Just for fun … and to see if I could do it.

I set this challenge for myself when I discovered that we had been trimming our trees all wrong. I found this out when the city’s arborist spoke at a commission meeting I was attending for work. I wasn’t paying full attention . . . after all, we weren’t actually trimming our trees ourselves. We hire tree guys to come and do the work, and I figured they knew what they were doing. But my interest perked up when the arborist announced that homeowners and tree companies could be fined for over-trimming. I didn’t know that was a thing.

Florida’s official state tree is the sabal palm, and, as such, it is closely monitored and protected. We have 21 of them on our 100’ x 100’ residential lot. I know—that’s a lot of trees! I counted twice. I also now know that our tree guys had been trimming them wrong. They typically left only a few fronds sticking straight out of the top of each tree. As a result, the poor things looked more like giant paintbrushes than palm trees.

If we continued to trim them incorrectly, we could potentially be fined thousands of dollars. After a little research, it didn’t take long for lots of answers to pop up. Once you type in a question, AI sends more information than anyone could possibly need. I discovered that only the dead fronds should be removed in a 9 o’clock—3 o’clock pattern and thought, “That won’t be so hard.”

So, on Sunday morning … I selected Sunday because my husband would be home to witness my experiment and would call the ambulance if I fell off the ladder. He golfs on Saturdays. Before the sun got too hot, I extended the ladder to its full height, propped it against one of the shorter trees surrounding the pool, and climbed up, clutching a borrowed long pole saw. I wasn’t sure if I would ever use the saw again after this experiment, so I didn’t want to invest the money to buy one of my own. Not yet, anyway.

The angle was a little tricky, and the weight of the fully extended pole saw felt heavier at the top of the ladder than it did on the ground. However, as soon as the first dead palm frond fell to the ground, I was hooked.

It was fun!

It was exhilarating!

It took about thirty minutes to remove the dead fronds. I had to reposition the ladder twice. I also removed the branch containing flowering seed pods and felt lucky that the bees I saw the week before buzzing around the tree’s flowers had moved on.

The tree looked fresh but not overdone … like a perfect haircut. It felt good knowing that I had done it. And a trip to the hospital wasn’t necessary.

The way I did it. Tree woman.

This is part of what I’m calling Expeditionvision—my quest to find what a meaningful life looks like. One experiment per week: Possible strategies for a happier life. Trying things on purpose and paying attention to what happens. I’m not offering advice or giving instructions. I’m just sharing the way I did it. If there’s something that you’ve been wanting to try—but haven’t—I’d love to hear about it. I’m open to reader suggestions for future experiments.

Field Notes: For Paid Subscribers

Paid subscribers, I’ve added a short field notes section below with what surprised me the most, what I didn’t expect, what I might do next time, plus things I’m still working on.

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A Big Fat Greek Cooking Class, to be precise. For months, I had been driving by the advertisement sign posted on the fence at the Casements, the historic winter home of John D. Rockefeller that is now a community museum and venue. This week, without overthinking it, I signed up.

The website said we would make Moussaka, Rice Pilaf, Greek Salad, Stuffed Grape Leaves, Spanakopita, and Baklava. And we did! I felt confident going into class. I had made all the dishes, except the grape leaves, before. I was looking forward to learning from a real chef. And Chef Elaine did not disappoint. She had many tips and tricks and engaging personal stories that made the 3-½ hour class fly by.

This wasn’t my first cooking class. One of my most memorable cooking experiences was the class at La Cucina al Focolare in Italy with a group of friends. We call ourselves the Belle Sorelle, which means beautiful sisters in Italian. Taking an authentic Italian cooking class in the gorgeous countryside of Tuscany is also one of the all-time favorite things I’ve ever done.

First, we made Crostini di Fegatini—chicken liver toasts that we enjoyed immediately with a slice of crusty bread and a glass of Chianti. Then La Pasta per la Pizza—pizza crust topped with an amazing tomato sauce and fresh mozzarella cheese. For the main course, it was Fettuccine con Salsa di Pomodoro e Basilico—fettuccine with tomato and basil sauce, and for dessert Biscotti di Prato—almond biscuits. We cooked in a wood-fired oven and hand rolled the fettucine. I can’t remember whether Italian music was playing in the kitchen or if it was just playing in my head.

The class was amazing … the food was delicious, and it remains one of my fondest memories of our Italian adventure. I also remember that I jumped in to translate, which is a funny way to explain it because I don’t speak much Italian—but our cooking instructors spoke even less English. When I saw my friends’ confused looks, I began to narrate what I was doing. It seemed to help. We then had another glass of wine and enjoyed dinner together, seated on heavy wooden stools around the rustic kitchen table.

I’m telling you that last bit, the bit about taking on the role of instructor, because in my Greek cooking class I had to sit on my hands to keep myself from jumping up to assist. There were over 20 of us in the class. Chef Elaine was in the middle, demonstrating for much of the time. I just knew if I got up there and helped, I could re-engage the students whose attention was drifting … we all had to strain a little bit to see.

Spoiler: I didn’t make it through the whole class without helping. By the time we got to the Greek Salad, the last item on our menu, I got up and chopped the tomatoes. Can I use the excuse that I was starving? I was. I had come to class straight from work. But the truth is, I just couldn’t fight my urge to help any longer.

I think about food a lot. I love to imagine the dinners I will make, the parties I will host, and all the wonderful food I will serve. Taking the Greek cooking class reignited that passion.

The way I did it. Greek for a day.

This is part of what I’m calling Expeditionvision—my quest to find what a meaningful life looks like. One experiment per week: Possible strategies for a happier life. Trying things on purpose and paying attention to what happens. I’m not offering advice or giving instructions. I’m just sharing the way I did it. If there’s something that you’ve been wanting to try—but haven’t—I’d love to hear about it. I’m open to reader suggestions for future experiments.

Field Notes: For Paid Subscribers

Paid subscribers, I’ve added a short field notes section below with what surprised me the most, what I didn’t expect, what I might do next time, plus things I’m still working on.

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For one week, rather than thinking about what I was grateful for, I said it out loud. Every morning, before leaving the house for work, going to meetings, or running errands, I stopped and said my thoughts out loud. This experiment was to put to the test my belief, and constant advice to others, in the power of positive affirmation. Would starting each day in this way change how I was feeling? I was going to find out.

Recently, my days have felt like a constant climb to nowhere. An endless series of emails, meetings, phone calls, and putting out small fires … set that on repeat. Nothing much different was happening. I think I was just feeling bored or tired, and I started to notice that my thoughts kept drifting to the worst possible scenarios.

When my kids didn’t answer my calls and texts, my mind immediately went to … car crash! Were they not calling back because they were in a horrible accident?

When I had nothing on my social calendar, I thought, “My friends must be mad at me. What did I do?”

When the washing machine made a funny noise, I announced to my husband, “We better not go out to dinner. We’re sure to need the money to buy a new washing machine.”

My rational mind knew that none of that was true, and yet I couldn’t seem to help myself.

The first morning, I felt a little silly. Remember that skit on Saturday Night Live when Al Franken created the character Stuart Smalley? Stuart would stand in front of the mirror and recite, “I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and doggone it, people like me.” Was I being a pathetic Stuart Smalley?

On the second day, I posted pictures of some of my favorite things on my bathroom mirror to prompt the affirmations. Florida songbirds … I’m enamored by them! A photo of my recent bike ride along the ocean. I’m so happy to be back on my bike again. My view of the garden waterfall from my office window. I have a beautiful place to work.

