SOMETIMES RAW

Me in my living room trying to find and fire the butler.

Some people seem to have it all. Money, fame, mansions, you name it. I always wonder how the super-rich live on a daily basis. But are they truly happy? When money is no issue, when you can do whatever you want. Maybe, maybe not. But it would be fun to live this kind of life for one day. This is what I imagine it looks like.

I play hide-and-seek in my mansion penthouse with my son, both of us dressed in silk loungewear. We switch to silk Kimonos and eat sushi for breakfast (tuna and salmon from our lake), prepared by our Japanese chef who lives with us.

Later, I wear my new black Chanel dress to the opening of the latest La Boheme performance at the Vienna Opera, enjoying the best and most expensive seats, actually on stage with the performers while they perform. Yeah, that kind of rich.

I own a silk Dior bathrobe exclusively for wafting silently from room to room when I’m home alone.

I celebrate the life of my best friend’s recently departed dog, who was run over by my Rolls-Royce. I am dressed again in black Chanel from head to toe out of respect for Monsieur Le Pooch.

My pilot was five minutes late for pickup, but I still arrived on time at my silent retreat at a Cistercian monastery in the Bahamas, carrying my Louis Vuitton yoga mat. I prepared for the occasion by getting Botox shots in my armpits to ensure that the sound of dripping sweat will not disturb me during scorpion pose.

My butler is contractually obligated to say everything sotto voce (a quiet voice, in case you don’t know. We use big words and terms only because we are fancy!)

I take a therapist-mandated time-out, during which I must remove my Manolo Blahnik stiletto heels, sit in the corner of my therapist’s office (facing the wall), and remain silent for fifty-five minutes. My therapist is one of the leading proponents of Laconism, a school of psychiatry based on the belief that the best way to treat mental illness is not to speak about it.

I wear my Versace leather jumpsuit at a dinner invitation for diplomatic VIPs only. The US president will be present.

I have a Bottega Veneta toiletry kit full of calming supplements and remedies. It is getting a little chilly outside while I am putting on my Prada virgin wool earmuffs.

I hold in a fart in the ground-floor bathroom of the Ritz-Carlton Vienna.

I bring a suitcase stuffed with Armani cashmere scarves to my lover’s apartment in Vienna’s 1st District. I do this so I can scatter them on the floor and sneak out without waking him the next morning. That’s how much I care about his work as the president of BMW.

Now that I’ve created a foundation dedicated to baking Matcha cookies with real gold sprinkles,, I always take care to wear my Valentino wrap coat for the cookie headquarters’ annual active-shooter drill and mass casualties drill.

I take a break from my busy day and read a book at the rooftop cafe of The Four Seasons Hotel after having indulged in a lunch with too much lobster and caviar.

When my BMW lover dumps me at my charity cookie headquarters, I don’t make a scene. I save my screaming and sobbing for the soundproofed space our charity likes to call the “Feelings Room.”

During my voluntary stay at the Psychiatric Hospital for the super rich, I am confined to a leather-padded cell, wearing a vintage, studded straitjacket designed by Karl Lagerfeld.

I never talk about money. Only poor people do that.

Dating? These techniques might come in handy. You are welcome.

The Desperado: They get a dreamy look in their eyes, then, before you know it, swoop in quick as a bandit and shove their tongue down your throat.

The Zombie: Their lips are stiff and dead, and you want to whisper, “Pucker up, you lifeless weirdo,” but you can feel yourself become infected, the passion slowly draining.

The Lollipopper: They suck on your tongue like a child sucking on a Lollipop. You want to say, “Hey, that’s bad, stop that,” but you can’t speak, because your tongue is vacuum-locked in their death grip.

The Kubrick: Toward the end of a long, intense make-out, you realize their eyes are open—and you get the creeping sense they’ve been open the whole time.

The Weirdo: You try to get solid contact, but the angles are just wrong. Their head is strangely tilted, and their lips don’t obey the laws of geometry. Nothing makes sense.

The Missing Tongue: You kiss open-mouthed, but their tongue isn’t there. You search for it like a rescuer trying to find a lost German hiker in the Alps. You wonder if it’s hiding somewhere, retracted into a secret chamber.

The Mmmmm Yum Yum: They make extremely loud and distracting “mmmm yummy” noises that remind you of a hungry guy devouring spaghetti and meatballs.

The Duck: They peck you four times on the lips, then they lean back and stare at you like they want some bread.

The Lizard: They rapidly flick their tongue in and out of your mouth like they’re trying to catch a fly. Then they pull their head back and scurry across the sofa and out of the room.

The Transylvanian: Their seductive nibbles turn into full-on bites. Then, in a thick but commanding Romanian accent you hadn’t noticed before, they say, “Turrrrrn off the lights.”

The Aggressive Dentist: They perform an invasive, one-by-one inspection of your molars, canines, and primary teeth, then text you an invoice the next day.

The Abyss: Before the kiss, their mouth opens in a wide mechanical swoop, like a puppet’s. Their mouth-hole is too big, and you fear they will literally swallow your head.

