To say it has been a busy year is an understatement. Though when isn’t it a busy year? Or week or day or evening . . .

Busy is fine. Good, even. I thrive on it. However, when being busy gets in the way of living–well, sometimes something’s gotta give. You can’t wait forever. You can’t keep saying, “when I have more time.” Oldest excuse in the book.

But what about when everything that’s on your plate belongs on your plate? Or maybe you just like having it there–wedged right in between this, that, that, and . . .um . . . the other thing. Sometimes, the only solution is to just add another course on to this feast that is life. Make room and dig in.

_________________________________________________________________________  © 2012 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because while patience might be a virtue, procrastination–not so much. (Photo by malfleen via Creative Commons.)

I hear the sound of an orchestra tuning, and decades-old memories of sending out the concert C come rushing back. Creating a sonorous slice through the audience’s chatter with my oboe, followed by the hush. The anticipation. Theirs. Mine. Ours. A symphony unto itself.

Long skirts and crisp white blouses at Alice Tully Hall. Matching blazers and Russian Christmas Music at Woolsey Hall. Sharing pizzas in New Haven. Soaking my reeds in one of my father’s old film canisters. Humming melodies. Dreaming of the Boston Pops.

This jumble of noise, the vibration of everybody matching their pitch to me, filled me with equal parts fear and confidence. Leading the pack and blending in all at once.

Even though my orchestra years are long behind me, it’s a role I find myself still playing to this day, in work and in life. I set the foundation and then retreat, only to occasionally and precisely–deliberately–be heard.

Swells and dips. Crescendo and pianissimo. Quality not quantity. Always.

_________________________________________________________________________  © 2012 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because resonance is multisensory. 

I still believe that less is more. But sometime less is, well, less.

But “less” and “more” are not apples to apples. It’s more like apples to rambutans. Or apples to kangaroo jerky. (Not that I’ve ever tried kangaroo jerky. Or a rambutan for that matter.)

I’ve written less, but I’ve worked more.

I’ve written less, but I’ve baked and cooked a lot more.

I’ve written less, but I’ve read more.

I’ve written less, but I’ve watched more HGTV. And TLC. Bravo, too. (Darn Housewives and their over the top, un-relatable melodramas.)

Less and more. Apples and rambutans. Writing and working and everything else. They need not be exclusive. They can not be exclusive. There’s room for it all.

It’s about balance. Taking a million (or more) teeny, tiny steps in the right direction. Saying no to the good–in order to make room for the great.

Oldest lesson in the book? Almost. Am I willing to give it another run? You bet.

_________________________________________________________________________  © 2012 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because Rome wasn’t built in a day, ya know? (Photo by semuthutan via Creative Commons.)

I gave away the pretty, little emerald ring that my high school/college sweetheart gave to me for Christmas. It was a lovely ring—not tremendously fancy, but full of sentiment. It has been nearly 15 years since we parted ways. And for just as long, that little ring has sat unworn in my jewelry box. An unfortunate fate for something so pretty. 

So, after thinking about it for a few years, I decided it was time to find this ring a new home. Time to pass along the joy I experienced when I received this ring myself. Knowing it could brighten someone else’s holiday meant more to me than holding onto it. An energetic exchange. 

After posting an ad in the Free section on Craigslist, I received an e-mail from a mother whose family had recently lost all of their possessions in a house fire. Everyone escaped without harm; however, all of their creature comforts and sentimental belongings were lost. Perhaps this ring will begin a new collection of sentimental possessions. 

Her daughter, the soon-to-be owner of my ring, is a 12-year-old girl with sparkly eyes, slender fingers, and a wide smile. She came by my house with her father and younger brother to pick up a comfy leather chair and some holiday decorations that I was also giving away. Little did she know, in the pocket of her dad’s Patriots sweatshirt, was a small box containing something sparkly and special, especially for her. Her mother planned to put it under the Christmas tree with a note saying it was sent from an angel. 

I could rattle off a hundred reasons why I’m anything but an angel. I’m just been fortunate over the years to have bought and received a lot of lovely things, for which I am oh so grateful. 

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© 2010 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because gratitude goes both ways. 

All I want for Christmas is a Christmas card. Yes, a card. With a pretty picture on the front and words, penned by you, on the inside.

Heartfelt thoughts. Well wishes. Future plans. A remember-when story. Whatever feels right. Whatever feels true.

Sure, I like things. Cozy sweaters, sparkly jewelry, and decorative knick-knacks. I do. But really, I have plenty. Your words, however, are one of a kind. Something I can treasure forever.

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© 2010 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because our mailboxes should be fillied with joy, not junk mail. (Photo by Aunt Owwee via Creative Commons.)

Oh, Pandora—you sneaky l’il matchmaker, you. Thank you for acquainting me with Ray LaMontagne. With Nickel Creek. Mick McAuley, too.

You noticed that I keep giving the thumbs-up to the artists with smoky, bluesy voices who bring a catchy beat to their tunes. Iron & Wine. The Swell Season. Joshua Radin. Bonus points for eloquent lyrics and the dips and swells of a violin accompaniment. Soulful music that catches me off guard and settles into me, deep. Transports me. Gives structure to feeling. Humbles me.