On the third day, I added notes and pictures of things I am looking forward to this week, this month, and this year. This week, I was having lunch with a friend who had just returned from a month-long trip to Europe. I couldn’t wait to hear about it. A month … wow! Although I won’t be spending a month in Europe, this month I am going to take my first professional golf lesson. I’m not sure if I hope I’m good at it or terrible at it. We’ll see. This year, our daughter and son-in-law will celebrate their first wedding anniversary, and our granddaughter will turn one year old. We have a trip to California planned to celebrate her birthday, and I’m researching fun anniversary gifts to send to Pennsylvania.

However, it wasn’t a perfect week. I snapped at my husband a time or two. He calls those moments my passive aggressiveness. If our teenagers responded the way I did, we would have called them smart asses.

But when I took an honest look back, I did feel a little lighter throughout the week. I didn’t scroll my Facebook friends to see what they were doing without me. I didn’t check my phone all day long to see if there were replies to my texts. Reminding myself—out loud—about good things kept my irrational thoughts from creeping in.

The way I did it. Daily gratitude.

This is part of what I’m calling Expeditionvision—my quest to find what a meaningful life looks like. One experiment per week: Possible strategies for a happier life. Trying things on purpose and paying attention to what happens. I’m not offering advice or giving instructions. I’m just sharing the way I did it. If there’s something that you’ve been wanting to try—but haven’t—I’d love to hear about it. I’m open to reader suggestions for future experiments.

Field Notes: For Paid Subscribers

Paid subscribers, I’ve added a short field notes section below with what surprised me the most, what I didn’t expect, what I might do next time, and things I’m still working on.

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This experiment started with the best of intentions. After the church service last week, I stopped at the church café for a cup of coffee and noticed a sign on the counter asking for volunteer kitchen cooks.

“That’s an easy one,” I thought.

As soon as I got home, I signed up to join the kitchen committee. Just as I hit submit, I felt a pain in my stomach. What was I thinking? I don’t have time to be in charge of anything more right now. Ugh, did I make a mistake? I’ve always found it difficult to be part of a committee without taking charge.

My husband would say I’m a control freak. I don’t think I am, but it drives me crazy when “nobody” is in charge. I know this about myself. I can stomach about six minutes … MAX... of standing around waiting for someone to “start” a project before I have to interject. And everyone knows the one who starts the project is the one who’s in charge. Voilà … I put myself in charge.

The thing is, I’ve spent so much of my life as the person who notices what needs to be done, and then making sure it happens. It seems natural to me. Some might say that’s a gift, but every gift has a shadow side.

Shadow side #1: Not listening. I’ve been working on this dark truth for years. When someone tells me their troubles, or asks for help, I find it very hard not to go into fix-it mode. I’m getting better, I used to interrupt with attitude and let them know that, obviously, here’s your solution. These days, I might think of the solution—after all, old habits are hard to break—but not say anything. I must admit that staying silent may seem like I’m not adding value. Even so, I’ve learned that NOT sharing is sometimes the better choice. I want to be the person who asks, “Do you want me to listen, or help problem solve?”

Shadow side #2: Jumping in with both feet. The dark truth of being the first to act is often you find you’re the only one left in the room. People are generally all too happy to let you do it – whatever “it” may be. I’m thinking that I need to start a new ministry … a ministry of keeping my mouth shut!

So far, this experiment has been a mental exercise since I haven’t been called or scheduled for a kitchen shift yet. It’s now been a week, which seems longer than I would have expected. Then again, I remember the last time I volunteered in the kitchen … and I wonder if I might be on the “Do Not Call” list. The last time I volunteered, I signed up without knowing what the job duties were. When I arrived, I found out that I didn’t really have a job to do. So I took it upon myself to be helpful and found there were moldy cucumbers on the tossed salads. And I noticed several bags of mini potato chips had expired after sorting the bags in order of expiration. I later discovered that the kitchen manager was not at all impressed.

I’m not sure if I was intentionally not called to volunteer. However, experience has shown me that sometimes I need to help less. The adage “See something, say something” does not always apply.

The way I did it. Being helpful without being in charge.

This is part of what I’m calling Expeditionvision—my quest to find what a meaningful life looks like. One experiment per week: Possible strategies for a happier life. Trying things on purpose and paying attention to what happens. I’m not offering advice or giving instructions. I’m just sharing the way I did it. If there’s something that you’ve been wanting to try—but haven’t—I’d love to hear about it. I’m open to reader suggestions for future experiments.

Field Notes: For Paid Subscribers

Paid subscribers, I’ve added a short field notes section below with what surprised me the most, what I didn’t expect, what I might do next time, and things I’m still working on.

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I’ve started my day with a cup of coffee for as long as I can remember, and the delicious varieties of flavored creamers are some of my favorite things about that morning cup of joe. My current favorite is Italian Sweet Cream. I bought one of those small frothers to whip the cream before adding the hot coffee. It’s heavenly delicious. In the fall, I look forward to the seasonal Pumpkin Spice and Cinnamon Dolce flavors, and then for the holidays, it’s Peppermint Stick and White Chocolate Raspberry.

This experiment was difficult for me, and it’s one that I’ve been thinking about for a long time. Apparently, beverages high in sugar are worse for you than cakes and pies. It’s something about how quickly sugar enters your system without any solids to slow it down. You may have heard about the lawsuits against Starbucks, that mighty coffee giant.

The thing is, I wasn’t drinking a venti coffee macchiato with whipped cream and a caramel drizzle every morning. I was making my coffee at home and often measured the creamer to get the precise allotted serving size of two tablespoons per cup.

But even so, I had a feeling I could do better.

A couple of weeks ago, I spent the weekend with friends in a beautiful mountain house in North Carolina. The first morning, I woke up early, so I started the coffee. I set out the coffee cups and teaspoons, opened the fridge, and found plain half-and-half. No problem, I thought, and began to search the cabinets for sugar. I hunted high and low, using a stool to check the small cabinet above the microwave. Then I got down on my knees to check the very bottom drawers. Nothing there … there was no sugar in the house. The best that I could come up with was a small pot of honey.

So I had a problem. First, I really don’t like black coffee, and second, none of my friends seemed to be concerned about it. Since I didn’t want to be a complainer, I suffered through honey coffee the first morning and continued to suffer the second morning. By the third morning, I couldn’t take it and blurted out, “Does anyone else miss having sugar in their coffee?” The answer was crickets. And I know why.

One of our friends is a brilliant doctor. She knows everything about nutrition … and not just the whole foods plan that everyone is touting these days. She knows how foods affect your body at the molecular level. She can tell you exactly how the things you put in your mouth have an effect on your body. And the long and the short of it is—sugar is not good. Needless to say, none of us want her to catch us eating the wrong things!

So that was two weeks ago. I didn’t enjoy my coffee during that vacation, and when I got home I went back to my old habit—whipping the Italian Sweet Cream and adding the hot coffee. However, I was feeling guilty, so I planned this experiment.

Generally, I’m pretty good about doing things that I know are good for me—getting enough sleep, exercising, and not drinking too much. I’ve added lifting weights … blah blah blah. And there it is. I struggled with this week’s experiment because I have a bad attitude.

The way I did it. A little less sweet.

This is part of what I’m calling Expeditionvision—my quest to find what a meaningful life looks like. One experiment per week: Possible strategies for a happier life. Trying things on purpose and paying attention to what happens. I’m not offering advice or giving instructions. I’m just sharing the way I did it. If there’s something that you’ve been wanting to try—but haven’t—I’d love to hear about it. I’m open to reader suggestions for future experiments.

Field Notes: For Paid Subscribers

Paid subscribers, I’ve added a short field notes section below with what surprised me the most, what I didn’t expect, what I might do next time, and things I’m still working on.

