.SOMETIMES RAW.

It all happened four years ago: I was having one of those no-good-very-bad periods. Parenting felt hard and heavy. My job had many challenging moments. My domestic load was ridiculous. My phone buzzed and dinged and rang. I was forever in the car, or at work schlepping somewhere or another. Everything in my life, even activities I’d once enjoyed (dinner with a friend, a phone call) felt like an obligation. 

In the midst of all the overwhelm, of course, I had entirely forgotten about myself. The things I counted on to keep me sane — relaxing evenings reading, regular swimming and workouts, the occasional nap — had completely dropped off the schedule. Until one day, when I sat down and my back went into total spasm. For days I could barely sit or stand or walk. 

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We all have internal signals that tell us when the load is too damn much, don’t we? We get migraines, feel anxious, don’t sleep, lose touch with loved ones. Thanks to a decades-old injury, my alert has always been my lower back, and it’s a frighteningly accurate gauge of when my life has become overloaded, despite what my mind tells me (You’re fine! You can handle this! Don’t be lazy! etc., etc.). When the pain starts to last, or I can’t walk or drive or stand for long periods, I know I’m in trouble.

This particular episode took weeks to recover from — weeks in which my life had to be stripped down to the studs. Once I got back on my feet, I resolved to change something in my life. I began — drumroll, please — My Year of No.

Friends thought it was a joke. “You mean your ‘Year of Yes’? 

“No, no!” I’d say. “I’m saying no to absolutely everything.”

The looks I got! “Isn’t that sort of, I don’t know, sad?” 

How could I explain that it was the opposite of sad? That it was, in fact, a liberation?

What is that old adage about self-care? Don’t build a life you feel the need to escape from. This was my attempt to start again from the bottom. I felt committed to building a life I could actually live — without my body falling apart.

Let me be clear: obviously I didn’t say no to everything. I still had to work, parent, make dinner and do the laundry and pay the bills. I needed to schedule dentist appointments and take the kid to the pediatrician.

But I noticed something that might be obvious to those who aren’t people-pleasers or the default parent who opens all those emails: it turned out that a lot I’d assumed was required was blatantly not. 

Like:

That acquaintance who keeps inviting me to dinner that I don’t really connect with? That’s such a nice invite, but we’re so busy right now! 

Those emails asking for parent volunteers for the classroom/school/sports festivals? Ignore for now. 

The ‘can I pick your brain’ emails asking me out for coffee? I’m not available this month but let’s check back later in the year.

Of course, it’s not black and white. Our lives are complicated messes, we love and loathe different things, and this shedding of duties will look different for all of us. And I still participate in the world. But I do so in more considered ways.

Because here’s the thing that I knew somewhere deep inside: all those nos lead to more room for yeses. Yes to baking a friend’s birthday cake. Yes to hosting a drinks party (I have the energy!). Yes to helping an elderly neighbor with dinner — I happily sent the kid over with bowls of soup and chilli for weeks.

I also have room for more yeses for me. Yes to Pilates and Yoga in the morning. Yes to midday naps when needed. Yes to taking on writing and a new book project.

It turns out that the nos help me get closer to my own internal compass, to my core values. My point is that, once I clarify the traits I value, I can work to make sure my actions align. It is my way of reminding myself that I am beholden to my family and my friends, but also, most importantly, to myself, and to my own body.

Have I gotten pushback? Not much, to be honest. My guess is, in part, that the people and things I am saying no to are people and things I was holding onto for the sake of friendliness or likability or expectations. Will these people be bummed if we don’t do dinner? Maybe! But maybe (and this can be hard to admit) I’m allowed to care about my own desires, as well as theirs.

Some days I do have the wherewithal to do more. But, after decades, I’ve realized that it’s the small, thoughtless yeses that pull me out of balance, that tip my life too far in favor of everyone else’s requests. They remind me that I chose this mantra wisely, and that I use it not because I am trying to be difficult, but because I am saving room for another yes. Always save room for the yes.

1. Patience is key.

2. Remember to take breaks for self-care.

3. And don’t forget to go to the bathroom.

4. It’s better to make slow progress with the pieces than no progress on the puzzle at all.

5. Accept the pieces the way they are. A turtle piece can never be a camel puzzle. Stop trying to change them when they show you who they are.

