a problem where there isnʻt one. This is especially common for those who have become a bit fearful of food."

 

That. That was me. Iʻd become so fearful of food, my diet consisted of oatmeal, baked chicken breast, and baked vegetables. This was getting me by, but I worried I wasnʻt getting enough vitamins and nutrients, which prompted my visit to the doctor.

But Jacob goes on. "(T)ake a deep breath and trust that your body will let you know if thereʻs something wrong. You have already built a significant degree of awareness to what is going on in your body. You donʻt have to look for the message, your body will send them in a way that you can receive it."

I could trust my body.

I could trust myself.

As a person who spends an inordinate amount of time (obscene amounts, really) planning for what might happen, trusting myself in this context is novel. Living only in this moment leaves you vulnerable. How can I be prepared if Iʻm not actively and ever vigilant?

Thanks to the therapy I started after my hysterectomy, Iʻm learning to trust myself. The combined messages from my doctor, whom I love and trust, and this author, whom I know nothing about, remind me to enjoy right now. If you knew how many times I tell myself Ram Dassʻ message of "Be Here, Now," youʻd think Iʻd be an expert on it by now. Sigh. Progress, not perfection, right?

My takeaway is this: 

1. Be kind to yourself. Change doesnʻt only happen in one direction. Itʻs a sliding scale or a spectrum. The closer I get to my goal and maintain that position, the better, but I might fall back on familiar habits. Progress, not perfection is not just a mantra. Itʻs not pass/fail.

2. Stop expecting bad things to happen because theyʻll happen whether or not I expect them, and the constant waiting around kinda puts a damper on living.

3. Iʻve studied reading and writing and know that lists of 3s are good. (Try turning in a paper with only two points in your thesis. I dare you.) Alas, in this case, I donʻt have a third. I donʻt even have a proper conclusion, which would definitely dock points on that academic paper, except to say that Iʻm thankful for my doctor(s) and for the library and for friends who remind me to use what resources are available to me and then trust in my own good sense.

Diary of an Anxious Mind

One lesson I’ve learned during lock down is to value my own comfort. This may sound self-indulgent, I know, yet for me, it’s huge. I’ll push through pain without drugs (including post C-section), sweat bullets before turning on the AC (because it’s expensive, yo), deny myself pleasure for practical purposes (keep the good cereal unopened because the regular Cheerios bag is still 3/4 full, never mind stale).

And even though these things may lead to anxiety, I will continue to push through what I consider a minor inconvenience until I feel uncomfortable enough that I’m convinced something’s wrong with me.

This is one profile of an anxious mind at work.

So now that I’ve been at home for a couple months, sliding through every emotional state and scared of dying half the time, I’ve also had enough practice to know that if I take care of my basic needs, I usually won’t devolve into an anxious ball of tangled nerves. Stop working and take care of yourself, Kanani. Feed yourself, Kanani. Turn the fan on, Kanani. Go for a walk, meditate, take another sip of water, floss and brush your teeth, close the door, say no, take a nap, FIND VALUE IN YOUR VOICE.

Above all, that’s what finally makes its way from the core of my stubbornness.

Deanna tells Michonne, amid a zombie apocalypse where survival trumps every other desire— even as Deanna’s dying, she urges, “What do you want? Now you figure it out.” I’d like to believe her advice is intended to remind Michonne she’s more than a warrior, that the quality of her life is measured beyond how useful she is to other people. In finding what she wants and pursuing it, Michonne doesn’t just survive, she lives.

It’s not about comfort at all, you see. I didn’t. I thought by indulging in self-care, I was being selfish, weak, and ungrateful. But it’s about honoring my body and my mind. It's about honoring what I want, what I think, and what I value. Taking care of myself isn't selfish, it's an act of gratitude. Thich Nhat Hanh writes, “Keeping your body healthy is an expression of gratitude to the whole cosmos— the trees, the clouds, everything.”

Active Gratitude

Do you have gratitude habits you practice regularly? Try doing an internet search and you'll find loads of experts reporting that practicing gratitude will make you happier, bring you closer to others, help you sleep better, and improve your immune system. You'll take fewer things for granted. You'll notice the details that can make your life more exciting.

I've been doing gratitude journals and practices for a long time. And despite keeping a daily gratitude journal, I wondered: how is this impacting my life today? Tomorrow? Am I happier? Do I feel closer to the people I love, my neighbors, my colleagues? Something was missing.