The Vehicular Manslaughter: They want to kiss while they drive in a residential zone!?

The Wes Anderson: They kiss you while playing a ukulele. Just as things start to heat up, they pull away and give you a handwritten note that says, “I have never had sex.”

The Bi-polar Lynch: Halfway through the kiss, they call you by the wrong name.

The Break-Up: They lean in slowly and sensually, French kissing you first softly, then more urgently. Just as the intensity builds to a crescendo, their lips stiffen, and you feel a hot tear roll down their cheek and onto yours. They whisper, “I don’t love you anymore.” Then they lean in and do it all over again.

My son and I came back from the most amazing trip to Japan! What was one of our main goals besides climbing up Mount Fuji? To find Labubus. I know, this is completely nuts and not even funny anymore. These little creatures are like cocaine, it seems. “Do you want to touch my Labubu? (Sounds weird, I know, but so is this entire Labubu insanity!) I will charge you 20 Euros!” One has to be careful when these little weird creatures are attached to the backpack, so nobody will cut them off and sell them on the black market. I am not kidding. How did we find Labubus when they are sold out everywhere? Even in Japan? When people are lining up for hours in front of Pop Marts all over the world? It is like this phenomenon with Dubai Chocolate. Now, nobody cares, but in the beginning, people killed for a bar of this pistachio shit.

This is a little excerpt of our Labubu hunt in Japan:

It was early before the woman had taken her morning coffee. And without her morning coffee she is usually not even in the mood to talk to people. But the boy wanted one of these dolls no matter what so she gave in and the line at the Pop Mart in Osaka was already long and winding. The people in it had gone days without using a working toilet. Forgoing personal hygiene for the opportunity to purchase this ugly doll would be worth it.

All humankind lived in darkness. A new Labubu would be their light.

Many had already paid their way into a lot of Labubus. Some attached them to their purses like Rihanna. Others wore them loyally on hats. Still others hung them from belt buckle loops like keys to their fading youth.

The woman knew she must obtain this monster doll with bunny ears. She would not be one of the Labubu have-nots. She could not be defeated by the people looking to buy in bulk and resell them on eBay. So she set a series of timers in her bedroom to awaken her at the moment of the next scheduled drop. In case that failed, she constructed an elaborate pulley system. The moment the Pop Mart app sent a notification of a restocked store, it would drop a bucket of ice water on her face. Usually, this was at midnight on Fridays. As good a time as any to drink water.

Across from the Pop Mart, an old man appeared with a cart. He stoically held a sign that read: FOR SALE, LABUBU DOLLS, NEVER OPENED.

The woman considered this temptation to purchase from an unofficial reseller. She knew they were not Labubus, but Lafufus, the street name for fake Labubus. She would not make the mistake of buying one. Nothing could replace the feeling of ripping open a blind bag and finding an expertly sewn plush and vinyl figurine with an official Pop Mart QR code to verify authenticity.

“A Lafufu is like a whore in a bar,” the woman thought. “I’d pay for one, but I would feel weird take her out for all to see.”

The Pop Mart suddenly opened, but the line did not appear to be moving. She worried she was waiting for something that would not come. “Damn these lines,” she muttered before cursing herself for not trying to get a Labubu online somewhere. These things are sold out everywhere. At the ripe old age of forty-four, she did not embrace new technology as easily as she embraced new plush and vinyl status symbols.

The line moved slowly. At last, a few people exited the store. They had boxes in hand that they had ripped open to reveal a black and white creature from the Big Into Energy series. People in line could not believe it. Now was the time to think of what they did not have.

“They got an ID?” the couple in front of her asked. This figure was the rarest specimen of Labubu. There was only a one-in-seventy-two chance of unboxing one. She thought about how superior it would make her feel to stroke its coveted fur. “They don’t give us any choice now,” the couple said. “We must be one of the special edition haves.”

The woman and her son stood in line, mouths wide open and in awe of so much insanity. “We stay right here and watch this madness from afar,” she said.

The couple in front of them did what they had to do because they were mad and plenty brave. They didn’t care if they lost an arm in a fight to get the rare Labubu. A person has two arms and just one shot at a collectable figurine that would seem silly in five weeks. They ran, swinging at the people and snatching it out of their hands like it was a prized mackerel.

Was it luck, or were they cowards? A fight broke out, and the couple lost the Labubus while the woman and her son picked them up and left the scene with their heads held up high.

The couple did not know, and she did not care. They were still fighting and beating each other up.

All she knew was that she could also be tough so early in the morning. Even without her coffee. But now that she had secured her special Labubus, to hell with the coffee. This called for Sushi for Breakfast.

Kinderteller

Finally, it’s this time of the year. Summer Holidays. My son and I will go on a little adventure and explore Japan for the next couple of weeks. I will take a blogging break to indulge in sushi 3x a day (at least), walk around in a Kimono, and climb Mount Fuji to blend in (for sure if we do it in a Kimono). I am not looking forward to the 11-hour flight, but hey, we gotta get there somehow, and I think it is still better to book a direct flight, if possible, than an hour-long layover somewhere.