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This experiment isn’t as crazy as it sounds. Although I’ve heard of women shaving their faces as some sort of super exfoliant, I didn’t shave with my husband’s razor, but he did call it shaving when I used the handheld red light + electrical muscle stimulation (EMS) tool that I purchased with the hope of reducing the unattractive appearance of my turkey neck. The edge of the contraption did resemble the shape of a traditional razor, and when I touched it to my neck, it made a humming sound … so the name did suit the action.

Every night for fourteen weeks—in reality, probably more like 95 nights since I missed a night here and there—I plopped on the edge of the sofa and “shaved” my wrinkled neck and what can only be called the beginnings of jowls where my checks should be.

I was going to say this experiment was a reader challenge. I’ve been calling for readers to submit their experiments, but that would be a lie. This experiment is founded in good ole-fashioned vanity. I’ve written about my décolleté resembling a peach pit, which is quite disturbing, but one day I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize the face looking back at me as my own. I truly thought an old lady was staring at me in horror. Who was that woman with the wrinkled, sagging skin? My outward appearance didn’t match the way I felt. When did that happen?! I was now more than motivated to do something about it.

The first thing I did was research surgical face lifts … and quickly ruled that out after looking at a few of the “after” photos. I found lots of anti-aging recommendations, such as exercising your face to reduce sagging skin, which makes sense. I go to the gym to lift weights, but contorting and scrunching up my face actually was making my wrinkles look worse. And that reminded me of an article I once read about Asian women who are famous for not having expression lines because they have trained themselves NOT to move their faces. Everyone else uses Botox to freeze their muscles, but I decided not to inject myself with poison.

There was a plethora of information about topical lotions and creams that promised to “feed” my skin. I’ve done a lot of research in that lane—my Shine cream oil is chock-full of antioxidants, humectants, and vitamins. I then set a timer to give myself an allotted research time. I’ve found that if I don’t, I can sit at my computer screen for hours and hours and emerge feeling quite awful. When the buzzer sounded, I decided to purchase a tool to use in conjunction with my Shine formula.

After three weeks, I thought I could see a little difference. After six weeks, my neck felt tighter, which was enough encouragement to keep at it. At this point, my skin feels more like the way I remember it … and at certain angles it appears as though my jowl buds and wrinkles are smoothing out.

Another thing I found while researching was a long list of famous women over fifty who have pledged to age naturally—Lauren Hutton, Meryl Streep, and Julia Roberts have all spoken out against plastic surgery. I especially liked this quote from Julia: “Your face tells a story ... and it shouldn’t be a story about your drive to the doctor’s office.”

Perhaps the most encouraging point in my experiment was when an acquaintance I hadn’t seen in a while said, “You look so young.” Release the confetti! Do a little dance! That compliment alone was enough encouragement to keep me going for another fourteen weeks.

The way I did it. Aging naturally.

This is part of what I’m calling Expeditionvision—my quest to find what a meaningful life looks like. One experiment per week: Possible strategies for a happier life. Trying things on purpose and paying attention to what happens. I’m not offering advice or giving instructions. I’m just sharing the way I did it. If there’s something that you’ve been wanting to try—but haven’t—I’d love to hear about it. I’m open to reader suggestions for future experiments.

Field Notes: For Paid Subscribers

Paid subscribers, I’ve added a short field notes section below with what surprised me the most, what I didn’t expect, what I might do next time, and things I’m still working on.

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This experiment wasn’t the one I planned. I had been saving money for weeks before I set out on my girl’s weekend. I had a budget and was excited and ready to shop! I hadn’t been shopping anywhere but at discount department stores in ages. Shopping used to be a pastime … a hobby … something to do on a rainy day. For me, going shopping is an action verb. It’s kind of like eating a piece of chocolate cake. Shopping is dopamine. I don’t remember ever coming home empty-handed. I always found something to buy.

As I squeezed the final T-shirt into my one personal item—the amazingly small bag I was going to carry onto the airplane to avoid paying the outrageous baggage fees—I remembered that the town of Highlands, North Carolina was sure to be on our itinerary. Highlands may be one of the best shopping spots ever for a girl’s weekend. The main drag is lined with stores filled with unimagined treasures. Beautiful clothes and one-of-a-kind decorations and art pieces. With this bag, there would be no way I could bring anything back home with me. No worries, I would just ship my treasures home! Then another thought entered my mind as I forced the zipper closed. I didn’t really NEED anything.

Is that a sign of maturity or of giving up? The idea is that if you don’t need anything, then you don’t go shopping. A couple of years ago, our group of eight toyed with the idea that we should stop exchanging gifts because none of us needed anything. I never liked the idea. Can you even imagine? It’s not like we were giving each other vacuum cleaners! I have to tell you … secretly I wondered if it was my gift that pushed that notion forward. One year, I gave vintage gifts. I found a great resale shop and bought gifts for everyone. Later, I discovered that some people hate vintage. I guess you either love it or hate it! I hope my poor gift giving wasn’t the reason. Gifts from my girlfriends are some of my favorite things! It’s true we all say we don’t need anything … but I enjoy giving gifts and receiving them.

Shopping together was one of the highlights of the weekend. We had fun re-enacting a rom-com movie dressing room scene. Flinging open the dressing room door and striking a pose to reveal a new outfit, each more colorful and more accessorized than the one before. One of the jewelry shop owners encouraged my friend Jules to try on a $360,000 ring! She didn’t buy it.

But a funny thing happened as we entered the third or fourth shop along Main Street, all of them filled with a different version of Lilly Pulitzer cotton and linen outfits. I realized that not only did I not need an embroidered cotton maxi dress, but I would also likely wear it only once because I gave up ironing years ago!

We had great conversations as we sat on the steps and enjoyed street musicians and treats from the chocolate shop. It wasn’t the $300 dresses or the $360,000 rings that brought us together. It was our joy of spending time together … and that is priceless.

The way I did it. The best things in life are free.

This is part of what I’m calling Expeditionvision—my quest to find what a meaningful life looks like. One experiment per week: Possible strategies for a happier life. Trying things on purpose and paying attention to what happens. I’m not offering advice or giving instructions. I’m just sharing the way I did it. If there’s something that you’ve been wanting to try—but haven’t—I’d love to hear about it. I’m open to reader suggestions for future experiments.

Field Notes: For Paid Subscribers

Paid subscribers, I’ve added a short field notes section below with what surprised me the most, what I didn’t expect, what I might do next time, and things I’m still working on.

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This weekend, I didn’t climb onto my bicycle for my usual Saturday morning training ride. And I didn’t log on for the afternoon Zoom workshop that I signed up for and paid for weeks ago. And I didn’t drag out my shopping lists or pore over the endless spreadsheets of home improvement projects.

I didn’t do them because I was determined to succeed with my experiment. The plan was to simply “be” … to relax and let my mind and body take a much needed rest. I put down the remote and silenced my cell phone. The house was quiet, I had nowhere to be, and the setting was perfect for success.

And yet, even before the footrest had fully extended on my side of the motion sofa, I had three things in mind that needed to be done … and I just couldn’t keep myself still! My plan of relaxing was interrupted before it even started.

Self-Sabotage reared its ugly head and struck again. I’d say my addiction to doing has been a lifelong obsession. I am a Human Doing.

The first major flare up was when the kids started school. After five years of focusing on their care and feeding, the days seemed impossibly long without them underfoot, so I went back to work.

A more accurate description would be that I became obsessed with work. Having been out of the “professional” workforce for several years, I thought I needed to make up for lost time. For the next fifteen years I opened and grew companies, spearheaded initiatives, and dragged my kids right alongside me. There was rarely a moment when we weren’t doing something. I told myself I was teaching by example … showing the benefits of a strong work ethic … demonstrating how motivating it was to set and achieve goals. We probably all need therapy because of it.

