DON’T KEEP YOUR PRIORITIES STRAIGHT
From day to day I try to get everything done I need to, then leave the door open for who knows what. Hey, let’s go for a swim or a bike ride. Let’s have a living room dance party.
Spontaneity is what makes life feel like an adventure, and we need a little of it every day.
We moms tend to get stuck on automatic pilot. “My family is my first priority,” we say, without realizing this is actually a big-picture priority. Hour to hour, day to day, depending on what’s going on, you really can put off the laundry or scheduling your kid’s next playdate. On the day you’re getting your appendix out, your health is the top priority, and the hubster and kids can make their own macaroni and cheese.
We need to know our priorities, but also that they aren’t engraved on tablets like the Ten Commandments. We can change and rearrange them.
I imagine my priorities as existing on tiers, with the most important stuff on the top tiers. Fluffing the pillows? Probably (hopefully) bottom tier. Feeding the fam? Up near the top. But there are many other tiers, and given the day, they can be shuffled around according to what absolutely needs to get done.
Let’s say it’s a Monday, and you’ve had intimacy with your husband on Sunday; that could actually slide down to a lower tier. (Yes, even nookie has a tier.) But as the days pass, sex starts moving up until it’s top-tier important.
If you trained on Monday and it’s Tuesday, training could be tucked onto a lower tier. If Tuesday’s schedule is suddenly crazy because one of your kids got sick at school and had to be picked up, or the furnace went out and the repair guy’s on his way, you can skip working out altogether. But the next day, Wednesday, training gets moved back up. For that day, it’s a top-tier priority.
Having sex, working out, making the perfect dinner, scrubbing the bathrooms spotless—not killer important every day. If you had an awesome, multicourse dinner last night, maybe tonight it’s a one-pot dinner. Or Chinese takeout. If the kids have four activities Thursday, it’s okay to bum around Friday.
Take care of the top-tier items, then do something for yourself. Read a book, work on your knitting, call somebody up and go for a walk. We need to get over the idea that if we have a free hour between, say, 2:30 and 3:30 that we need to jam it with chores or compulsive emailing. You don’t have to know all this seven months in advance. At the beginning of the day you can make some executive decisions about what you need to pay attention to and what you can let ride.
Once you move something down to the bottom tier, stop worrying about it. Don’t let it nag at you. Most of all, don’t beat up on yourself.
JUST TO-DO IT
People get hysterical about being organized, but really, you just need a list and you need to check off the items, starting at the top. It’s as simple as that. The power of the list is that it’s there in black and white, and you can run a line through an item. Done!
Without a list it’s too easy to plunge into mom mania, where you run around in circles with a spatula in one hand and a soccer cleat in the other, freaking out because you have so much to do, somuchtodo, somuchtodo!!!!!!
Getting swept up in freak-outs over little things does nothing but contribute to the great flood of toxic emotion. And it’s only worse when we’re sleep deprived or our schedules are too jam-packed. Decorating cupcakes for a party can seem as important as stopping the flow of blood from a head wound.
The bad thing about feeling overwhelmed is that it’s not just counterproductive, it’s also destructive. Once we’re overwhelmed, it’s easy to decide that rather than tackling all the things we need to do, we would rather sit down on the couch with a bag of chips. An hour later, we’re no closer to getting our chores done, plus we feel queasy from the junk food and, worse, full of self-loathing.
You don’t need a special device to make a to-do list. You don’t even need a notebook. I feel somewhat ridiculous saying this, but you’d be surprised how many people say they can’t get organized until they take a workshop or hire an organizer or get the proper datebook. The back of an envelope will do. And the best thing about it? When you’re done, you can get rid of it.
THE JOY OF OUTSIDE
After our work is done for the day and we’ve more or less tackled our to-do list, how do we spend the rest of our hours? In the same way we need to know our priorities, we need to have a sense of what kind of activities are fun and spontaneous. For me, it’s being in nature, being with friends, and community service. Pretty much everything else is off my radar completely. You’ll never catch me shopping until I drop, cooking a complicated French meal, or jamming with an all-girl band.