Let’s just get something straight, right off the bat. By reading this, you, as a human, are not going to learn how to actually fly. That’s just impossible. Do you have wings? No. Is your butt a jet pack? It is not. I don’t know what the future holds, but I’ll bet that a jet pack butt is not included. Why do you want to fly anyway? We all know what happened to Icarus. His FACE melted off when he tried to fly. This is an article on how not to be an asshole on the plane and how to fly IN an airplane. This is simply how to be a good passenger and make the most of your time in the air.

While you’re waiting to board the plane, take note of the people also on your flight. Are there any good-looking ones? Of course there aren’t; that never happens. In fact, everyone looks insane because they’re wearing tiny neck pillows. Are you wearing a neck pillow? Ask yourself, Is it worth me wearing this neck pillow in public, just walking around, pretending like I’m not wearing a neck pillow when I am, in fact, wearing a neck pillow? Ask yourself that question three times, just to be sure that you totally agree with your answer.

When you walk through first class, look each person dead in the eye and mouth “asshole.” If you’re wearing a neck pillow, I’m sorry, but you cannot do this.

When the person next to you tries to strike up a conversation, flirtatiously say, “I’d feel a lot more talkative with a drink in me.” And when they offer to buy you a drink, say, “I don’t drink.” Put your head down and cry. If they try to comfort you say, “I could sure use that drink right now.” And they’ll be confused and say, “But I thought you didn’t drink?” That’s when you scream, “You don’t know me!” Guarantee you’ll be left alone after that.

Press your leg against their leg for the rest of the trip. This will maximize your space and let them know that you aren’t really mad at them.

Then order a non-alcoholic drink and stare at them as you down it in one gulp, letting tears steadily roll down your cheeks. This will also let them know that you’re not mad and are in fact sorry for yelling at them. Order something to drink all the time, especially if you have a window seat. Ask your seat neighbour if you can get out to go to the toilet all the time.

When you watch television, do not utilize the buttons on your armrest. Change the channel and volume on the actual screen, with short, powerful jabs. That way, you will have more precision in your channel and volume changing, but you will also be providing a free massage to the person in the seat in front of you.

When the plane lands, clap loudly. Everyone loves this.

When you exit your row, make sure to cut in front of at least three people who are waiting to get out from the rows ahead of you. Because they need a good healthy lesson in “you snooze, you lose.” In fact, as you rush past them feel free to say, “you snooze, you lose” but ONLY if you are not wearing a neck pillow. Because if you are, you clearly subscribe to the “you snooze, you win” philosophy. Listen, there’s a reason “you snooze, you win” is not a phrase listed in the Urban Dictionary. It is both false and not rhyming. Just take off the damn neck pillow.

And here is a list of people on the plane, categorised by the pants they are wearing. This information might come in handy!

Wool Suit Pants: Will board before you.

Wool Hunting Pants: Will board after you.

Pleated Dockers: Will loudly talk on cell phone about Scotland and Dracula, and Sherlock Holmes.

Pajama Bottoms: Will be flying either to or from a city with huge universities. Might smell bad.

Sweatpants with I Love Meat Logo: Will clog one or more bathrooms.

Stained Yoga Pants: Will be carrying a screaming child.

Stained Gymboree Pants: Will be a screaming child.

Leather Pants: Did not pay for own flight.

Pants with Underwear Sticking Out: Did not pay for own flight.

Jeans with Rhinestones: Will get wasted on tequila and Sprite and looks at flight attendant’s boob.

Tight Black Stretch Pants: Will be a pharmaceutical sales rep named Morgan.

Hemp Pants: Will be flying either to or from a city with a yurt resort.

Golf Pants: Will “accidentally” click on a porn link on his laptop.

Camouflage Cargos: Carry-on is a styrofoam cooler sealed with duct tape.

Blue Capris: European on business.

Red Capris: European on holiday.

Plaid Capris: European on way to rehab.

Pink Sweatpants: Will laugh her ass off at the Adam Sandler in-flight movie.

Beige Slacks: Will nervously clutch book about how liberals are destroying America.

Linen Trousers: Will swallow a Xanax and mangle your hand during take-off.

Wide-waled Corduroys: Traveling with a cat.

Thin-waled Corduroys: Traveling with a guitar.

Patched Corduroys: Traveling with a cat named Guitar.

Orange Jumpsuit: Did not pay for own flight.

Skinny Jeans: Will develop deep vein thrombosis.

Swim Trunks: Will be escorted off plane by federal air marshal for doing something gross to the beverage cart.

5.11 Tactical Pants in Black, Beige, or Camouflage: Federal air marshal, security or police officer

Have a safe and pleasant flight. And don’t be an asshole.

I believe there are two kinds of people: Alive people and Not Alive people. Alive people are engaged in the act of living, attuned to others, present in the moment, and “a little bit shiny”. Not alive people, on the other hand, exhibit and almost spiritual dullness. They are dampened, muted, and view life at a distance. 

