Lemondrop

I am what people refer to as a "fixer." I see, have or hear of a problem and within minutes I've developing a step-by-step process to reach ... a solution. Come to me for advice and you'll get a project plan. Come to me in tears and you'll get several hugs, the food-fix of your choosing and a project plan. It's not that I lack compassion or empathy -- it's that I lack patience. I want it experienced, addressed, evaluated and solved before it seeps in and invites a when-it-rains-it-pours scenario.

On the positive end of this personality trait -- I'm a thick-skinned Pollyanna with an impressive bounce-back rate. On the negative -- when I come up against a problem without a quick enough fix, I'm crippled.

Such was the case one fall. I was struggling through a bad situation at a bad job, one of my best friends had moved across the country, my family was in pain dealing with the degenerative disease my grandmother had developed, and I was struggling with those typical post-grad questions of what am I doing? Am I ever going get out of this debt? And where are all the good guys? Simple, average problems but when combined, just the kind of pile that could send you into a deep rut.

All I wanted was some instruction guide back to my happy self. Listen to this music. Read this book. Go to this yoga class. I was willing to try anything. But part of the problem was, I didn't know what the problem was.

You know that stage where everything hurts but you can't find the source of the pain? How sometimes a headache can actually be a toothache, or a tension in your hands can be because of a strain in your back? I knew that this was one of those situations, but I was too stubborn and depressed to really dig deep and figure it out. My method has never been to sit in the sad and wait around until its true source reveals. Instead I wanted to figure out what still made me happy so I could use that as the guide to what should change in my life.

I'm a writer, so my gut instinct was to journal. Perhaps an hourly session a day just pouring out whatever came to the surface would make the feelings and thoughts clearer, I thought. But when I set down to write I was as blocked as I felt moving through the day. If anything what came out were frustrations, angers, and tears -- not thoughts and realizations like I wanted and needed. The idea of writing seemed right and natural, but I needed a more constructive guide on What. To. Write.

During my years at Boston College (a Jesuit university), I'd done a good deal of reading on the "Discernment process" as defined by the Jesuits – an order of Catholic priests known for their commitment to exploring inner self, true desire, and ultimate vocation. Theirs' is, of course, a religiously-based process, but I remember learning about a simple, secular daily check-in called the "Examine," meant to cap off each evening with a look at what the day brought and meant.

This seemed like an interesting place to start -- a nightly look at the day prior to see how I'd felt and what that might mean. Because my goal was to end each day on a positive note, I decided to put my own spin on the idea of walking backwards through the 24-hours prior. I would look at the day as a whole but pick out the pieces where I felt happiest.

And so the "Today I loved" journal was born. My plans of attack: to spend a few minutes before bed writing down what I'd loved throughout the day. An adorable little girl I'd seen riding her pastel pink scooter on my walk to work. A particularly delicious sesame bagel with vegetable cream cheese. A nice note from a co-worker thanking me for help on a project. Five minutes on the phone with my Mom as I walked to the subway. The homeless violist playing down in the E Train stop. Amazing macaroni and cheese from Corner Shoppe Café near my apartment.

The list was always incredibly specific and very personal – a collection of moments that had made me think, smile, laugh, or wonder. No matter how seemingly insignificant they were, they were the moments in my day where I felt like my old self, and getting back to that self was the goal.

At first my list was very short. Maybe two things. Maybe three. And hardly anything significant or telling. I kept going with the process -- when I decide on a plan I stick with it --but I didn't view it as wildly constructive. I was still extremely down and just as confused.

But as the weeks passed I started to look back on the daily lists I'd made and noticed the consistencies in each day. I'd loved every time a day at work involved lots of writing. I'd loved any opportunity to interact with children. I'd loved conversations with alumni friends about what we did in our college years. I'd loved how I felt the few days I'd found time to work out.

So I took the very logical step of finding ways to incorporate more of that into my life. I started a blog so I'd have a forum and reason to keep writing. I looked for volunteer opportunities with children in Manhattan. I figured out how to get more involved in my alumni group. And I put myself on a three-time-a-week gym schedule.

I did not "get better" after those few life changes were checked off the list. It took some time for me to transition out of that job and into another, more time for me to get used to my friend being gone, and years to cope with the loss of my grandmother, but those heavy issues became brief negative thoughts in a day filled with much more positive. I found myself looking for things to love, knowing I'd get to remember them at the day's end versus harping on things to hate. And when I made the time to look back at my months of lists it was like a "Jessie, this is your happy life" episode -- an overload of the joy and laughter I'd fought to find in each day.


Jessie Rosen writes the blog 20-Nothings, an account of getting by from 2-0 to 3-0. She now keeps all three completed "Today, I Loved" journals together on her bookshelf, right next to the one she still writes as often as possible.