Fifteen years ago, Laird and I bought a piece of hilly property overlooking the Hanalei River. Kaua’i is called the Garden Island, but what that really means is the jungle island. The view from our as-yet-to-be-built house will look west over the canopy of banana, banyan, and palms to the elongated S of the Hanalei that winds to the sea, the jagged mountains of the Hono’onapali Reserve, and, beyond that, the unworldly cloud-enshrouded peaks of the Na Pali Coast. It’s a study in shades of green, blue, and pale gray. It’s Bali Ha’i.
There are plenty of perfectly good houses in Kaua’i, but we wanted one that was plain and comfortable and allowed us to live our daily lives in a way that we could never, for a minute, forget about the natural world unfolding around us.
At Florida State, I spent a lot of time on indoor courts. When I began modeling, around the same time, I spent half the year in New York City. I sometimes wonder how my life would have gone had I hooked up with someone I’d met in Manhattan, a photographer, say, or magazine editor, some indoor person. One of the major things that attracted me to Laird was his abiding relationship with nature.
Even back then I could feel it. The more time I spent in a fancy dress and proper shoes, the further away I felt from who I truly was. There is a lot of talk today about how our children are suffering a nature deficit, how computer screens have become their reality and forests, meadows, creeks—even a nearby empty lot where weeds and wildflowers grow—something foreign, something “other.”
It’s true for adults, too. It’s true for you. When was the last time you looked up from your device and noticed the wind blowing through the trees?
We’re always looking for complicated answers to our complicated problems. Do we need to buy something new? See a new kind of counselor? Find a new partner? Move to a new state or country? Do we need to completely overhaul our bad habits? Indulge in retail therapy?
There are no guarantees in this book. My foot is too big for the glass slipper. I’m not a believer in easy fixes or fairy tales. Except when it comes to this: put down your book or eReader and go take a walk around the block. You don’t even need to live on a beautiful block, with carefully tended gardens or towering trees. You don’t need a view. Just be out there. Inhale. Crane your neck up at the sky. Notice the weather. Whatever is going on in your life, it’ll get better. Even if the only thing that improves is your outlook.
LOG OFF, GET HAPPY
Some wise man said, “The dose makes the poison.” The Internet is a little bit like that, most of us rely on it for work, for our social lives, for our entertainment, but too much is toxic.
Yes, it’s nice to be able to read the paper online, and could there be anything more wonderful, at the end of a long day, than Huluing a few episodes of The Daily Show? But do you know a single soul who leaves it at that? Do you know anyone who says, “Hm, I don’t remember who was president before Woodrow Wilson,” or asks, “Which has more vitamin C, raspberries or strawberries?” then looks it up and immediately logs off? Anyone?(Well, Laird does. Every once in a while he wants to see what kind of sails they’re manufacturing in Sweden or something. He checks it out, and five minutes later the computer is off. But he’s probably the only person in America.)
I don’t know what percentage of time well-intentioned googling leads down the rabbit hole of checking out celebrity baby bum
ps; looking up the five (eight or thirteen) dumbest criminals ever; the latest on Justin Bieber’s hair; six ways you’re shaving your legs wrong; cute kitties, puppies, baby dolphins; or finding out which celebrity is in jail again.
One click leads to another leads to feeling like shit about your life. Whether it’s the latest expert on mommying who has scientific evidence that however you’re raising your kids is wrong, or the old high school friend who pops up on Facebook with a better ass than yours, which is documented in the ninety-two photos of her annual vacation in Tuscany. Before you know it, you’ve clicked through to every single shot, and you’ve wasted twenty minutes in pathetic voyeurism you’d never allow yourself to lapse into in real life. It’s like the whole wide world of the web has been engineered to make you feel bad about yourself.