I am an alive person who turns 44-years old tomorrow. Wow! Happy birthday to me. This year has been an amazing one so far with lots of changes, adventures and even more crazy stuff coming up, like a huge trip to Japan this month.

Today, I want to share a couple of birthday and life-notes that are helpful to me and make life easier. Because I am a visual thinker, it helps me to take notes and refer to them often. I take notes all the time and everywhere. I want to share my notes that I wrote down in my little Moleskine notebook and that are daily reminders that life is awesome no matter what it throws at me. Do not take my notes to be literal, all-encompassing, or fitting in every context. This is just what works for me. 

And always remember: There are lots of lavender bushes out there, waiting patiently to be sniffed. 

• If you don’t know what someone’s talking about, ASK. 
• Articulate what you love about the ones you love. 
• Empathise with caution, practice compassion with abandon. 
• Go for a walk. Don’t bring your phone. 
• Know that terrible and wonderful things will befall you, regardless of your anxiety and yearning. 
• Captivate your audience. Dazzle them with your wit, grace, and humour.  
• Think about what you will miss most when you are dead. Do more of that. 
• One possible solution to an urgent problem is to go to bed and deal with it in the morning. 
• I am plenty. I have plenty. Say it out loud! 
• Dispense advice if it is asked for. Otherwise, dispense love. 
• Think about how proud your past self would be if they could see you now. 
• Think about death enough to appreciate life, but not so much that it eclipses life. 
• Let other people be other people.  
• Write down things you observe, dreams, or things you say in conversations. Sometimes making art is just paying attention.
• Travel far distances to see old friends. 
• You will never need or use all of the knives in a knife-set.
• Talk to yourself sweetly, like you would speak to a scared child. Issue forgiveness gently and easily. 
• There are many kinds of beauty and your kind is one of them. 
• Look up. What do you see? What do you hear, smell, feel? Isn’t it fun to be alive?
• Make new friends: through other friends, through common interests, on the street, on the internet, through one person being brave, no matter how many friends you have, no matter how old you are. 
• If you find yourself obsessing about everything you don’t have, give something away to someone who needs it more. 
• When something is good, enjoy it.
• Consider that you might be wrong and correct course. 
• When people ask you how you are, tell them how you really are. So they will tell you how they really are, unless you don’t care how they really are, in which case it is fine to say “fine”. 
• You don’t need a good voice to sing. 
• Let the people you love the most tell the stories they love to tell, even if you have heard them before. For everyone else, politely stop them mid-sentence. 
• Your partner should get you through the hard times. Your partner shouldn’t BE the hard times. 
• Eat! Enjoy food!
• Take pride in being the least frustrated person at the airport, in traffic, waiting in line….
• Listen to yourself when you talk. 
• When complaining, consider why. Is it because you actually want something to change? Or just want support and affirmation? Or simply love to complain?
• You might die soon, or they might die. Or we all might. Make peace and hold each other close and never leave someone in anger and fighting without saying sorry. 
• If you have portraits of yourself up allover your house, people are going to think you are conceited. Replace them with portraits of me. 
• Be happy. Do things that make you happy within the confines of the legal system. Do things that make you feel good and proud.
• Help people. Help someone. Show someone you care. Say something nice. Smile. Make eye contact. Hug. Kiss. Laugh. Laugh as much as you can. 
• Find out who you are. Okay, this is a big one (that what she said!) but possible.

I don’t mean to tell you what to do or how to live your lives, but those are some of the things that have worked for me. And I believe with all my heart that even if we try the teeniest tiniest bit we can make this world a much happier and healthier one. And if we try even harder, we can do some pretty spectacular things. 

Oh, one more thing talking about spectacular: My eight book “The Average of All Possible Things” will be published this year. What an awesome birthday gift to me indeed. So, once again: Happy Birthday to Me.

Having fun at work is an act of rebellion in a world that sees us as “human resources”. Here are some tips that work for me to make my day at work better. Obviously, it is always nice to be far away from work and enjoy a day off but with the right mindset, burnout is avoidable.

Be nice. Smile. Be friendly. Don’t be an arrogant asshole or wise-ass. Don’t be cynical (I get it, it feels good sometimes but it will make you sad and miserable) and don’t look down on people who clean the toilets for you, bring you food, heat or cold.

Say “Happy Monday/ Tuesday/ Wednesday/ Thursday” instead of just Happy Friday. Are you alive? It’s a happy day.

Send a love bubble to a colleague. These are little DMs where you say something you appreciate about them. Like, “You made our team look so good in that last meeting. You’re the best. Thank you. I really appreciate the work you have done etc.”

Be creative. Rearrange the furniture in your office so it feels more comfortable if you can. Get candies, a coffee machine and such things if you share an office. Start Pizza-Tuesdays.

Don’t stress out over nothing. Usually, nothing is eaten as hotly as it is cooked. Wait, relax, and let time pass.

Listen to music when you can. On your break, watch something nice or read a book.

Give your best. Always. Don’t slack. Don’t look sloppy.

