Selective Eagerness

I'll be hiring a house cleaner on Saturday. Someone to come in every two weeks and spiff up the house like I'm not finding the time to as often as I'd like.

Actually, I'll be interviewing a house cleaner on Saturday; but I'm pretty sure we'll get things set up. The recommendation from trusted friends opened the door, as is often the case. And then we spoke on the phone yesterday, and it was clear that the interviewing will go both ways. She'll be looking at me just as closely as I'll be looking at her. She won't work for just anyone. She's picky, she says, wants to select her own supplies, and I was left with the impression that she pretty much wants to be left to herself, to do her cleaning the way she feels is best.

Yet she conveyed this in a warm and friendly fashion. She has time to take on another client and wants to fill those hours. It was clear that her pickiness comes from a sense of pride in her work. She considers herself a professional and will work only in an environment where she's given the freedom to perform as such. She's proud of her list of long-term clients.

For me, it was the perfect sales pitch: enthusiastic, but not overly eager.

I think this posture can be translated to many scenarios, from approaching job interviews to forging new friendships. It's important to demonstrate a certain amount of enthusiasm in our interactions. But too much eagerness can be off-putting. The person on the other side can feel overwhelmed by the energy or even suspicious of the eager one's motives. If you don't appear to be at least a little selective, a person starts to wonder how much value you're really bringing to the relationship. Are you that desperate for a job, the interviewer wonders. And if so, why should I take the risk? Aren't you close to anyone at all, questions the potential friend. And if not, perhaps there's a reason. Maybe I shouldn't open up to you so quickly. And in the case of my potential house cleaner, too much eagerness would leave me backing off, wondering if she's really as good and trustworthy as she claims. I would be approaching the interview with a more critical eye.

Instead, I look forward to meeting a woman who has enough confidence in the value she has to offer that she doesn't have to accept every job that comes her way. And I look forward to showing her how easy I am to get along with. I expect we will find our goals are neatly aligned: I, too, am looking for a stable working relationship with someone I can trust with my home. And in the course of interviewing each other, I have a hunch we'll get along famously.

Lost in Thought

I love my walks. Every morning, I go out walking with my little dog, Arlo. And every morning, my mind races with thoughts of the day ahead. For work, it might be preparing class materials, grading assignments, ordering textbooks, or tending to other administrative tasks. At home, the housework is never done, the laundry basket is never empty, the garden always needs weeding, and at this time of year, I'm starting to think about when I should dig up those bulbs, disconnect the water fountain, and tend to those other tasks that need doing before winter sets in. Yes, my mind is always racing. Except when it isn't.

Every now and then comes a moment I think of as simply lost in thought. One of those moments when I realize that, for some span of time, I've been thinking of nothing but the walk, nothing but the "now." This morning gave me one such moment.

Walking around the neighborhood as we do every morning, Arlo and I came to one of our favorite spots:

It's far from wilderness, but it still feels a little wild. The summer growth obscuring the path, the bright yellow wildflowers signaling the start of fall, the knowing that small animals are skittering about in the brush, whether I can see them or not. It's the kind of path I would have loved as a child, the kind of scene that still lures me in as an adult.

Feeling no rush to get back home, Arlo and I trekked down the trail to see what we could see, my childlike sensibilities dancing with this modest sense of adventure. And it was on the way back up that it struck me: for at least five minutes I had thought about absolutely nothing of any importance. No books that need reading, no notes that need writing; no dishes to wash, emails to answer, or phone calls to return.

For those minutes I thought about nothing important at all. Yet during those minutes lost in thought, lost in the moment, I was doing something very important, indeed. For those few minutes, my mind was totally occupied with the sights and smells of autumn, the way my short dog had to bounce to get through the tall weeds, and the observation that the ground beneath my feet was feeling a bit squishy after the rain. For a few blessed minutes, my mind was devoid of worry and stress. And just those few minutes of absence, those few moments lost in thought, made all of those worries look just a little bit smaller, my tasks ahead just a little less daunting, and the possibility that some of them might not get done today just a little less disastrous.

Lost in thought. Whether we find it through meditation, jogging, yoga, or simply walking around, it's something each of us can use a little of. And dare I say, it's something most of us could use just a little more of than we're getting.

Why Blog?

I'm working on the last module for my new class: Blogger.

There are many videos on the topic, and I can probably explain most of it in written words, anyway. By now, folks should be accustomed to looking around the screen and reading buttons. The formatting tools aren't all that different from the formatting tools found elsewhere. The "how to" part isn't all that daunting.

But I find myself grappling with a bigger question I imagine my students asking: Why blog at all? What are you supposed to write about? And why would you want to?

There are two parts to it. First, you have to have something to say. And second, you have to believe there's someone out there who would like to hear it. Put in those terms, I suppose it is somewhat daunting. What can I possibly have to say that would be of interest to anyone else?

And yet, there are countless blogs out there on many different topics. Oftentimes, the core topic isn't strictly adhered to, and we get to know the blogger in ways we didn't necessarily expect to. If a blog becomes popular, many of the names in the comments will start to repeat. Folks will start to talk with each other as well as with the blogger. A good, strong blog can develop into a close-knit online community.

So maybe it isn't really all about the content. Maybe it's not all that important that we have something important to say.

Why blog? I suppose when it comes down to it, blogging is just another way for us to connect with other human beings.