This second major flare up, my empty nest period, has exhibited many of the same qualities. Taking on too much, never saying NO, and relishing the high of reaching the goals I set. Truth be told, I do like some of those qualities. And yet, it’s a little different this time.

For one thing, I’m noticing my tendency to overdo. I didn’t realize it the first time around. It just seemed normal. Everyone I knew was doing the same thing … racing from here to there and back again … day after day. Now when someone asks, “How are you doing?”, my reply is, “I’m having trouble keeping up with my choices.”

I look longingly at the social posts of my friends enjoying a beach sunrise, or the photos they are sharing from their European travels.

And speaking of Europe … maybe the Italians are on to something. I was listening to a podcast recently about the benefits of the Mediterranean diet—a way of eating that I’ve embraced for years. Although the lecture was about incorporating more omega-3 fatty acids and cruciferous vegetables into your diet, it was the part when they talked about eating, not cooking, that caught my attention. The advice was that good-quality ingredients are only half of the story. To get the full benefit of the Mediterranean diet, food must be savored and enjoyed, preferably seated at a table with others.

Without even realizing it, I was doing what the Italians do! Two of my recent experiments put the theory to the test. I hosted a dinner party without impressing, and my husband and I did nothing together on a Friday date night. And both experiments are on the success side of my Expeditionvision chart.

Maybe I have finally discovered the secret sauce. Doing more and more is not the answer… life must be savored and enjoyed together.

The way I did it. Human Being.

This is part of what I’m calling Expeditionvision—my quest to find what a meaningful life looks like. One experiment per week: Possible strategies for a happier life. Trying things on purpose and paying attention to what happens. I’m not offering advice or giving instructions. I’m just sharing the way I did it. If there’s something that you’ve been wanting to try—but haven’t—I’d love to hear about it. I’m open to reader suggestions for future experiments.

Field Notes: For Paid Subscribers

Paid subscribers, I’ve added a short field notes section below with what surprised me the most, what I didn’t expect, what I might do next time, and things I’m still working on.

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On Sunday night, I was crouched on the floor, nail gun in hand, and installing wood baseboards in my family room. Mind you, this is an item that has been on my “to do” list for no less than 10 years … one of those projects that has been out of sight and out of mind.

But I had my tools out fixing some other things, and my practical self took over, saying it would take more time to get the tools out again than to install the boards … besides, my mom and brother were arriving on Monday and I wanted the house to look nice, which meant that there I was, on the floor, at nine o’clock at night.

The view from down there, surrounded by dust bunnies and dog fur, wasn’t so great. I could easily find other things in need of my attention. I was tired. I knew I had a busy work week, and then a lightbulb went off. The only way anyone would see the newly installed baseboards was if they were lying on the floor—and why would anyone be lying on the floor? Truthfully, I hope nobody does this.

I was preparing my house as if for a performance—a Pinterest debut. And who was I trying to impress? In case you are wondering, not one of my expected guests was a writer for Better Homes & Gardens.

At the start of the week, I set out to do a complete spring cleaning. By Sunday, I had managed to dust one room and wash one set of curtains out of six. I sprayed the guest room sheets with lavender water rather than ironing them with it. And when my company arrived on Monday, I was still mopping the floors. I looked up from the mop bucket to greet them and announced that two rooms in the house were closed to visitors. My cleaning bucket hadn’t made it to the office or the master bedroom.

When the entire family gathered for dinner, the party clumped and congregated in the kitchen, as parties always do. Then something happened. I stopped serving and started participating. My aunts offered to help, and I let them! When I left the kitchen, so did everyone else. We sat outside under the rusted and slightly leaning pergola, surrounded by half-green palm trees that were still recovering from the recent freeze and laughed about it! None of that mattered. We shared stories about growing up and growing old and anecdotes about life’s curve balls for hours. My uncles are so much more interesting than I ever knew! Precocious teenagers, talented musicians, and seasoned world travelers—by motorcycle no less!

I’ve written about using the good stuff. We have good stuff. Not perfect stuff but good stuff. The next day, I could have felt ruffled because the dishwasher was loaded wrong or because the leftovers were put into containers that didn’t match and were piled haphazardly in the refrigerator. But I wasn’t.

This experiment was not about lowering standards as much as it was about lowering the pressure to be perfect. I’d still like the house to be clean and the food to be ready on time, but serving as hostess is not as important as participating in the party.

The way I did it. Hosting without impressing.

This is part of what I’m calling Expeditionvision—my quest to find what a meaningful life looks like. One experiment per week, possible strategies for a happier life. Trying things on purpose and paying attention to what happens. I’m not offering advice or giving instructions. I’m just sharing the way I did it. If there’s something that you’ve been wanting to try—but haven’t—I’d love to hear about it. I’m open to reader suggestions for future experiments.

Field Notes: For Paid Subscribers - Thank you for supporting my work!

Paid subscribers, I’ve added a short field notes section below with what surprised me the most, what I didn’t expect, what I might do next time, and things I’m still working on.

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I wasn’t sure that this experiment would work. For years, I’ve tried to get my husband to see what needs to be done and do it without my prodding and pleading. It’s time for me to admit that the schedule of what I think needs to be done and what he thinks needs to be done are never going to be the same. It’s been wishful thinking on my part - for thirty years.

So, this time, I would NOT sit down for our Friday date-night dinner with a list in my hand and ten bullet points to check off. I would do my best to quiet my inner “to-do” list, enjoy dinner together, and see where the conversation went.

Because anything would be better than what we’ve been doing.

We’d been having “half conversations” for months. A quick jab at the kitchen sink about the state of our roof. A right hook with a reminder that company was arriving at the end of the month. An uppercut with a comment about the credit card bill.

To get the knockout I was looking for, I would have to do some fancy bobbing and weaving. Following my own advice, I needed to try to approach things a little differently. Like no distractions … which meant no phone for me, and no TV for him. We would NOT talk about finances, preventative maintenance, insurance, or our social calendar.

I wasn’t sure I could do it. The list running around in my head was loud, and insistent. The sprinkler pump was on its last leg. The grass was dead. The pool chlorinator stopped working months ago, which meant weekly trips for jugs of chlorine. The fence was halfway falling down in the backyard. And that was just outside the house! HOW COULD HE NOT NOTICE?! That didn’t include the egghead side of my brain. What should we do about the flood insurance? Why is the water bill so high? Do we really NEED 500 TV stations?

It wasn’t a long dinner, and not a particularly romantic one either, but it was nice. By the end, there hadn’t been a single jab about the roof, not one uppercut involving the water bill, and absolutely no surprise swings from the sprinkler pump. No problems were solved. No plans were made. No lists consulted. Just dinner. Somewhere between the front nine and the back nine of his golf story, I realized I had lowered my guard—and apparently so had he.

It turns out that the knockout I was aiming for wasn’t getting everything handled. The combination I needed was to get us back in the same corner again.

The way I did it. Date night with a plan.

This is part of what I’m calling Expeditionvision—my quest to find what a meaningful life looks like. One experiment per week, possible strategies for a happier life. Trying things on purpose and paying attention to what happens. I’m not offering advice or giving instructions. I’m just sharing the way I did it. If there’s something that you’ve been wanting to try—but haven’t—I’d love to hear about it. I’m open to reader suggestions for future experiments.

Field Notes: For Paid Subscribers

Paid subscribers, I’ve added a short field notes section below with what surprised me the most, what I didn’t expect, what I might do next time, and things I’m still working on.

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Twelve weeks ago, I launched my quest—Expeditionvision.

It was my year of trying things with the plan of discovering what a meaningful life looked like after the kids left the nest, and my sense of purpose was fleeting. I thought I was starting a project.