Have a 10-minute workday. Pretend you only have 10 minutes to work today. Pick what you’ll do. It’s likely your highest leverage activity, and/or the thing only you on the team could do given your expertise/position. Don’t do anything else until you finish that thing. Focus on getting this one thing done. Then off to the next.

Arrive early. To everything. The Japanese concept of “yutori” means “arrive with enough time, and then look around slowly.” It will give an otherwise harried day a sense of peace. And your best ideas might just meet you there.

Move. Duh. Go get yourself a snack. And while you’re at it, have an “exercise snack” too. 30-seconds of burpees or squats. Or climb some stairs.

Compliment a colleague’s humanity.  Humans like to be seen as humans.

Defend those you love from your overwork. Tempted to take the late meeting or overtime (all the time)? Your partner, your friend, your parent—they can’t decline the meeting, even though they’d love to spend that time with you. As they say, “The only people who will remember you worked late 20 years from now are your kids.” Maybe give it a thought that all we really need is time. Quality time away from work such as time for yourself first and your loved ones. Consider not buying X, Y, and Z (do you really need to buy it?) so you don’t have to slave for that Overtime.

Decide that your days and time off matter. 

Eat something healthy (at work). Smoothie day at work is good too. Fruit, veggies, you name it. Watch out for yourself. Don’t eat vending machine food and unhealthy garbage.

Fill your figurative ice trays. Do one thing today that will make future-you happy. Help someone. Help yourself. Tidy your desk etc.

Make your work friend’s task disappear. You know, like in those political thrillers when a fixer says, “Consider it handled.” Wouldn’t you love it if someone did this for you? Get out of your way to help a colleague in need.

Make today’s success metric “minutes laughing.” Show your team the funny video you saw. Do a 15-minute “what’s the most hilarious solution to our problem” brainstorm. Note: this is not a bad metric for life either. 

Talk like a human. Forget the jargon and swear a little. Use the words “shit and fuck” sometimes even though your middle school English teacher feels it in their soul like a voodoo doll. And shoutout others when they have really good ideas, regardless of whether the idea included the words “Mandatory Online Training.”

Remember, when you wish away the workweek, you wish away your life. You can learn to enjoy even the bad days if you thin-slice your joy. You don’t need to love every minute, but you must love at least one. If all else fails, get yourself a fucking croissant. 

Because we deserve to love our days. And remember: Everyone is dealing with bullshit. Don’t judge people and still be nice.

Even Monday-Friday.

*I am NOT a helicopter mom. Far from it. But this is just accumulated wisdom I heard from those kind of moms you should try to avoid like the plague. If you hear any of these below statements, RUN!

Do you have kids? Why not? You’ll never know real love until you have a baby.

You’re trying to get pregnant? Yeah, not as much fun as it seems. Good luck to you! It will probably cost a fortune. It will be worth it, though. Just be as calm as possible about it.

It isn’t like you’re eighteen anymore, amiright? Tick tock.

You’re going to the gym and getting healthy, right? I mean, you really should. Look at those hips! At least the baby’s head will fit through. Don’t exercise too much, though.

You’re pregnant? Well, sleep now is all I can tell you. This is your last chance to sleep for 18 years.

You’re tired? I couldn’t sleep at all when I was pregnant. I felt like a beached whale. Forget the body pillows and the stretching; nothing will help.

Did you finish the nursery? What’s your baby’s gender? Well, at least the room has a theme, right?

You’re eating organic, right? Why are you buying carbs and frozen treats? You’re acting like you don’t care about your baby.

Why do you think you need a bouncy seat? Are you planning on putting the baby down? Babies like to be held. You can’t spoil a baby!

You had your baby? Well, good luck to you. He’s screaming a lot? Yes, that goes on for a long time. What, are you worried about him? That’s what babies do. They scream and scream and scream. Turn on the television and you’ll both be fine.

Doesn’t motherhood give you perfect memory? You remember every lullaby your own mother ever sang to you, right?

Are you still recovering from the birth? Yeah, that takes forever. I ached and had weird pains for months.

Are you tired? Sleep when the baby sleeps. You should probably do laundry when the baby sleeps, too. And food shopping. And catch up on emails. Come on! Everyone wants to know when they can come and see the baby.

You need a shower, too? Oh, do that when the baby sleeps.

You’re getting rid of your maternity clothes already? But it will be months before you can even think about wearing pants with buttons or zippers again.

Did you at least check your walls, water, air, and insulation for lead? What about your plates? Your breast milk? You can’t forget to check everything.

Are those disposable diapers? Really? You made that choice? I see. I thought you cared about the environment.

You’re using cloth diapers? I thought you needed more time for self-care? You have to take care of yourself, you know.

You’re looking for a daycare spot? Pretty late in the game, I’ll say. Good luck trying to find a place that’s even legal.

How did I find a daycare? I don’t remember. This is your brain on motherhood! I can’t even remember what I had for breakfast.

You gave him solid foods already? You didn’t hear about the kids who ate solid foods?

Walking? Oh, no! You’re in for it now. You should have tried to travel, or at least go grocery shopping, before that happened. Good luck to you.

