Applying Pressure
I felt happier today because I worked harder.
Recently I read a blog entry that suggested that we eliminate 120 minutes of our "freetime" a day and turn it into productive time. I am making that goal. I sent more business emails, read more, conversed more, took less time to get ready, ate less, planned more, even smiled and sat in the sun more.
But I thought I ought to praise more.
Here are seven things from Jon to me today:
1. A squishing, sturdy hug which seemed, despite the sap, to come from no other reason than genuine gushing spluttering affection.
2. Said things. He likes me for the things I do, for the person I'm trying to be.
3. He made dinner while I, distracted and lazy, just flipped through interesting photo books about Martha Graham, mother of modern dance.
4. Watched Short Films with me even in his yawping yawning state
5. Shared ideas for wedding plans - despite the tedium we both despise, things must get done. His attitude is patient.
6. Let me use his car to drive myself home from his house tonight (he'll come with Tyler tomorrow)
7. Let me use his washer/dryer to do my laundry and helped me fold
And these were laugh-worthy:
1. A short-sleeved sweatshirt workout outfit
2. Hiding in the shower
I've been trying to improve our speech together - to make our easy conversation illuminating as well as enjoyable. This is incentive for me to actively engage in class discussions and to come prepared to class so that I have more to offer there (and so that I can direct the conversations in interesting ways - so I'll have more to talk about later). I also try to read and watch more interesting, thought-provoking things. I can see that he's happier now that I'm making the effort. It's also been relieving to hear him talk openly about his fiction writing. Today I saw that I could offer sincere praise and only offer criticism when he asked for it directly. I know he feels good and whole when he is praised for accomplishments, and more hardened against even slight rips of criticism if I frame them gracelessly.
I am persuaded of his skill, and I think he can (and must) muscle up the stamina to make beautiful art. His blood, sweat, tears (thankfully no other bodily fluids) are making a difference in his writing. This is exciting.
More and more I observe success and steadiness walk hand-in-hand. Excellence does not come in sporadic bursts of dedication - it takes daily pressure.
So I've written today. Daily pressure.
Standing with arms around each other, pressing in on all sides, I let my eyes tilt upwards. And my gut, my blood, my heart, feels swollen with praise and gratitude.