6. Sometimes, you must realize it’s not you; it’s just a crappy puzzle. It’s not worth your time to guess whether it is off-white or eggshell white, and you’re better off on your own.

7. Your self-worth isn’t determined by how many puzzles you solve. It is determined by whether you can get the puzzle to marry you and have puzzle babies.

8. A complicated puzzle piece is not easy to love and is always alone on a Friday night, looking for that one missing edge piece.

9. Don’t get jealous of the puzzle pieces that found where they belonged first.

10. Even if it seems like they are happier, prettier, and having more fun than you.

11. Even if that puzzle piece is your parent’s favorite for finally giving them grand puzzles.

12. Keep your eyes on your own puzzle, or your married friend Janice will get upset with you for spending too much time talking to her puzzle, and then she’ll spread a horrible rumor about you that gets you fired from your job.

13. Sometimes, the puzzle piece you thought you were meant to be with ghosts you. It hurts, and you’ll need to spend the week crying in bed and eating Pizza Hut out of its inventory. But you won’t die, and eventually, you’ll be able to get back out there and puzzle again.

14. So, say you go to the puzzle store, and you meet Josh a puzzle piece, and you hit it off, and he tells you that you’re the most beautiful woman he has ever seen, but when you look him up on Facebook, you see he is already in a fully completed puzzle. I mean, really, Josh puzzle piece?! How stupid do you think I am?

15. Then there was that stupid jerk who stole my money and destroyed my credit. Oh my gosh, I hate that guy puzzle piece! When they said there were more puzzle pieces in the sea, they forgot to tell me it was because they were all insane and nobody else wanted them! Why the hell do I even bother to puzzle at all?

16. Always do the corners first.

“Jo and I are happy, I say, my voice unsteady. We’ve had our ups and downs like all couples, but we’ve managed to get over the bad times. We have two lovely children, a pretty little house, friends, we go on holiday twice a year. The shop is doing very well…”

What is this book about?

The story is centred around Jocelyne, a middle-aged dressmaker and blogger, who wins the lottery the first time she plays. Jocelyne’s life is filled with curious coincidences, such as marrying a man with the same name. What makes her narrative truly special is that, despite having discarded the dreams of her youth and suffering terrible disappointments, Jocelyne never ceases to appreciate the wonders of everyday life.

Delacourt’s characters are intricately built, and it is this careful characterisation that allows the most wonderful aspect of the novel to flourish: the exquisite exploration of interpersonal relationships. From lovers to colleagues, parents to children, Delacourt depicts it all with an achingly beautiful honesty. By acknowledging the flaws and problems that pepper the everyday, he highlights how special love and affection are.

This novel also has an extraordinary plot. How many people could honestly say that, if they won a life-changing sum of money – millions – they would even hesitate to collect it? I certainly can’t. And yet Jocelyne does hesitate, and her reasoning is entirely sound. The negative aspects of sudden extreme wealth are not glossed over. It is Jocelyne’s appreciation of her husband and children – the love of her family as it is – that causes her to hesitate, which makes the story all the more moving.

Delacourt’s writing is magnificent, as is the quality of the translation – one does not feel that anything has been lost in the process. The novel remains quintessentially French in style and tone, which makes it all the more charming to read. “The List of My Desires” is not my typical sort of book, but I couldn’t be happier that I picked it up.

It was such a quaint, bittersweet novella that made me dive headfirst into my desires, dreams, and shortcomings. I haven’t focused this much on my character in some time, and by the last page, I had more questions about myself than I did about the protagonist, Jocelyne. I completely related to her, but it was a little unsettling.

Do you have a list of things you would treat yourself to if you won the lottery? A dream car, a new life in a faraway paradise, a closet full of designer clothes? Or nothing at all and continue life the way it is? Is it okay to want more for yourself? Will money ruin whatever happiness you have now, however ordinary it may seem? Can money buy you a new, happier life? Most importantly, what will she do with her winnings?

Another thing I love in books is allusions to other works of literature. Throughout this book, Delacourt referred to Albert Cohen’s French tome Belle de Seigneur, which is a favorite of Jocelyne’s, and whose characters are repeatedly mirrored in her thoughts to people she knows. I read a classic book once a year, and I still haven’t decided which to read this year. After finishing My Wish List, Belle du Seigneur is definitely on the list.

I heartily recommend this novel to anyone looking for an extraordinary book.