Did you baby-proof everything? Make sure you cover everything pointy and hard. Every edge and surface! Soon he’ll be tall enough to reach even the top shelf of your bookcase. You should probably just put everything in storage.

Is she smiling at me? Watch out. Get that rifle ready. Oh, right, it’s a boy. You’ve got a ladies’ man on your hands. Watch out.

Wait, is the TV on? You didn’t let your baby see the screen, did you?

You’re excited about his birthday party? I see. You’ll get tired of having them and going to them soon enough. Enjoy this one, I guess.

When are you going to have Baby #2? Don’t you want someone to love Baby #1 after you die?

He’s starting daycare? Wow. He’s going to be sick Every. Single. Day. You, too. But then no one will ever be sick again! You are responsible for training his immune system. I guess your mother didn’t know to train yours.

You’re spending all of your money on private school, right? So expensive, but education is the most important thing. You’d do anything for that child, right?

You didn’t open a college fund to put all of your money into? I thought you agreed that education was important?

You aren’t sending him to public school? Don’t you care about your community?

You didn’t sign up for summer camp yet? It is already January! What are you going to do, quit your job?

Wait, you went back to work? You want strangers to raise your child?

Oh, you’re home with him. I hope you’re at least bringing him to reading time at the library. He needs to get socialized.

Want to meet up for wine tonight with the other mothers at 9 pm? You should join our “Mommy’s Night Out It’s Wine O’Clock somewhere Party!” We thought of a few more things you need to know. Get some rest today! It will be a late night.

Artwork by Shannon Cartier Lucy

Based on current celebrity beauty standards, the goals are clear: you need to look like you’re in your twenties until you’re thirty-five, then look thirty-five until you’re dead. Also, regardless of age or retirement eligibility, all women should have supple, lineless skin with no evidence of sunspots, muscle movement, or laughter. The only indication that you’ve been on Earth long enough to outlive a household pet should be the look in your eyes, which peer wearily out of your flawless, youthful face like a haunted doll.

To get specific about various body parts: boobs, obviously, should be perpetually high and firm, lips full and plump, and your hair long and flowing with the aid of extensions, even as you enter an assisted living facility, where it will invariably get tangled with your breathing equipment and other life-prolonging devices, which would be annoying if you were not so successfully clutching to the hallmarks of youth with steadfast determination.

But be careful how you cling. Hands and necks are a dead giveaway that you might have vivid memories of the New Kids on the Block, or worse, Studio 54, so you need to do whatever you can to take care of that whole situation. Hand transplants, neck power blasting, the surgical attachment of permanent, elbow-length gloves—don’t be afraid to get drastic. Just go to your local med spa or plastic surgeon, and say, “Help, the passage of time is evident on my body!”

It’s also important to be mindful of changing beauty trends, so you don’t inadvertently age yourself by trying to look young in the old way. For example, right now, filler-plumped, sexy balloon faces are out; gaunt, ageless vampire faces are in. So while just a few years ago, you may have paid some doctor to inject a bunch of goop into your cheeks until you looked like a beautiful, hairless chipmunk, you now need to have that goop sucked out of your cheeks ASAP, so you can look like, well, I guess, whatever the reverse of a chipmunk is. A gazelle? An anteater?

Anyway, it’s important to note that even if you follow this advice and update your body as often as you update your phone’s operating system, the thing about aging as a woman—just like all things related to being a woman—is that there are many, many ways to do it wrong. In fact, you’ve probably aged incorrectly already. Did you not get preventative Botox in elementary school? Did you get so much Botox you were once mistaken for dead? Has your appearance entered the uncanny valley? The uncanny valley is a hypothesis in the field of robotics and human-computer interaction. Are you not uncanny valley enough, to the point you’re walking around, for everyone to see, looking like a human woman who has maybe birthed children, frowned at some point, or been in the sun at least once? Did you furrow your brow while reading any of these questions? Uh-oh, another burgeoning flaw to fix.

If this all seems exhausting and impossible, rest assured: it is. You’re not imagining it. But take solace in the fact that, one day, things will be easier. Eventually, society will progress and finally ditch unrealistic expectations for women’s looks, or, alternatively, some tech-bro startup will figure out the science required to turn women into walking, occasionally talking, 3-D photo filters.

I hope being a filter isn’t too expensive. I’ve already spent a ton of money on hand transplants.

painting by Shannon Lucy

So, my son is into all kind of computer games. I told him the other day that I would love to spend more quality time with him. He responded that he would show me one of his computer games and that I will totally love it. “It is not complicated at all, mom,” he said and explained all the necessary moves to me. This way, we do spend time together, I thought. Below is just a short transcript on how this all went. Enjoy!

Stop yelling at me. I don’t know why I’m plowing into this corner either, but the harder I push this toggle-pusher thingy, the harder it pushes back. Also: why are there four screens? It’s hard for me to tell what I’m looking at.

Oh, that’s all of us? That’s so sweet. It makes me so happy to see us all together like that. We really ought to grab a picture for Grandma and Grandpa before we—oh no, what just happened?

Am I—floating right now? Why am I floating?