Try something. Observe something. Report back.

In practice, I began to show up differently in my own life. I started a habit of noticing and found that a lot of the time I was my own worst enemy! I was letting my concerns about what other people might think, and the negative stories that I tell myself do the steering.

That was the first surprise … how much I was looking for permission or approval. Not literal printed instructions, but a voice that whispers, someone else should come with you, or this isn’t important enough, or maybe later, had been my constant companion for years.

Going to the theater by myself turned out not to be about independence. It was about realizing how much weight I gave to what I thought other people would think.

Baking a pie for no reason wasn’t about dessert. It was about not needing an excuse to do something just because it made me happy.

And the goodbye kiss I intended to turn into a romantic gesture quietly became something else entirely—a marker at the doorway between the life inside the house and the life waiting outside.

Somewhere around week five, I began to notice a pattern.

I had been saving things.

Not just the good boots and the Kate Spade bag. I’d been saving invitations by waiting for my house to be perfect before hosting a dinner party. I’d been saving phone calls to my friends until I had something “important” to say. And I’d been saving life’s small pleasures.

My weekly Expeditionvision experiments showed that I had been waiting for a better version of my life before living my life.

Fifteen minutes at a time, I started clearing the drawers, counters, and boxes that had been waiting patiently for months. I set an early alarm and discovered that mornings only improve when there is somewhere to go. I attempted memory tricks and learned that my brain preferred nonsense to discipline. I logged my hours and found that the time I thought was missing had actually been holding my days together.

Several of the harder experiments were disguised as practical problems.

I thought asking for help was admitting defeat. It turned out I wasn’t asking for help because I was embarrassed. It made me uncomfortable to admit that I didn’t have it all together and to let someone else see my mess.

Calling a friend looked like scheduling, and what was missing turned out to be belonging. When the kids were younger, getting together with friends just happened naturally. Without that community and identity, I was asking myself, “Who am I, and does it even matter?”

Practicing social connections looked like structure until I realized how many conversations were already there, waiting for me to count them.

Not one of these weeks was dramatic. No violins played. No red carpets appeared. No one walked up to me to say, “I noticed that you have entered a new chapter of life.”

After twelve weeks, I haven’t transformed my life; something quieter has happened. I started paying attention sooner. I started noticing.

I still wake up in the same house. I still drive the same routes. I still go to the same grocery store and answer the same emails. With each experiment, I stopped waiting for something to happen and started making small turns instead. And when you start turning the steering wheel—even slightly—you begin to notice that you are not traveling in exactly the same direction anymore.

The way I did it. Twelve weeks in.

This is part of what I’m calling Expeditionvision—my quest to find what a meaningful life looks like. One experiment per week, possible strategies for a happier life. Trying things on purpose and paying attention to what happens. I’m not offering advice or giving instructions. I’m just sharing the way I did it. If there’s something that you’ve been wanting to try—but haven’t—I’d love to hear about it. I’m open to reader suggestions for future experiments.

Field Notes: For Paid Subscribers

Paid subscribers, I’ve added a short field notes section below with what surprised me the most, what I didn’t expect, what I might do next time, and things I’m still working on.

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Fresh herbs make any recipe taste better. I believe it! And this week, I added fresh dill to my cucumber and bean salad, and fresh oregano and parsley to my tortellini pasta.

How I got to this point is a bit of a roundabout adventure.

For years, I’ve wanted a fresh herb garden of my own. In my imagination, I have matching gardening gloves, sun hat, and apron. I happily snip herbs and place them gently into a rustic wicker basket to the tune of “That’s Amore.” Let’s just call it my interpretation of that wonderful film, Under the Tuscan Sun.

The real-life version is more of a tale of insanity.

My first plan was to build aboveground planter boxes for my backyard. I diagrammed the boxes—size, shape, and height—and then made a list of the lumber and the other materials I would need. The idea was to build them the next weekend. The next weekend never came.

I hatched my next plan at the garden center, where I found a huge round blue terracotta pot and snagged it for an incredibly low price. With the help of the garden center staff, I wrestled it into the back of my truck, and my husband helped unload it when I got home. I placed it on a stand and filled it with starter plants … basil, oregano, and mint. Two weeks later, the plants were dead.

Not to be discouraged, I rotated the pot slightly, and once again filled it with my favorite herbs of basil, oregano, and mint. And they died again. And again. And yet again. No amount of pot rotation, watering schedules, or adjusting for the sun changed their fate.

Isn’t that the definition of insanity? Doing the same thing and expecting different results?

Then there’s one of my mantras … To do something right, you must do it from scratch. I may be paraphrasing a bit, but the idea of making things from scratch has always been important to me. Unfortunately, in this case, it means that I don’t have any fresh herbs!

Until now.

Last week, a friend gave me a dish garden filled with beautiful fresh herbs. The dill, oregano, and parsley were beautiful shades of deep leafy green and ready to harvest. I didn’t have to re-pot them. I didn’t have to wait for them to grow. And, most importantly, I didn’t have to start from scratch. I didn’t have to do anything but clip, wash, and chop to finally have fresh herbs in my recipes.

The dish garden was the perfect size for my kitchen counter, which may have also contributed to my success. Rather than a pot in the backyard—which was out of sight and out of mind—the container was within easy reach. It felt like it was calling to me!

For years, I’ve been trying to become someone who grows herbs. It turns out that I just needed to become someone who uses them.

The way I did it. Trying differently.

This is part of what I’m calling Expeditionvision—my quest to find what a meaningful life looks like. One experiment per week, possible strategies for a happier life. Trying things on purpose and paying attention to what happens. I’m not offering advice or giving instructions. I’m just sharing the way I did it. If there’s something that you’ve been wanting to try—but haven’t—I’d love to hear about it. I’m open to reader suggestions for future experiments.

Field Notes: For Paid Subscribers

Paid subscribers, I’ve added a short field notes section below with what surprised me the most, what I didn’t expect, what I might do next time, and the things I’m still working on.

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After the success of last week’s experiment—calling a friend and going to a wine bar together—I was energized to “quantify” practicing my relationships.

I knew I couldn’t leave it up to chance or merely hope for success. My problem was where to begin. Many references to the importance of social engagement have vague advice, but few offer a daily structure. Last week, I mentioned the Harvard Study of Adult Development, which is a great study and the one that’s cited most often. There are also recommendations from the Blue Zone plan, the “Concentric Circles” model created by clinical psychologists, and the Surgeon General, who encourages doctors to prescribe “social” recommendations along with drug therapies, diet, and exercise. Even the World Health Organization suggests that socialization is as important as diet and exercise for health and longevity.

Honestly, I found all this research a little overwhelming … and even debilitating. But rather than becoming a victim of paralysis by analysis, which has left me frozen so many times before, I came up with this: 1, 5+, 1.

Every day, I will engage in one hour of meaningful conversation.

Every week, I will interact with five different people plus attend one group gathering.

Every month, I will share one meal or tradition.

What it looked like.

The daily conversations had to include people other than employees, which would have been too easy. To meet my goal of one hour a day of meaningful conversation, I extended it to in-person conversations, phone calls, and text messages. I had to leave my desk to talk with museum visitors … so that counted … and that was a nice break in my day. I have the bad habit of sitting so long that my legs go numb! I also had to change my policy of ignoring the group text “pings” on my phone. I think I’ve told you about the anxiety that group texts give me. What I needed was a shift in my attitude when I see my friends communicating! I then used my lunch break to call my husband and to check in with my kids, rather than waiting until 5pm when I’m too tired. I didn’t have an hour’s conversation with one person. Instead, it was a combination of shorter, yet still meaningful, connections throughout the day.