And then my therapist introduced me to active gratitude, which I'll explain using her example (and I'm paraphrasing here): since lock down, I am thankful for all this time at home that I can spend with my children, and to act on this gratitude, I'm going to actually engage with them when I can. We'll make a meal together or play a board game. If I just say I'm thankful for this time and then do nothing with it, I'm squandering the opportunity to build emotional connections within my gratitude practice and, frankly, with my children.

Creating experiences connected to your thankfulness is active gratitude. It would be inaccurate to say that there is only one way to do this. Again, any search result will yield tons of articles about engaging a partner in conversation, making lists, joining groups, volunteering. It would also be inaccurate to say that one must always practice active gratitude in every situation, every day.

What appeals to me-- and what was lacking before-- is the emotional rootedness that active gratitude provides. It connects my thought (I am thankful for this thing/person/opportunity) to my daily practice of self-reflection, self-forgiveness, and self-love. Because I can make lists all day, yo! I love lists! But after I write something down and even after I reflect on it for a few moments or a few days, then what?

To me, it's like making compost. Making compost out of your daily refuse is a good thing, right? You don't waste unnecessarily and you reduce the amount of trash you produce. But isn't it far more useful if you then used that compost to feed your plants? You can either end up surrounded by mounds and mounds of compost or you can fertilize the seeds you've planted.

Here's one of my recent examples of active gratitude. A couple of weeks ago I bought myself a new set of fineliner markers. I was really hesitant to buy them because not only were they expensive, I already owned half the colors in this set. After I brought this purchase home, I wrote in my journal that I was thankful because 1) I splurged on myself (which is a difficult thing for me to do), 2) I now had pretty new colors to play with 3) I gave Lucy the colors I already owned, so she got some new toys, too. Then, the really important part emerged: I used my pens to journal, doodle, and create greeting cards that I then mailed to friends and family.

The experiences I created with those pens has enriched my daily journaling and has touched the lives of those I sent cards to. Even if those cards go unnoticed by their recipients, I enjoyed making and sending them. This process was rooted in the thoughts I love you, you are important to me, and I wish you well. I found joy in this act of thankfulness, and it's that joy that will reinforce a daily active gratitude practice.

The Bullet Journal as a Lesson Plan

I woke up this morning thinking about lesson planning because it's part of my job and I actually kind of enjoy doing it. I was thinking about how loads of you are now thinking about lesson planning, whether you know it or not, because your kids can't go to school.

You're not idiots, I know. In fact, I'd consider many of you (and your kids!) to be far smarter than I. I've actually learned to teach by watching some of you teach.

But this blog? It ain't about teaching. It's about lesson planning.

Actually, it ain't even about lesson planning. Guess what it's about! It begins with bu and ends with jo. Or joing. Bujoing. Or rather:

Bullet Journaling Is Lesson Planning

It makes a lot of sense to think of your bujo as a lesson plan. In this scenario, you are both the teacher and the student, guiding yourself through lessons and blossoming from the attention!

Consider the elements (which can be varied, but I'm keeping mine deliberately simple . . . maybe overly simple): 

Objectives 

When you're planning for students, this is where you'd state what the point of the lesson is. You could make this as broad or as narrow as needed, but you'd want to be clear about what they are learning and why.

In your bujo, your Objective would be like your intent for the day, week, month, or whatever time period you're working in. Again, this can be narrow or broad, and also clear or vague. My Objectives act as my guides through the month, weeks, and days, and are often narrow and broad, specific and vague.

A reminder to be mindful of self-care throughout the day

Outcomes

At the end of this lesson, what will my students have learned? "Students will be able to identify three different types of renewable resources." Specific and measurable.

At the end of the day/week/month/whatever, what will you have accomplished? Which of your goals will you have reached? Or perhaps your goal requires more time-- did you meet your checkpoint?

I use my monthly, weekly, and daily goals as my Outcomes, so I have a few going on at any given time. It's just a way that I keep track of my progress. If my monthly goal is to go to the gym 12 times a month, my weekly goal is to go to the gym three times.

Activities

This part's exciting. Meaningful activities will engage, inspire, and nurture curiosity, and have the bonus of educating your students. And the options are myriad. My favorites are the ones that my kids are challenged by and prompt lots of questions. I love it when my students debate with each other over a point they're learning and independently seek answers from their parents, the internet, and other teachers or friends. Because often I believe a huge part of my job is not only to get my students to learn to read, write, and communicate effectively, it's to teach them how to learn and think critically.

In your bujo, these Activities are your To Do lists or your daily goals, your chores, errands, and projects. And like the school lesson plans, these can be differentiated and scaffolded, depending on your ZPD!