  “Don’t look for love in faces, places. It’s in you, that’s where you’ll find kindness.”                      –Ray LaMontagne

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© 2010 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because beauty is multisensory.  

Without the to-dos and distractions of the day all around me, my trusty yoga mat allows me to find my purpose—my raison d’être—time and again.

Tonight, cushioned by the unity and solitude of a room full of yogis, my breath merges with mantra:

I am . . . I can . . . I will . . . I did . . .

And then, this song comes up on the playlist—a sign, perhaps, from the iPod gods that everything is as it should be.

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© 2010 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because you need not know your final destination in order to be on your way. (Photo by Em Kâ Bé via Creative Commons.)

Cheese to the rescue!

I’ve come home ravenous on more than one occasion and chowed down on cheese and crackers while standing at the kitchen counter. It might fill me up, but it’s not satisfying. Harumph.

However, it only takes me a few minutes to put together a cheese plate—which always turns out to be infinitely more satisfying. Suddenly, my go-to snack is elevated to a new level of civility. (Plus, it’s much easier to be mindful of your portions when laying it all out on a plate.)

A few small wedges of whatever cheese you have on hand, some crackers or slices of baguette, and a couple dollops of sweet and savory condiments for jazzing things up—and you’re good to go. Don’t worry about what goes with what. Let your creativity (and taste buds) lead the way.

My most recent cheese plate for dinner included:

• Gorgonzola dolce – a creamy, mild-mannered blue cheese with a smattering of green-ish veins
• Monte Veronese latte intero – a mild, slightly nutty-tasting cheese. The tiny holes in the cheese give it a little “squeak.”
• Parmesan – salty and crumbly, just the way I like it.
• Currant jam – tart and runny and just the slightest bit sweet
• Dandelion blossom honey –   thick, mild, and full of crystals. Pairs expertly with the gorgonzola dolce.
• Onion-flavored taralli – seriously savory Italian crackers

If I had an open bottle of wine, I would have poured myself a glass. Instead, I opted for some bubbly water with a splash of black currant juice. (Bubbles of any sort pair nicely with thick, creamy cheeses like the gorgonzola dolce.)

Hungry? Short on time—but big on savoring your food? Grab a fork (the civilized way to attack a cheese plate) and dig in.

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© 2010 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because there’s nothing cheesy about eating cheese for dinner.

Right now, do yourself a favor:

• Go to your e-mail box and click on one of those unread messages. (I bet it’s from some mailing list you got on because you once made a purchase here. Three years ago. Am I right?)
• Scroll to the bottom of the message and click on “Unsubscribe.”
• Do it again.
• And again.
• And again.

There, doesn’t that feel better?

You have enough untended-to things going on in your life. Why should unread (and unnecessary) e-mails contribute to the chaos?

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© 2010 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because keeping up with e-mail is a lot like playing whack-a-mole–don’t you think? (Photo by TPapi via Creative Commons.)

What aren’t we doing?

I’m not talking about going to the gym or folding the laundry or flossing daily. I mean the big stuff. Life list material.

• Writing that book
• Performing in front of an audience
• Painting landscapes
• Opening a restaurant
• Running a marathon

It’s fun to come up with these grand plans and share them with friends and loved ones. We see our enthusiasm reflected in their eyes and think to ourselves, for a moment, “Hey, I could actually do this!” These are the people who will be in the front row at our book signing, hang our art in their living room, frequenting our restaurant—so long as we take that first step.

Only we can bring about these dreams. If we wait for circumstances to be “just right,” these dreams will get buried in an avalanche of mundane things. Like doing bicep curls at the gym. Or pairing up your family’s clean socks. When you look back—weeks, months, years from now—the socks will mean nothing.

“But I’ve been so busy,” we’ll think. “How could I possibly have found the time to these things?” We’ll scold ourselves for being lazy, and then go back to the socks. There’ll always be more socks.

Guilt never works. What does work is understanding the why behind the inaction. And here’s what I’ve learned about what’s beneath the surface. (Hint: It has nothing to do with being lazy.)

It’s perfectionism.

Perfectionism is unattainable. It’s an inverted form of procrastination. If we can’t write a brilliant first chapter; paint a breathtaking, snow-dappled evergreen, or bring an audience to its feet—to the super-human standards that we’ve set for ourselves–then it’s just not worth the effort.

Perfectionists are about the all or nothing. We don’t have time for mediocrity. But we’re expert sock sorters, dish scrubbers, and dutiful gym-goers. We focus our perfectionism on the things that—in the grand scheme of things—don’t really matter.

So, how do we break this ingrained habit of perfectionism?

We leap. We strive for imperfection. We show up for ourselves and keep at it. We celebrate progress—no matter how it looks. We enjoy the journey.

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? . . . Your playing small does not serve the world.”
                                                                  –Marianne Williamson

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© 2010 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because Yoda was right–you’ve just gotta do it. (Photo by David @ InternosPhoto.com via Creative Commons.)