We must unplug. Forget taking pictures of your Jamaican vacation, just live the thing. Just live your life in the moment.
If you were stuck sitting next to someone on an airplane who spewed at you the kind of stuff you surf online, you’d think you’d entered a level of Dante’s hell. You’d be telling friends about the bore you got stuck next to on your flight to Atlanta. A few years ago the idea of watching slides of someone’s vacation to Greece was only marginally more appealing than a tax audit; now, bizarrely, it’s become gripping.
I’m willing to admit I may be more sensitive to this than most people. When I Google myself—and I have, exactly once—it made me queasy. Even though there’s a lot of positive, of course my eye was drawn to the nasty stuff.
“When did Gabrielle Reece start looking like a man?”
“I never realized Gabrielle Reece was so giant.”
My friend sent me a link to a foot fetish site. I have big feet, and there they are. Bigger than life. And there are comments. People going back and forth about my feet. So I turned it off. I don’t need my mind poisoned by that shit.
Laird knows and cares even less about what’s going on online than I do. He doesn’t know, he doesn’t look, he doesn’t care. He simply doesn’t. And I think he’s happier for it. Every once in a while someone will write him something profound and heavy, and then I’ll force him to listen while I read it to him, but even then, it doesn’t really register. He doesn’t really care who thinks he’s da man. He’s equipped with a strong internal anchor, and he just doesn’t get swept away.
Aside from time-wasting, mind-mushing, and depression-inducing, too much time online moves you even further away from your body, and from the natural world. It moves you further up into your head.
I’m curious to see how my children are going to manage it, in their lives and in their relationships. It’s going to be a challenge for them to stay in touch with themselves, with their beliefs and their feelings in a world where there are no more Sundays, no more silent three o’clock in the mornings. I’m praying for a backlash, for a bunch of kids in Oregon to take up the cause of letter writing and turn it into a global movement.
THE SECRET WEAPON FOR DAYS THAT SUCK
Some days just suck. This is true for everyone—overworked moms included. Some days all I do is wrangle everyone. I make sure the kids get where they need to get on time. I make sure Laird’s business chores get seen to. Some days, I’m simply the least fun person you’ve ever met.
I remind myself that it’s only one day. Also, that this wrangling is part of the thing I signed up for. I’m in the trenches, and I try to embrace my duties, even when they’re mind-numbing or maddening. Then the question becomes, given how this day’s gone to hell, how can I make the best of it?
The thing that can turn that kind of day around for me?
Helping a sister out.
If time permits, and I see that one of my girlfriends is slammed, I’ll volunteer to take one of her kids from here to there. If I can make her life even a little better by doing some extra chauffeuring, I’m there. Doing a favor for a friend can make me feel good about what I’ve signed up for.
I have friends to whom I say “I’ll take your kids for the afternoon” and they say “Oh no, I don’t want you to go out of your way.” But I don’t put myself in positions I don’t want to be in very often; I don’t have time to do things just to be nice.
And neither do you.
Women tend to be overly concerned with everyone else’s happiness. I’ve noticed a habit among some chicks I know: they automatically say “yes” to everything because they imagine it’s easier. Will you make some cookies for the party? Yes! Chair the PTA fund-raiser? Of course! Host a dinner party for sixteen of Mr. Charming’s most important business associates? Not a problem! It’s not as if they want to say no; they just don’t know what they want to say. They don’t take the time to know what they want.
My friends and I are not scorekeepers. If it’s convenient for them to take my kids to a pool party, then they do, and not just because I had their kids the week before. It really does take a village, and I want my village populated with authentic, self-governing women who are strong, generous, and nurturing, and who feel free to say no to me when they can’t help, but they’re quick to say yes when they can.
In Kaua’i, I have a friend named Caridyn who grew up with Laird and whose husband, Coppin, is my volleyball husband. Every Saturday, for the six months the family is based in Kaua’i, Coppin and I team up and play on the beach with the rest of the boys.
