Category — Uncategorized

Many years ago, I wrote about the Wishing Tree at my camp, and how I used my wish (at 8 years old) to make what my friends all said was a terrible wish (it was for a 12-year-old boy at the camp, who didn’t acknowledge my existence in any way, to kiss me) and how it came true years later.

I had to drive through his old neighbourhood last week when we got stuck in traffic coming home from camp. I didn’t think I’d remember how to go, but my hands turned the wheel at the correct times, and we ended up exactly where I wanted, bypassing the traffic. Driving through there made me wistful for my high-school-aged self, even though his parents moved away years ago, and the boy (who is still a peripheral friend) now lives on the west coast.

There is a tree in Germany with similar powers. You don’t run through the split trunk and kiss the air, but the tree has “magical matchmaking powers” and receives dozens of letters per day of people making wishes from afar. The Atlantic article is the best story — you really need to read the whole thing because it will make you cheer and cry and cheer and cry — and it made me think of my Wishing Tree.

The kids asked me if I had any regrets about using up my wish on that kiss. Zero regrets. It doesn’t matter that it didn’t work out and we only dated for a few months. We stayed friends for almost 30 years since that kiss, and beyond that, it just makes a great story.

Sometimes stories are worth just as much as wishes.

I recently read about a Danish organization––Ventilen––that is working to alleviate loneliness by connecting people.

Ventilen currently offers 21 venues in Denmark where young people looking for companionship can meet one another. There are 15 gathering places for people aged 15-25, and six KOMsammen, or “Fit for Friendship” places, which focus on food and movement for those aged 15-30. The essential services its venues offer are straightforward, and yet can be so elusive: a place to go, things to do, and people to do them with.

I don’t think it’s an actual cure for loneliness. Popular people with many friends are sometimes lonely. It’s possible to be lonely in a crowd. And while you can put yourself in spaces where connection is more likely to happen, it also sometimes doesn’t happen for another individual, even if the people not connecting with them are equally seeking emotional connection.

Every human knows through experience that people need friends. But we also know that every human also rejects some people, even though we’re all armed with that knowledge.

Anyway, it’s a step in the right direction. It’s creating a space where connection could happen in a purposeful, mindful way. And it’s doing so with sensitivity. It just sounded like a great organization, one that takes the American idea of a buddy bench a step further in usefulness.

The ChickieNob recently set up her first social media account because she wanted to participate in a hashtag contest with a photo she took while we were in France. She had been circling the decision to join social media for about six months, talking herself out of it immediately after talking herself into it and agonizing over a good handle. She finally set up the account, posted the picture, and then immediately told me she didn’t enjoy having an account.

It’s an interesting situation because while we (as in, adults) all once had nascent social media accounts, we usually did so in the infancy of the site and made up decisions as we went along, often changing our mind as new information came to light about privacy and data. For instance, I didn’t think about how I wanted to use Facebook until I was years into using Facebook, which has become a mishmash of friends and work and family, and has plenty of data bells I can’t unring.

But I didn’t set up my Instagram account until a year or so ago. I’ve never posted anything on it. I use it to see pictures shared by my siblings or their kids, and I follow a few tourism organization accounts of places I’ve either been or want to go.

I love opening up Instagram. I only get maybe 6 new pictures per day, so it’s completely manageable. I’m either looking at a space I love (or think I will love) or a person I love. I feel no pressure to accept friend requests––I won’t change my mind on this one––or share images––again, it won’t happen. It’s the first place I’ve mindfully started as I mean to go, so I love it.

ChickieNob took that advice––to set her own personal rules (though be consistent) and stick to them because it’s her space to interact with as she wishes––and followed a small number of accounts of places and organizations. She likes it a little more now, though, she also knows she is under no obligation to look at the account ever again.

It’s a strong argument for waiting until you know what you want and how you want to use it. It’s something I wish I had done before diving head-first into social media without an understanding of the various directions my usage could go.

I also thought this article had good advice on how to limit usage in a way that makes sense in your life vs. following someone else’s digital detox plan since they sometimes feel punitive more than restorative.

I read the greatest quote on Gretchen Rubin’s site this week, in an interview with Belinda Luscombe:

We don’t find soul mates, like some fantastic shell on the beach. We become them. And as we do, the other person becomes ours.

Isn’t that such a beautiful way of putting it? That it’s not something you’re finding, it’s something you’re building. Maybe it comes down to the fact that some people are worth building it with because they’re building it back with you, and some people just won’t be a good fit for the work.

So, yeah, I sometimes call Josh my b’shert––a Yiddish term for destiny or soul mate––but really, the universe stuck him in front of me. We did the hard work of building this life together.

Usually when we have crusty bread with dinner, I slice the bread and put the pieces in a serving bowl that matches our plates. But one night last week, the twins were with my parents, and I cut up the bread and put the smaller amount in a glass soup bowl.

“That’s a tiny bowl of bread,” Josh pointed out.

“That’s what our bowl of bread is going to look like in four years,” I replied.

In four years, the twins will be in college, and we will be eating our meals again as a twosome. I don’t like to think about it, but we have to think about it because it’s the one piece of helpful advice other twin parents have given us to make the transition easier. It’s a big jolt to go from a full house to an empty nest all at once. Everyone has told us to have a plan in place before it happens so we don’t spend the first few months completely lost.

So far, we have thrown out a handful of hobbies that we plan to pick up over the next year or two so we have a few distractions in place. I’m looking into volunteer work, trying to get involved in new organizations now so I can step into a leadership position down the road. Josh and I have talked about going to the UK once a year, spending a few days seeing shows in London and then traveling out to a different area, such as the Channel Islands or Scotland, for another week.

I am scared of the glass bowl of bread; knowing that it will be an almost-every-night thing and not a one-off meal because the twins are doing something else. Maybe THAT is where I should be focusing my efforts; obtaining the most awesome bread bowl in the world so I don’t have to see the tiny glass bowl and think about how I’d rather be using the big one that matches our plates.