What's ZPD? A student's Zone of Proximal Development describes the zone spanning what a student can do and what can be achieved with competent guidance. For bujo purposes, your emotional and psychological temperature can be considered your ZPD. If you know your emotional and psychological ZPD, then you can adjust your bujo accordingly.

When differentiating your lesson plan, you can choose to alter the process, the product, and content to meet the needs of diverse learners. And aren't you a diverse and complicated person? Are you not ambitious one day and completely lethargic on another? Differentiating your bujo based on your ZPD means if you're feeling particularly confident on Tuesday, your ten Activities might be more ambitious-- hiking up Koko Head in 45 minutes! Wash and detail your car and your neighbor's! On Thursday, however, just getting out of bed is hitting the high mark, and that literally is the one and only thing on your To Do list.

And how could you get through those ten items on Tuesday without the help of scaffolding? Let's break those errands and projects up into manageable chunks so you don't feel overwhelmed and give up entirely. If your goal is to give your kitchen a deep clean, break it down into doable chores: clean out the fridge, wipe down the counters, donate unused items, etc. And, hey, you could spread those chores over the course of the week instead of cramming it all into one day! If you need reminders, you can use Post-its if you're analog, otherwise set an alarm on your smartphone.

It's called "Dream Clean" because some (most?) of this will probably not get done, but I can dream

Assessments

How else are you to know if your students are making appropriate connections and understanding the material? You have to check! And you don't have to wait til the end to use summative assessments, you can do it throughout the lesson with formative assessments. They also allow you, the teacher, to check for the overall effectiveness of the lesson, reflect on the results, and capitalize on its strengths. 

At the end of the day/week/month/period, you can return to your bujo to check in. Take a few minutes to reflect on your day to recognize successes and gratitude. Think about what you accomplished and honor how you got there. But why wait until the end? Check with yourself throughout the day and ask: How do I feel? Can I get this done? Why am I doing this? Why is this important to me or important to do?

Reflection

Lesson planning to me is about knowing where my student is now, where she needs to be, and figuring out how I can help get her there. Preparing can take a shit-ton of time, and I only teach one subject to small groups! The time it takes to prepare, though, saves me time and stress. It gives me a sense of control and direction so that I can better manage my time in class and actually teach my students.

This is not very different from my own life. Preparedness brings me greater confidence in my daily life for a variety of reasons. I don't have to keep everything in my head so I'm less likely to forget (which can lead to missed appointments, rushing, and sometimes, losing money). I can organize my thoughts, errands, appointments, and projects and prepare for them. My therapist says that a lot of stress comes from feeling unprepared and not having the tools I need to meet the challenges I face. The more tools I can pull together ahead of time, the less anxious I am about hand-making most of my Christmas gifts or training for the Great Aloha Run or protecting myself and my family from Covid-19.

And like lesson plans, bullet journaling is not a detailed script I am obligated to adhere to. It is an outline to guide me toward where I want to be and what I want to accomplish. In this model, I am both teacher and student, positioned at a unique crossroads of self-awareness and action.

Do You Know How Fat You Are?

I have a doctor's appointment on Thursday and I'm kind of dreading it. It's never a party when it's time to get your annual exam, it's even less fun when you gotta go three or four times a year AND hear those stupid words, "Your weight went up again."

You could be one of those people who think, "Well, if you don't want to hear it, then lose weight," and you might find that a very feasible, very simple solution that I and others like myself may never have heard before. Lose weight. Huh. Why didn't I think of that?

And If I were in full research mode, I'd insert a lot of citations here about how, among other things, weight gain can be the result of more than just *gasp* laziness. I know. Revolutionary. Also, more citations about how weight is not the only indicator of good health. In fact, it might not even be a GOOD indicator of good health. I shit you not. And one more thing for you to ponder: losing weight doesn't automatically make you happy. It might not make you happy at all. Ever. Try Googling that shit.

Would you like to know what HAS made me happier? Therapy. My homework this week was to make a list of what I've gained since turning my attention to my overall health so that no matter what the number on the scale, no matter what my doctor's reaction, I don't lose what good I've already accomplished. This was the real revolutionary event because the process of therapy has been super beneficial to my relationship with my body.

Because I know how to eat healthy, and I DO. I like leafy greens, vegetarian meals, I don't eat a lot of fast food, and I only seldomly consume chips or soda. I like to work out and I like how I feel after a good stretching session. Yet I still have weird hangups with hunger and snacking and portion control. I'd feel a failure if I didn't get to the gym enough, and the grossness of not working out would make me feel even worse about my body and food decisions.