Interacting with five different people turned out to be easier than I thought it might be. I had coffee with a colleague, gave a tour of our museum galleries, planned an Artimis II space launch watch party with a friend, met another friend, Hillary, to lift weights at the Y, and sat with a friend at church. The group activity I “counted” this week was attending the Arts VoCo fundraising event.

I was able to complete the final “1” of my plan—sharing a meal or tradition once a month—this week because Easter fell on Sunday. It was very different from the traditional Easter of years past. It was just the two of us. We didn’t dye Easter eggs, and I didn’t bake a ham or make deviled eggs. I kind of wish I had. I love eggs and ham. However, I did send Easter baskets to the kids through Amazon.

Writing the plan down and then filling in the blanks at the end of the week gave shape to my circle. It turns out that connection doesn’t always arrive as a big event. Sometimes it’s a phone call at lunch, a conversation in a hallway, a seat beside a friend at church. Once I started counting them, I could see that I was already surrounded.

The way I did it. Social Fitness.

This is part of what I’m calling Expeditionvision—my quest to find what a meaningful life looks like. One experiment per week, possible strategies for a happier life. Trying things on purpose and paying attention to what happens. I’m not offering advice or giving instructions. I’m just sharing the way I did it. If there’s something that you’ve been wanting to try—but haven’t—I’d love to hear about it. I’m open to reader suggestions for future experiments.

Field Notes: For Paid Subscribers

Paid subscribers, I’ve added a short field notes section below with what surprised me the most, what I didn’t expect, what I might do next time, and the things I’m still working on.

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Have you ever said this … “We should get together soon.” I’ve said it a thousand times, and I’ve meant it. But the reality is, it usually doesn’t happen.

So, this week, I made the call and invited a friend to meet at a fun local wine bar.

I just did it. For once, I ignored that little voice that looks over my shoulder and says, “She’s probably busy. I don’t want to bother her. I don’t want to seem desperate or admit that I don’t have anything to do.”

It was so easy! We went to Beach + Vine, a cute wine bar on the beach. The space was so comfy and cozy. We lounged on an ocean blue velvet loveseat surrounded by sand-colored pillows. Paintings by local artists decorated the walls, and the coffee table had nostalgic menus and postcards displayed under the glass. I ate the entire plate of delicious cheese and olives. My friend was going to dinner later that night; she didn’t want to spoil her appetite, so she took a pass on the food.

We had a great time catching up. We talked about our kids, our work, our exercise plans—or lack thereof—the lotions we like, the proteins we don’t, and if we would really have plastic surgery! I can’t tell you her answer, but mine is still a “not yet.”

For a long time now, years even, it seems like I haven’t seen my friends like I used to. It was so easy then … we were at the same places … at the sports field, at the recital, at play groups, and celebrating at birthday parties.

I’ve longed for the easy, incidental connections that I gained through my kids. They gave me community and identity. We are Moms, and we were in this together! The kids are long gone, and those easy moments don’t happen anymore. Who am I without kids … and does that even matter?

The feelings of connectedness have also waned. One day, I found myself asking, “Where is my community?” And here’s the scientific part of things. Social activity lowers the risk of depression, dementia, stroke, and heart disease. Wow!

There are many studies that say that community matters. One of my favorites is the Harvard Study of Adult Development. The study, which began in 1938, is often called the longest-running scientific study of happiness, health, and longevity. A synopsis of the study suggests that the single most important factor for long-term health and happiness is the quality of close relationships. Not how much money we make, not how clean or big and beautiful our house is. AND, this is important—marriage quality matters more than marital status.

This week’s experiment was a challenge to the question of whether a planned meeting could replace the spontaneous meetings of my parenting days. And I’d answer with a resounding Yes! My relationships didn’t fade because love faded. They faded because the structure disappeared. When the kids left home, the invisible scaffolding vanished.

But I also know it is not a one-and-done kind of thing; it’s ongoing. Building and maintaining relationships is kind of like exercising or eating healthy. I’m going to have to practice and make it part of my routine.

The way I did it. Relationship practice.

This is part of what I’m calling Expeditionvision—my quest to find what a meaningful life looks like. One experiment per week, possible strategies for a happier life. Trying things on purpose and paying attention to what happens. I’m not offering advice or giving instructions. I’m just sharing the way I did it. If there’s something that you’ve been wanting to try—but haven’t—I’d love to hear about it. I’m open to reader suggestions for future experiments.

Field Notes: For Paid Subscribers

Paid subscribers, I’ve added a short field notes section below with what surprised me the most, what I didn’t expect, what I might do next time, and things I’m still working on.

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This experiment was one of the more difficult for me. Asking for help feels like admitting defeat. I’ve always done things myself.

Big things.

Home improvement projects may be the best example. It wasn’t long into our marriage that I discovered that my husband and I had very different ideas on this subject. There are definitely two kinds of people in the home improvement realm. Those who love new tools, working with their hands, and the reward of transformation—that would be ME—and those who enjoy the reveal part of a renovation—HIM. My vision was that I would play the role of project manager to his role of the muscle.

But it didn’t always work out that way … I’ve hung sheets of 4 × 8 drywall, taped, mudded, and added the finishing texture by myself. I designed and installed a wooden fence, including digging the post holes and cementing them in the ground by myself. And I did them both with the confidence of a YouTube University graduate. Yes … I was (and still am) that stubborn.

To be fair, we completed several projects together when we first bought our fixer-upper home. I loved the feeling when a job was completed. The smell of sawdust and the sound of power tools … I didn’t want to quit. My husband, on the other hand, activated his selective hearing. The team effort dissolved, even though my enthusiasm didn’t.

From my current vantage point at the summit of a dog hair accumulation crisis, I realize it isn’t help with big projects that I’m searching for, although I still love a good project. I need help with the day-to-day stuff.

You know that saying, “You don’t know how good things are until they’re gone”? I was talking to a friend recently about how much work she had to do while her husband was out of town. She was amazed at how much he did, and further amazed that she hadn’t noticed his contributions until he was gone. Like me, she thought her husband didn’t do much of anything around the house.

The same can be said for the kids. I remember thinking that the kids added so much work! Which they did, but they also helped a fair amount. We loved playing the “two-minute tidy” game. It was amazing how much better the house looked if we all cleaned for a mere two minutes.

So here I was, feeling overwhelmed by all the dusting, not to mention mopping the floors. I whined and nagged my husband for a few weeks. This had the opposite result than what I was looking for. Negotiations stalled; silence increased. Not good. So, I called a friend who owns a cleaning company for advice.

I asked for help and then panicked. And here’s another saying that I’ve found to be true … before the cleaners come to clean your house … you clean it!

How was I going to find time to clean the house before the cleaners arrived? As if I could hide the mess from professionals. But still, I didn’t want ANYONE to see our bathrooms, windows, and floors! I needed help. I asked for help, and then I realized why I never ask for help. It wasn’t because I was stubborn … I was embarrassed!

The results of this experiment are still in progress. It will take a little time to get the help I need, and there will be a “breaking in” phase. Not just for the cleaners to learn our house and make friends with Panzer, our large dog, but for me to accept help without feeling defeated and embarrassed. It turns out that the hardest part isn’t letting someone else clean the house. It’s letting someone else see that I needed help.

The way I did it. Lone Wolf.

This is part of what I’m calling Expeditionvision—trying things on purpose and paying attention to what happens. I’m not offering advice or giving instructions. I’m just sharing the way I did it. If there’s something that you’ve been wanting to do—but haven’t—I’d love to hear about it. I’m open to reader suggestions for future experiments.

Field Notes: For Paid Subscribers

Paid subscribers, I’ve added a short field notes section below with what surprised me the most, what I didn’t expect, what I might do next time, and things I’m still working on.