Caridyn is one of those women whose charisma is rooted in her sense of self; she likes her life and who she is in it. On any given day, Caridyn will cook you a meal while tending to her four daughters, and still manage to get out in the morning to catch the surf.
I have a different way about me. I’m not an ice queen, but it’s a different style. I believe my kids feel a great deal of security with me. They know that mom’s right there. And I’m consistent. I don’t change much from day to day. I make their breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day. They know they’re safe with me. I’m there to listen. When Reece wants to talk to me I can listen without having to jump in and “parent.” I take care of everybody, but it’s not all warm and fuzzy Italian mama. I’m matter-of-fact and direct. Sometimes it’s been hard, but it’s the only way I can do it.
The nurturing part for me hasn’t come easily. I learn from the women around me. I try to keep myself surrounded with people who share my priorities, but who handle life in different ways, people I can learn from.
If I find myself getting caught up in the taxing minutiae of a legitimately shitty day, I can call Caridyn. It’s important to have those kinds of people in your life. We all need to cultivate relationships with individuals who can enlarge our perspectives and calm our nerves just by being who they are.
EVERY MINUTE OF EVERY DAY YOU’RE WRITING THE STORY OF YOUR LIFE
Sometimes I think this lack of time is a problem we invent for ourselves.
I don’t know whether we work ourselves into an eye twitch and a marriage counselor because it makes us feel virtuous, or because we believe somehow that if every night we collapse from exhaustion the universe will reward us with happy, productive children and a husband who sticks around. Maybe it’s because we’re afraid that if we have any spare time, we’ll be pressed into experiencing the burden of figuring out what to do with it. As long as you’re running around hysterically, taking care of everything that crosses your path, you’ll never have to figure out what you want, or what makes you happy.
I know, kids take up a lot of time. No one knows that better than I do.
But what if you had an hour a day that belonged only to you? A day, a week a month? What would you do with it?
Our friend Paul Chek, who works with top professional athletes, movie stars, and billionaires, told me something I’ve never forgotten. His clients are people who have what everyone wants, they are at the pinnacle of their careers, and by every measurement they’ve achieved success. And yet many of them are unhappy. The thing that slayed me was this: when Paul tried to find out what would make them happy, if they could have anything or
change anything in their lives, they had no idea.
My happiness is tied directly to my sense of peace. For me, it’s about keeping it simple. I try not to overcomplicate my life, and I try to remain a pretty fierce steward of my time. I’m always aware how whatever I do serves me. Which is why I commit a certain number of hours a month to community service.
Laird and I serve on the board of Rain Catchers, whose mission is to provide clean water to people in every corner of the globe. We also work with Heal the Bay, a local organization dedicated to protecting and restoring our beautiful local Santa Monica Bay, and the National Resources Defense Council, devoted to protecting wildlife and the wild places of the world.
Mostly, we donate training or surfing sessions to raise money for charities we support. If it’s in the wheelhouse of nature or children, we’re in. The most fun is getting to work with a gang of kids. My friend Kelly Meyer created Teaching Gardens, aimed at teaching kids from first grade to fifth the basics of gardening and the joy of eating what you grow. I usually parachute in for a short session on movement.
I can see your thought bubble from here: “Isn’t community service a sentence handed down by a judge?”
Think of it this way: service serves you as much as it does whomever you’re trying to help. Aside from the obvious and immediate good feeling it bestows, it offers some perspective on your issues. It helps you stand back and appreciate your life. How’s the fam? Pretty good. Hubster? Yep. Job? Could use another, but at least I have one.
It’s also a good message to send our kids who generally watch what we do more closely than they listen to what we say. Spending part of your time on a service project is inconvenient and there’s no monetary gain. You’re doing it because you want to contribute to the betterment of your world, which, by the way, conveys to your kids that they’re not the center of the known universe. Could there be a better message for them?
My Foot Is Too Big for the Glass Slipper: A Guide to the Less Than Perfect Life Page 11