I died?

How do I un-die?

I think I remember asking you to stop yelling at me. Do we make good choices when we yell? We do not. I think someone’s going to see a precipitous decline in their screen time allowance if we can’t work on our tone.

Oh, thank you for un-dying me. Now let me figure out how to—oh, hey, movement! I’m moving! I’m—

Jumping. I am shooting. Try to shoot this apple from my head, go on. It is fine. Just aim!

Okay, you don’t want to shoot me. So I’m still in this corner, but at least I’m seeing a different part of it. A higher part. Repeatedly. But look, I just landed on two of those goblins. And these laser beams—wow! They just shoot right out of my eyes, I guess?

Sorry, I see that I took out one of those little heart thingies above your head…

Your LIFE? Oh, let’s not be melodramatic. I have a feeling you may know someone who labored for thirty-eight hours to give YOU life.

Yes, I see you. I SEE you, I said. You act like running down this wall is pretty easy for someone who’s never managed to put dirty socks into a hamper.

Besides, I’m obviously dealing with a higher center of gravity than you are. No wonder I’m not more nimble—couldn’t they give me a cardigan or something to cover these enormous breasts? Or somewhere to put this sword? I feel like I might accidentally slice one of these suckers right off.

Oh, don’t sound so scandalized. Breasts are a perfectly normal thing to talk about. I have two of my own, for goodness sake. If anything, they were more yours than mine for the first year or so after you were born…

Excuse me? Did you just tell me to stop talking about my breasts? Did you say “tits” just now? To your mother? There are appropriate words and there are inappropriate words, and I think you know what kind you just used.

I’m going to walk back into this stone corner until you apologize.

Thank you. I forgive you, of course. That’s what mothers do. Over and over and over again.

Isn’t this fun? I’m so glad you talked me into this—this game is loads better than UNO. And speaking of loads, guess what? In between loads of laundry—I folded your underwear, by the way, it’s on your bed—I’ve been watching a few of those TockTock things online so I can be a better video game teammate, because that’s what families do: we work together.

Now, let me show you this cool move I learned to get rid of those nasty goblins. See?

That’s his SPINE!

And look, if I do this combination here, I can crochet it into a tea cozy. I bet you didn’t even know THAT was an option, did you? If you’d stop and use your words and count to ten when you’re angry, you might learn something.

Plus, some other game-moms figured out a “mod” to hack entrails into yarn, so we have a LOT of yarn to work with.

First order of business: I’m making myself a cardigan with a nice, sturdy rib stitch. Because I’ve got to bind these breasts of mine down somehow.

Also, it’s pretty obvious I’m cold. Why are you not playing anymore? Can I click on any body armour? Which one is the best? Joel? Joel? Joel? I cannot see you anymore?

—–Joel left the game

Shannon Cartier Lucy

The drying rack is full of clothes to one side of our living space; there’s another small pile of clean laundry to be folded on the couch. My son’s school books are all over the floor. On the top of the sideboard there’s a roll of tape, a random rope(?), a book of paper airplane instructions, and a few paper airplanes. On the dining table, you’ll find my son’s half-eaten breakfast muffin, a card game, hand cream, a whistle, and a coffee table art book. Sound familiar?

Most nights, after I have put my son to bed (still a ritual even though he is almost 12), I finish the dishes and then completely reset the house. Resetting the house is not a fun chore, but it’s the secret to living small. For me, it’s also something more: It’s a way to set myself up for success. Since I live in a rather small house that can become overstuffed easily, organisation and clutter-free is key otherwise the place becomes too messy.

What is your home’s baseline?

Merriam-Webster Dictionary’s definition of ‘baseline’ is “a line serving as a basis; especially: one of known measure or position used (as in surveying or navigation) to calculate or locate something.” 

In the case of your home, the baseline is not the starting point of where you are today. Rather it is your house on its best day. Baseline is the way it looks when you’ve done a full tidy before guests come over. It’s the ideal you’re always trying to get back to—and in a perfect world, we’d get back to baseline every day. In reality we probably only get close. 

Why is the starting line important?

A baseline is important because it gives you a clear goal: You know what you are striving towards when you’re tidying up. For some people, especially parents of young kids, baseline has been obscured for so long that they can’t even picture what it is that’s worth taking the time to declutter and tidy for. You might not even know what your baseline is until you do the work to get back there.

I believe that a clutter-free, tidy home is worth the work. 

For me, I feel my best when my home is at its best. When the house is tidy, I feel better prepared to face my day, I can focus. When it’s disorganized or the surfaces are cluttered, I tend to feel overwhelmed, I can’t quite think straight. For me, maintaining order is self care.

Find your baseline

Now, it’s time to get your house to the starting line. Tidy up like you would if important guests were coming to visit or if you were showing your house to a real estate broker. Get every space to its best self. If your house is on the more cluttered side right now, don’t try to get to baseline all at once. Instead, go room by room, getting each room show-worthy, and then making an effort to maintain that room as you work on the rest. 