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It’s a fact. There are 168 hours in a week. The amount of time from Monday through Sunday is finite, and there’s no way to change that fact … even though I’ve tried. There are a lot of disruptors, like bad weather, out-of-town visitors, and Daylight Saving Time. Didn’t we vote to do away with changing our clocks years ago?

Once and for all, and because I was sure my husband was wrong when he said I had more free time than he did, I was going to prove myself right when I said, “All I do is go to work, come home, cook dinner, and go to bed … repeat.”

Game on! First, we each wrote down our estimates of how we spent our time each week—work, sleep, food prep, cleaning, exercise, and Bible study. When we tallied up the hours, I had 35 remaining to his 11. How could that be? 35 hours? That’s practically a full-time job!

So, for one week, I doubled down and logged everything I did and the time it took to do it. If you’re wondering, my husband refused to log his hours. I tried to goad him on by saying, “You’re afraid you’re going to lose.” He didn’t bite.

After one week, the numbers were in. Generally, I worked a little more and slept a little less than I had estimated, and everything else just took a little longer. I bought this red-light facial muscle stimulator thing that added nearly 20 minutes to my bedtime routine and a Bodyblade® exercise thing that my brother-in-law recommended to activate the stabilizing muscles of my shoulders in the hope that it would cure the pain I’ve had in my neck for months. That contraption added 20 minutes to my morning routine. I’ll let you know if either of the two pans out. The fine print claims that I should see results within 4-6 weeks.

There were unexpected additions to the log, like the trip to the dentist to replace a lost filling, and perhaps the most shocking—and surprisingly fun—was attending a Pearl Jam tribute band concert. Who knew my rhythm-challenged, monotone husband knew every lyric to their set list? I learned this fact as he triumphantly (and loudly) sang each song to me as I tried to keep myself upright in the mosh pit.

This week, in addition to the mundane time-sucking things on my log, I managed to put together two of the four jumbo bookcases I ordered from Wayfair and had two save-the-world conversations with friends. I do believe that women can devise ways to save the world while fitness walking.

Now that I’ve reached the end of my experiment week, I’m a little less manic about finding the 35 hours I thought were lost. I’m all the more relaxed, and even bordering on serene, knowing that those five hours a day allow me the freedom and flexibility to take an unexpected phone call and accept an invitation to relive the music of my college bartending days. Those five hours each day weren’t lost; they opened a window of opportunity.

The way I did it. The captain’s log.

This is part of what I’m calling Expeditionvision—trying things on purpose and paying attention to what happens. I’m not offering advice or giving instructions. I’m just sharing the way I did it. If there’s something that you’ve been wanting to do—but haven’t—I’d love to hear about it. I’m open to reader suggestions for future experiments.

Field Notes: For Paid Subscribers

Paid subscribers, I’ve added a short field notes section below with what surprised me the most, what I didn’t expect, what I might do next time, and things I’m still working on.

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I improved my memory.

For one week, I set out to try a different method each day that would help me improve my memory.

Not one to waste any time, I went straight to my assistant, Tess, also known as Chat GPT. As you know by now, I like to name things—automobiles, robot vacuums, plants, and virtual assistants. I wanted to find the best strategies to improve my memory, so I turned to Tess.

When researching, Tess often gives me way more information than I really want, and although the details are interesting, they may or may not be helpful. For example, Tess told me that there are actually memory competitions in which the winners are anointed with titles such as “Grand Master of Memory.” Did you know that? I sure didn’t. One grand master, Dominic O’Brian, won the World Championship eight times! That sounded pretty cool. He obviously has a great memory, but I found his methodology a little trying.

Dominic made the method of loci, which dates back to ancient Greece and the Romans, all the rage. In a nutshell, the method of loci suggests putting the items you want to remember in a familiar place. Take your grocery list—eggs, bread, bananas—and put them along a path as you walk through your bedroom. Cracked eggs on the door, bread stacked up on the bed, bananas hanging from the ceiling fan create a mental picture. According to Tess, creating mental pictures is the backbone of Dominic’s memory tricks, and the more ridiculous the picture, the better.

And it works! But I don’t really care whether I remember my grocery list or not. The thing I want to remember the most are people’s names, and pausing to create a ridiculous mental picture when first introduced to someone makes me feel and probably look like a lunatic. Sorry, Dominic. You may be a world champion, but isn’t there another method?

I’ve dreamed of having an assistant like Ann Hathaway’s character Andrea, who worked for Meryl Streep’s character Miranda Priestly in The Devil Wears Prada. Andrea was responsible for standing next to Miranda and feeding her the names and back stories for each person as they approached. Wouldn’t that be an amazing assistant to have?! I haven’t figured out how to get one, but I need to work on it.

Another suggestion that I’m sure you’ve heard of is repeating the person’s name back to them when you’re first introduced. “Hello, Frank. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Frank.” It works, but it’s such a popular technique that everyone “sees” you doing it.

No, I want a memory technique that’s much cleverer.

Trying to come up with my own method reminded me of my high school AP English teacher, Mr. M. I’m not calling him “Mr. M” to protect his identity. I’m calling him Mr. M because I can’t remember his name! What I remember about Senior AP English was that it was common for students to flee his class in tears when the bell rang. Mr. M was tough! He was also a very clever wordsmith. He wanted us to broaden our vocabularies and tasked his students with learning new words … a word a day … and he loved pop quizzes—hence, all the crying.

Armed with The New York Times Crossword page-a-day calendar and a pair of turtle shell reading glasses, I vow to increase my vocabulary. And I’ll use it to associate words with clever mental pictures when I’m meeting someone new. I’m now ready for Loquacious Larry with a running faucet for a mouth … or Tenacious Terry, with a hammer and a box full of nails.

The way I did it. Wordsmithing.

This is part of what I’m calling Expeditionvision—trying things on purpose and paying attention to what happens. I’m not offering advice or giving instructions. I’m just sharing the way I did it. If there’s something that you’ve been wanting to do—but haven’t—I’d love to hear about it. I’m open to reader suggestions for future experiments.

Field Notes: For Paid Subscribers

Paid subscribers, I’ve added a short field notes section below with what surprised me the most, what I didn’t expect, and what I’m still working on.

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The best way to load a dishwasher. The best way to train a puppy. The importance and intricacies of monochrome decorating. All were A–OK with me. The dishes were clean, the puppy was already potty-trained, and white picture frames on white walls did look nice after all.

This was not a situation of picking my battles. Being “Right” and making sure that everyone agreed with me was very important to my younger self. Now that I’ve completed nearly 58 trips around the sun, I’m coming to terms with how much I don’t know.

And yet, I set out on my journey to visit my son convinced that I would impart my years of wisdom and fix things. That is something I do. I fix things. The flight would take six hours, plenty of time to prepare a list of positivity slogans: “Own your attitude. Stop blocking your own happiness. Where you put your time and energy is where you will go. Celebrate your progress—even the small stuff. You choose what kind of person you want to be.”

I had a whole page, single-spaced.

I hadn’t even unpacked my suitcase before it was clear my son had no interest in my Pollyanna approach.

The thing is, I believe in every word. Having a positive attitude and routines have helped me navigate life. Relenting on the dishwasher, the puppy, and the decorating was easy. What wasn’t so easy was letting go of my insistence on positive thinking, not to mention having morning and bedtime routines.

Generally, I start my case by saying, “It’s not just me … The experts agree that getting up early and starting the day with an accomplishment (like making the bed) and exercising will create a path to success” or “The experts agree that turning off electronics, going to bed at the same time each night, and recording positive details from the day in a journal can be life-changing.” And then there’s my favorite: “PRAY, pray, and pray over everything.”

