The Tao of Martha (5 page)

S
ince I’ve decided to live My Year of Martha, I have to set up some parameters, like what I plan to concentrate on and how I’ll measure success. My first task is to figure out what makes me happy.

So I ask Fletch.

“Can you tell when I’m happy?”

Fletch is sitting at his desk, going over bills. He swivels around in his chair all Bond-villain-style to address me. “Oh, God, yes. You’re an entirely different person when you’re in a good mood. You’re effusive, you’re chatty, and your voice goes up. You whirl around the house like a maniac and you’re just, like, delighted at everything. When you’re pleased, you clap like a seal. You also spend a good deal of time congratulating yourself.”

I flop onto the couch across from him. “Huh. Didn’t know that. What do I do when I’m unhappy?”

He strokes his chin and looks up at the ceiling while he thinks. “Your voice is flatter and you get really quiet and withdrawn. You don’t sing—badly—while you’re cooking. You don’t bust out your patented disco dance moves like you do when you’re just overcome with joy. You’re less social, and you’re a lot less likely to leave the house. Also? You argue with strangers.”

That doesn’t sound right.

“I argue with strangers when I’m happy, too. It’s kind of who I am, like with the complaining. I’m often delighted to be able to bitch about something inconsequential. Like, I
live
to grouse about our postman.”

He nods. “True enough. But when you complain and you’re happy, you don’t take the situation personally and you’re just trying to be funny. So, how about this—you ruminate more when you’re not happy. You don’t take a perceived slight and turn it into something positive or a call to action. You fixate. You stew. You have trouble moving past the most minor thing. You’re a lot quicker to escalate.”

Chuck Norris saunters into the room, jumping over the pile of dogs perpetually in my wake, and settles into my lap. I knead the fur at the back of his thick neck and he purrs appreciatively. “Sounds kind of awful.”

“For better or for worse, you know? Last year did a number on you. But don’t worry; the beard understands,” he says while lovingly rubbing his chin. (I cannot be held responsible if someone shaves him in his sleep.)

As I greatly dislike the description of Unhappy Jen, I’m determined not to let 2012 get the better of me, so I need to nail down this happiness business.

Because I’ve been so tuned in to what made me unhappy in 2011, I’m at a definite advantage. I simply need to take a look at everything that made me cranky and then do the opposite.

Chaos and disorganization made me unhappy last year. Like, I despise being late, yet I was delayed walking out the door at least a hundred times when I couldn’t find my stupid shoes. Much as I want to imagine I’m still all cute and perpetually twenty-two years old, flighty and adorably seat-of-my-pants like I was in college, I have to admit that this haphazard way of life no longer works for me. I don’t have my college metabolism; nor do I have my college capacity to thrive in disorder. I need to be deep-down organized, and not just what-looks-good-on-the-surface tidy.

The idea of living a more orderly life is seriously attractive. I suspect that Julia and Finch are so happy because they’re organized. They always
have a plan. Julia’s a pharmaceutical rep and a mom, and if she couldn’t manage all those details of both jobs, she’d never have time to take care of herself. Finch is a pilot; if he weren’t meticulous and systematic in his checklists, people could die. They’re poster children for lives free from chaos, and I’d do well to model myself after them.

I also feel like I spent a lot of time last year being reactive, rather than proactive. Like, the first time the power went off, we were caught completely unaware. We had to run out and buy everything—ice, coolers, flashlights, etc., and I hadn’t had the foresight to keep any of my electronics charged. I hated the insecure feeling of not even being able to make a call because our mobile phones were dead and our landlines required electricity to work. (In addition? Not being able to Google to settle a stupid bet on whether Paul Michael Glaser played Starsky or Hutch is torture!) (Duh, he was Starsky.) Since then, we’ve made sure to be prepared, and that feeling of security is a key component to happiness, at least for me.

I spent so much of 2011 trying to act like an adult, I forgot to have fun. I wasn’t silly. I eschewed irreverence. I was too mature for foolishness. Like I said, I don’t remember having any hands-in-the-air “WOO!” moments last year. I imagine last year would have gone differently had I simply played more.

I enjoy the process of learning, and I didn’t take many opportunities to expand my horizons last year. I spent most of 2009 and part of 2010 working on
My Fair Lazy
, and in it, I tried so many new things, like going to the theater and wine tastings and cooking classes. I kept up many of these activities long after I finished writing the book. I was in perpetual motion for the longest time and I loved it, but somehow I didn’t keep the momentum going once we moved in 2011. Although I don’t need to be in a classroom, per se, I definitely want to be a student again.

The above point dovetails into my next parameter—there’s nothing I enjoy more than leisure time after having been busy. There’s no greater
feeling than getting to sit down and relax after having plowed through all my to-do items. I’m not sure I accomplished much in 2011; ergo, my downtime didn’t feel like a reward.

Having once been broke, and having learned the importance of a cash reserve for unexpected expenses like multiple dog surgeries, I’d like to up our level of fiscal responsibility this year, too. I want to be less wasteful, more mindful. I hate being banged with late fees when I don’t get around to paying something on time, even though I actually have the money in my account. That’s unacceptable. Plus, I want to be thriftier so that I can afford to be more charitable, because I realize it’s not all about me.

Speaking of charity, I spent a whole year volunteering, as I’d hoped to write a book about the experience. Although the memoir didn’t pan out, I have such an appreciation for the value of extending myself, my time, and my effort. Being helpful makes me happy, in whatever capacity that may entail, so I definitely want to bring more of that to the party.