Focus on horizontal surfaces

As much as possible, your baseline should keep your horizontal surfaces (bureau tops, counters, table surfaces) clear. The flat surfaces in our homes, especially small homes, are where mess builds up, clutter hotspots, if you will. Whenever I keep books and a stack of magazines on our coffee table, they are like an invitation for more clutter to gather. With an empty coffee table as my baseline, I force myself to get everything off the surface each night and everything feels 10x more calm and orderly.

Restore order every night

I’m so sorry, but if you want the awesome feeling of a clutter-free home, you’re going to need to tidy up every evening, especially if you live in a small space. It’s the only way. Sure, you can take a day off and you can be more relaxed some days, but at the very least, you should be resetting your home to baseline 2 or 3 times a week. Even trying to do it all in one big sweep on the weekends lets too much disorder arise. You don’t want to get to the place where you have to spend a whole day getting back to baseline. 

Once you’ve established baseline, push further

Everyone’s idea of tidy or what Shira Gill deemed “clutter tolerance” is different—and that’s okay. But the aesthetic of our home is not the barometer for a good baseline. The way to know if you’ve found your optimal baseline is if it is easy to maintain. 

Most people are trying to store too many things in their home–or they don’t have good systems to store them (this is especially true in smaller homes). And therefore maintaining that order you’ve created is too hard–it takes too much time and effort. The goal is to keep refining your baseline (decluttering, creating storage solutions) until tidying up every night is relatively easy, a 20-30 minute task—not a Herculean, hours-long effort.

So, let’s say you’ve gotten your kitchen to baseline: There’s no stack of papers on the countertop, everything is put away. Now it’s time to assess how your starting point can be improved. Look around: What spots look cluttered up? What could you do to streamline further? If you’re having trouble seeing what might change, try taking a photo of the room: It can help you see what spots are still congested. Is there a rarely used appliance that could get put away in a cabinet? A decorative item that is always in the way when you clean? Maybe you could thin the collection of spoons and spatulas? Would a tray beneath the oils and vinegars make it easier to wipe the counters nightly? 

Make everything easy to put away

This is the key to staying organized: It has to be easy to keep up your baseline. If something is difficult to put away, it’s probably because there’s too much stored in the place where it is meant to go (if your shirts only fit in the drawer when perfectly Kon Mari folded), or you’ve set up a system that’s impossible to maintain. Identify and work on the things that are hard to keep tidy.

The underlying question to ask is: How much stuff is the right amount for your space? The goal is to get to a place where the tidying takes less time. THIS is why we declutter: To gain back time.

Play detective while you tidy

Think of your nightly side work as an opportunity to research your home. As you get into the habit of a nightly tidy-up, you’re going to encounter items that need to be put away. Here are four ways:

Make note of the objects that are always out of place. These items might be stored in the wrong place to begin with. For my family, this was shoes and books.

Zero in on the things that have no home. Are there items that you really have to think about where they should go? These things need to gain a permanent home so that you (and your family members) aren’t always trying to find a place to wedge them in. 

Notice where you’re cramming. If you’re constantly squeezing or rearranging things in a particular area, you’ve got too much stored there. For me, this is all our book shelves. The solution: Sell or donate a few books until the book shelves don’t look too cluttered. I keep changing books in my Free Little Library as well. Also, I gave myself a three months book-purchase-stop to read all the books I already have which made a huge difference in the shelves and my wallet.

Create a transitional zone 

There are always going to be some items that don’t have a permanent place in your house: An online purchase that needs to be returned, library books, a gift that needs wrapping, the weekend newspaper, but that doesn’t mean they can’t have a designated home too. Things like a basket for mail or an “outbox” basket for packages near the door can help tame the transitional clutter in your home.

Tackle the hidden messes

I’ll never forget when Yumiko Sekine the author of the book Simplicity At Home suggested forcing yourself to look at your hidden messes, writing, “If you only have cabinets with doors, try removing the doors and see if that changes the way you organize and use your belongings.” You don’t need to take a screwdriver to the kitchen cabinet hinges, but imagine the doors gone: Would you like what you see?

Finally, elevate the baseline

Another way to improve baseline has nothing to do with decluttering or tidying, but rather with restyling what you already own. Going back to our hypothetical kitchen, ask yourself what details could be elevated to make your baseline more appealing. Perhaps you decant your dish soap into a pretty pump bottle or you oil your wooden spoons so they look new again. 

This part may sound frivolous to some people, but I believe it is important because any time you can elevate the appearance of your home–whether that is bins, your baskets, your file folders, your recycling bin—it reinforces the idea that “This is my home. I want to take care of it and keep it organized.” 

As a last resort: Outsource

If you do all this and it is still too much, maybe you need help. You can hire someone to clean your home, so you can focus on maintaining order. You could hire a professional organizer to help you improve your systems. Outsourcing can also be less direct: You can pick up prepared foods or order takeout (and avoid the related meal making clean-up) on laundry night. You could have your children eat school lunch and outsource all the mess of meal making and lunchbox unpacking.

For me it is key to make my life as easy, organized and beautiful as possible. Simple as that. How about you?