Routines have always been my jam. As I was thinking about some of my favorite routines, I was remembering bedtime with my toddlers. Our bedtime routine started with “skin a cat,” which meant raising your arms over your head so Mom could pull your shirt off and get you in the tub. Then, into the jammies, brush the teeth, and snuggle up to read a story book. The smell of Johnson’s baby shampoo in their hair and the weight of their heads on my shoulder while I read and we looked at the pages together was such a precious time. Bedtime was definitely a favorite time of day when the kids were little. Of course, not every night went smoothly. Many were full of struggles and tears. Not wanting to go to bed … not wanting to take a bath … demanding that I read just one more story.

That memory and more are reminders that even the best routines sometimes fail. And at every age, we all prefer to drive. I’m sure my son and I will continue to debate the “best way” to do many things, but this week, I let him be right.

The way I did it. Skin A Cat.

This is part of what I’m calling Expeditionvision—trying things on purpose and paying attention to what happens. I’m not offering advice or giving instructions. I’m just sharing the way I did it. If there’s something that you’ve been wanting to do—but haven’t—I’d love to hear about it. I’m open to reader suggestions for future experiments.

Field Notes: For Paid Subscribers

Paid subscribers, I’ve added a short field notes section below with what surprised me the most, and what I would do differently the next time. Thank you for your support! XO, ~Stephanie

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This experiment was a reader’s suggestion from Carol. She suggested taking fifteen minutes a day to improve your surroundings. She went on to say that she had used her fifteen minutes for cleaning, organizing, and purging.

This suggestion came in weeks ago. My first reaction was to doubt that a mere fifteen minutes could make much of an impact on my surroundings. I’ve told you how overwhelmed with projects I’ve been and that I’m struggling to just keep up with the basics of laundry, dusting, and feeding myself something other than takeout.

Almost as if on cue, the song “Swinging on a Star” began to play. It’s a great song, with music by Jimmy Van Heusen and lyrics by Johnny Burke. Crooner Bing Crosby made it famous, and it won the Academy Award for Best Original Song in 1944.

The musical moral tale asks if you would like to swing on a star and carry moonbeams home in a jar—meaning that you use your imagination and curiosity—and be better off than you are … or would you rather be … a mule … a pig … a fish—and be stubborn … messy … and foolish.

The lyrics were so familiar, but I’m not sure when or where I would have heard them or sung them. Obviously, I wasn’t around in the 1940s. Perhaps at primary school? Anyway, my hesitancy to try the experiment was certainly stubborn and mulish. The fact that I was so overwhelmed and had so many possible improvements to my surroundings, was piglike messy. So then, was I being foolish like a fish—forever swimming with blinders on?

The answer to that question was … yes! … which suggests I was also potentially going to yield to the song’s moral tale—our choices shape who we become.

Since I didn’t want to be a mule, a pig, or a fish, I took the challenge.

My first fifteen minutes were spent on a drawer full of junk. I’d rather not admit to the tale of this drawer, but I should give you the full picture. When we had our kitchen cabinets replaced, I saved the old drawer full of miscellaneous “stuff” for when I had time to sort through it. That was six months ago. I found about ten thousand paper clips, a clump of rubber bands that had lost their elastic and fused together, and fistfuls of dried-up markers and pens. I did salvage the remote control to our garage door opener, a viewfinder keychain with an image of our daughter on the soccer field, and three AAA-size batteries. Not quite a pirate’s bounty, but definitely worth the fifteen minutes.

The next day, my fifteen minutes were spent on the box from the bathroom cabinet. Again, it was a box that had been patiently waiting for six months. When we replaced the kitchen cabinets, we replaced the bathroom one, too … because, why not? The contents of the old bathroom cabinet were poured into said box. Inside, I found twenty-five mini bottles of shampoos, conditioners, potions, and lotions, all well past their expiration date, and most of them half used. I also found a few gadgets—a prickly face roller, a smooth jade stone, and packages of Crest white strips, all of which had promised to make me look younger. I’d saved them for “just in case.” Just in case I traveled somewhere, or just in case I found the time to torture my teeth with bleach and torment my face with tiny needles. None of those cases occurred. All of it went into the trash.

So this week, instead of settling into the comfortable mud of “this is just how things are now,” I’m choosing to swing at something small but shiny. Not because I have to. Not because it’s practical. But because even at this age, we still get to decide what kind of creature we’re becoming. Thank you, Carol.

The way I did it. Swinging on a star.

This is part of what I’m calling Expeditionvision—trying things on purpose and paying attention to what happens. I’m not offering advice or giving instructions. I’m just sharing the way I did it. If there’s something that you’ve been wanting to do—but haven’t—I’d love to hear about it. I’m open to reader suggestions for future experiments.

Field Notes: For Paid Subscribers

Paid subscribers, I’ve added a short field notes section below with what surprised me the most, and what I would do differently the next time.

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I carried my Kate Spade bag and wore my tall red suede boots and Chanel N°5 perfume to work. Perhaps all three at the same time was a bit of overkill–the bag is blue and didn’t really match the boots and the rest of the outfit–but it felt like a do-or-die moment. I discovered my special collection decomposing and drying up in my closet. I had been saving these luxury items for a luxurious occasion.

WHY?

What was I waiting for? Who wrote that rule of deferred living: Save the good things for when life is more deserving of them … and why was I following it?

I was so excited when I purchased the boots–I stood dreamily at the checkout, imagining the parties where I would wear them. I won the Kate Spade bag in a raffle at a lady’s luncheon. I remember feeling two inches taller when my name was called, and I walked through a sea of women dressed in their best to retrieve my winnings. The perfume was a gift from a longtime friend, and it was such a special gift. Our normal gift exchange was usually limited to items costing no more than $20.

Perhaps that was why I was saving them. Special items deserve special occasions, right? I was stockpiling a better life instead of wearing my own life. The problem is that my circle of action has become woefully small now that the kids have left the nest. My weekly routine of work, meetings, and going to Aldi and Wal-Mart isn’t likely to change anytime soon. Maybe this is my life.

Unfortunately, my bag, boots, and perfume weren’t my only discoveries. I also found the champagne pink evening gown I purchased for a future formal ball that I never attended. It drooped sadly on the hanger, with straps that had lost their elastic long ago. I found a tube of that iconic Dior Forever Rouge #999 lipstick, which had melted to one side, and a pair of metallic gold Manolo Blahnik high heel sandals. The sandals were surrounded by flakes of gold that had come unglued. Wine may become better with age, but unlike the biblical wedding at Cana, when the good wine kept flowing despite the growing crowd, biblical intervention didn’t keep my good stuff going. I ended up tossing them all into the trash.

At that moment, I realized that waiting for a special occasion quietly assumes that there will be one. I had waited too long; my treasures were now trash. I don’t want to see my collection of fancy scarves and costume jewelry meet the same fate.

My workday outfit didn’t make life extraordinary. It merely reminded me that the life in progress is the one that counts. So I carried my Kate Spade bag and wore my tall red suede boots and Chanel N°5 perfume to work. This was my first step to STOP saving things for a life in my imagination. No violins played. A red carpet wasn’t rolled out. Nothing remarkable happened. But I used the good stuff.

The way I did it. No more saving the best for last.

This is part of what I’m calling Expeditionvision—trying things on purpose and paying attention to what happens. I’m not offering advice or giving instructions. I’m just sharing the way I did it. If there’s something that you’ve been wanting to do—but haven’t—I’d love to hear about it. I’m open to reader suggestions for future experiments.

Field Notes: For Paid Subscribers

Paid subscribers, I’ve added a short field notes section below with what surprised me the most, and what I wouldn’t do the next time.

Read more