In terms of which of Martha’s dictates I’ll pursue, I need to narrow my focus on a few areas. I can’t do everything she suggests, because that would be impossible. Since I’ve already established my desire for a less chaotic home, I’m definitely embracing the notions of organizing and cleaning, with a dash of decorating thrown in, because I swear there’s nothing more soul-satisfying and therapeutic than rearranging a room.

And, of course, I want to make sure the four-legged members of this household are copacetic, so I’ll also focus on ways to keep pets as happy and healthy as possible.

A few years ago, I was broiling naked pork chops within an inch of their lives and then slathering them in store-bought, MSG-laden barbecue sauce. Although my culinary skills have come a long way since then, I’d like to continue to evolve as a home chef, so cooking will definitely be a consideration.

I thrive when I’m around people I enjoy, so I’m absolutely going to concentrate on entertaining, with the goal of actually spending time with my guests, rather than just functioning as a glorified caterer.

Until now, I’d forgotten that when I was unemployed, I used to make jewelry and tile mosaics. Both of those activities really took me out of my own head, so I definitely want to add crafting to the mix.

Finally, and because I love a challenge, I want to conquer an X factor, meaning a yet-unnamed category. During the course of this project, I hope to blaze my own path in some activity. I’d like to see if there’s some tiny niche that Martha hasn’t yet conquered, and if so, I can take that opportunity to enlighten others.

I can’t say what my X factor is yet, but like Justice Potter Stewart (relation to Martha? I should find out), I’ll know it when I see it.

So take note, 2012—this is how it’s going to play out. I’m planning to up my game in every way possible. I’ll have a clean house not only on the surface, but deep down, too. Items will no longer tumble down from the farthest recesses when I open my closets. I’ll work to make my home prettier and more functional, and I’ll revel in the praise when guests notice all the welcoming touches at my frequent gatherings. I’ll find better ways to be prepared for whatever life presents next, and I’ll cap the year off with a big, festive, handcrafted Christmas.

This is going to be great!

And maybe while I’m at this whole process, I’ll discover something entirely new. Perhaps I’ll figure out more about who I am, or possibly I’ll have some kind of epiphany about the
Living
philosophy. What if there’s some greater principle that guides the whole Martha Stewart enterprise and it’s waiting for me to uncover it?

Like, a Tao of Martha, if you will.

Regardless of how it happens, ready or not, happiness, here I come.

L
ET
U
S
N
EVER
S
PEAK OF
T
HIS
A
GAIN

F
ilm.

There are rolls of film in here.

Yet I haven’t owned a camera that required film since 2002, which means I’ve been storing rolls of film in my desk
for almost ten years
. What the hell am I going to do with film? Does anyone even develop film anymore? I may as well try to have my Betamax repaired, or attempt to get the cathode ray tubes replaced in my console television.

Shameful.

And that’s only the beginning.

My inaugural Martha project is to clean out my desk drawers. I have a book due in two months, so I figure the best place to start is where I work. Maybe if I can establish a better sense of order, my writing will go more gooder.

See?

See what’s happening?

I’m mangling words because I’m currently sitting at a desk full of old film, among so many other patently ridiculous items, the highlights of which include:

• one flea collar, slightly used
  
• fourteen dead batteries, in various states of oxidation
  
• a banana hair clip
  
• nine Sharpies, five uncapped, all dry
  
• pistachio shells from the nuts I received in my Christmas stocking in 2008
  
• wineglass shards
  
• three empty rolls of Scotch tape
  
• one FURminator (for dog shedding)
  
• eight unmatched Barbie shoes and two Barbie hats
  
• the orange City of Chicago violation sticker placed on my fence when my terrible landlord didn’t pay the water bill back in 2009
  
• 7,226 scraps of paper, each containing either random sums or single words like “Sockets!” that have long since lost any semblance of meaning
  
• an entire handful of petrified pieces of Bazooka gum that I should not ever attempt to put in my mouth again (note to self—call dentist re: loose filling)
  
• a free-range piece of Silly Putty, studded with something grainy (pistachio salt?)
  
• an ancient flip phone as well as a charger to the BlackBerry I haven’t seen since 2006
  
• my wedding video as well as the VHS recording of my Supervision 101 class presentation in 1991 (I’m keeping these)
  
• two screwdrivers, both Phillips-head, one covered in unknown goo
  
• three sets of cat nail clippers
  
• my business cards from the company that laid me off in 2001
  
• an ATM card from when I had a bank account with X.com in the dot-com days
  
• fifteen Kleenex, in various stages of disrepair
  
• a note card I passed to my friend Stacey at our friend Sarah Pekkanen’s book signing that reads:
  Remind me to tell you about the dream I had where I was pregnant and didn’t know it until the baby fell out. I was so happy because I realized that was why I was fat! Wait, I guess that’s the whole story.
  

Under all the junk, I unearth three boxes of my favorite kinds of pens, two bags of the mechanical pencils I really like, a pair of Gucci sunglasses, and $17.31 in loose change.

I also find rock-bottom, because clearly this is what I’ve hit.

In
Good Things for Organizing
, Martha suggests I create and stick to a simple filing system, reasoning that this will make my boss proud. Well, I’m the boss of me, and proud is not what I’m feeling right now. But maybe I could be.

I take a kitchen trash bag and start filling it with all the crap I’ve been lugging around from house to house. In the last two places we’ve lived, we’ve hired movers, so there’s an extra level of shame in knowing I paid people to pack up all this garbage. Were they all, “Maybe they’re
sentimental
broken wineglass shards”?

When airplanes crash, the NTSB arranges all the wreck’s detritus on the floor of a hangar so investigators can piece together what led to this great tragedy. I do the same with my desk contents, so I can understand not only where I’ve been, but where I need to go.