But I've been working on that for the last few months. It's a slow process, I'll admit, which began (aptly) with slowing the fuck down. I'd always want to satisfy my hunger ASAP. I don't know what the big rush was, and it wasn't simply because I'm a glutton. So, honestly, my first step was to sit with that hunger for a few minutes before doing anything about it.

The fitbit has also been super instrumental in keeping me moving when I'd normally be sitting. I started walking while waiting for Lucy to be finished with paddling practice, and listening to audio books so I could multitask. I get up and pace the Box Office if I've only got 37 more steps to make my hourly goal, and those steps add up, friend!

I like to tell friends that I haven't added or subtracted anything yet and I've seen and felt a difference, but that isn't entirely true. If nothing else, I've added steps and other weekly fitness habits. I've added self-compassion and self-forgiveness. I've subtracted, even if just a little, self-judgment and shame. I've set goals and accomplished them. I'm actually starting to feel a little bit good about myself, and find that I'm in a place where I can make better decisions about my fitness goals.

What Do You Think Will Happen? or The Irrational Things We Tell Ourselves

I'm at an age where many of the people I knew in high school (read: people of a similar age) are facing pretty serious health issues. Mine was cancer.

It's likely that you, lovely reader, already know this. I've written about this before.

But what you may not know is that I'm really uncomfortable talking about it. In fact, I'm really uncomfortable even thinking about it. No, actually, I really hate thinking about it, but probably not for the reason you think.

Yes, my own mortality weighs heavy. Sometimes. What I might have lost with my surgery (beyond my child-bearing capabilities) also haunts me. Sometimes. But this blog isn't about that. It's more meta:

I'm not worthy of your concern, and if I were "strong" enough, I wouldn't need it, anyway.

My friends, you might not realize just how difficult that admission is. You probably don't even realize how recently I hit upon this nugget of self-discovery. You also probably don't even know how uncomfortable it is for me to not just delete that sentence-- this entire blog-- and find something else to write about. Something easier. Something more upbeat. Something you can dance to.

This, I fear, will be messy.

I'm not going to tell you how many friends of mine are battling or have battled cancer in the last year. It's a dismal number and those aren't my stories to tell, anyway. And while I know that no one's journey is "typical," I think theirs are and mine isn't and that's why they're entitled to empathy and compassion and I'm not.

Yet I also believe that if I can learn to embrace what I've been through and truly own it, if I can tell my story to anyone myself with honesty and without apology, I can actually live with more humility and openness.

When I speak to people about what I want to do with my life, I don't know what career I'm looking for. But if you get me talking, I'll start to tell you that stories are powerful, and that if we shared more of our personal narratives, we may just find ourselves more connected to each other and less lonely. Our visions of the world are skewed by our own experiences and biases, and sometimes it's hard to see beyond our own little worlds. And if you're anything like me, you tend to believe you're in a binary world of yes/no, right/wrong, always/never. Combine that black and white mentality with a myopic worldview, and I get all kinds of anxieties, fears, and loneliness.

But even now I hide behind words. These last few paragraphs have very little meaning. I've learned to weave narratives together, to write essays that connect thoughts to close readings, to show and not tell. I've been told by more than one writing teacher to draw out my arguments and conclusions. I've been taught to tell a story.

What I'm trying to do is tell the truth. About myself. And me? I'm scared of talking about myself. I'm scared of talking about not the cancer itself, but the confusion that surrounds my diagnosis. I'm afraid of asking for the space to talk about it because it will make me look like I'm simply looking for attention. I'm afraid I'll look crude, selfish, and childish.

Oh, friends, I can heap on the pejoratives, and I can guarantee you it's not because I'm fishing for platitudes, however sincere I think they may be.

This is me practicing honesty.

I'd like to say that I'm practicing in the name of world peace, but really, I'm more selfishly motivated. If we are to connect more authentically, you and I, then I need to be more comfortable with myself. Being more comfortable with myself will (eventually? hopefully?) lead to greater joy and satisfaction in my personal life. It will help us to become closer, share in a mutual joy and satisfaction, and (eventually? hopefully?) spread that joy along to others in our world.

Mahana often forces me to say the stupid, irrational things I think by asking me a simple, unassuming question, which is usually, "What do you think will happen?"

I'm afraid you'll think I'm seeking attention and foolish. I'm afraid you'll think I'm being melodramatic and weak. I'm afraid you're already bored and that will reflect badly on me as a writer and friend. And even though intellectually I know that even if you think those things we can still be friends and we can still respect each other and nothing bad is likely to happen to me, the underlying fear is that you'll think I suck.

And I didn't even need Mahana to prompt me to admit to my stupid thing.