How are you?
That’s a real question. I’ve been diving into this for myself over the last few weeks. The answer for me is – not all that great. That’s saying a lot. I’m almost always in an optimistic place or on my way towards one. Still, my reaction to the current environment has taken a large toll on my physical and mental states. So, I’ve set out to fix that. Here’s what I learned.
Data matters.
I’m more susceptible to media than I thought.
Rolling your own change is amazing.
Several years back, I could bring a large box of change collected from around the house into my bank. The cashier would come around to the lobby, she’d unlock a machine, and I’d dump the contents of the box in. It would count the coins and the cashier would credit my account for the total. It was a chore and a bit of fun seeing the final result. I’ve mentioned before that I like money, right?
Then my bank issued a statement. They would take a percent of the total going forward.
Here’s a known fact. Humans hate to lose more than they want something new. That’s saying a lot because we love us some novelty. Straight on that.
So I reacted predictably. I stopped bringing my boxes of coins to the bank. To heck with them!
Ironically, I had a quart container of lose change in the back of my van at the time. What did I do with it?
Double irony! At the office ( you remember the office, right?) there was a table set up. People were collecting pocket change for charity. Fabulous! I had change. Pockets and pockets of it. So I went out to my car, dragged the tub inside and plunked it on the table. Problem solved. Take that banking industry!
Of course, the recipients probably poured it into a sorting machine that took a cut. D’OH! Curses! Foiled again!
What’s a frugal change radical to do? I plotted my next move while the change piled up in the laundry room, on the dressers and finally, became part of large collection in the guest room.
Then 2020 came. No more change, at least not hard charge.
Let me rephrase – no more coins.
Over the past holiday, I found myself wandering the aisles of Wal-Mart, trailing my husband through the stationary section, idly picking up notebooks while he mulled over the options for hanging files. My eye landed on a box of coin wrappers. Without much thought, I flipped it into the cart.
New years’ day I dragged it out to the kitchen table along with a large jar of coins. I opened the box. The wrappers were the kind designed for use in a sorting machine. I don’t own one.
I pondered this. I’d spent money for the wrappers. I was going to use valuable time to roll this change. I’d recently read “Time Smart” by Ashley Whillans so I was super aware that in my quest to save the surcharge from the bank, I was paying more for wrappers and in time than I was saving. What to do? Should I just say the heck with it?
Happily, I’m currently working my way through “Digital Minimalism” by Cal Newport. The value of quiet time, free from TV, podcast, or even Audible, was also front of mind for me. I find it fantastically humorous that I keep shutting this audiobook off in response to his arguments for mental quiet.
With his ideas in my mind, I started sorting, counting, and rolling the coins. After a while, I got a rhythm going. After a while, I noticed my breathing, the sun through the sliding glass doors, the quiet satisfaction of watching the rolls pile up. There were a lot of coins.
Time passed, my thoughts wandered to the books I’d been reading, memories of times when my husband and I were young and very poor. The joy of finding I’d saved sixty dollars in change – a king’s ransom at the time. Memories of where we were living and how good our life was. I thought about the fact that I’ve somehow become a saver when I believed I was a spendthrift.
My husband came into the kitchen. I showed him the pile of rolled change and went off to find more stashes. When I returned, crowing over a plastic cupful, he had pulled a chair in front of the refrigerator, dragged the garbage can over, and began to toss out expired condiments and unidentifiable leftovers. I returned to rolling coins. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him in the yellow light of the ‘fridge. As we worked, both sorting and organizing in our own way, we chatted.
We recalled memories of the old days; shared our thoughts about the future. In the new year’s quiet, we worked on low-value tasks that took time but not effort. While 2020 sank further away and 2021 rose before us, we came to easy agreements. We sorted through our future, keeping some goals, tossing others out, no longer meaningful in the wake of the fading year. We untangled plans that had seemed intractable when discussed over a hurried morning coffee as we rushed into our workdays. Now, as we sorted and selected vegetables and dimes in the quiet, we agreed on what to do next. Easily, thoughtfully, calmly.
Just like that, our way forward changed. Not a lot, just a little. Because we were alone, just the two of us. Fox News was not there. CNN was not there. Governors and Presidents were not in the room with us, shouting from the TV. Dr. House wasn’t there diagnosing us, and the Tiger King was a distant memory. I’d stripped Linkedin and Facebook from my phone, deleted all aspects of the attention economy, put timers on my email and apps, leaving me present in the kitchen with our coins and our future.
No podcasts.
No books.
Just chores, the dog and our own ideas.
More of this in 2021?
Yes, please.
And that? Is just my New Year’s resolution.
If you would like help sorting out the drama and organizing your thinking, sign up for a free session here. I can help you stop the mental chatter and get back to what matters. It would be my honor.