Laurel Jean Becker ~ Pathways

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  • Take Time to be Wholy

    Take Time to be Wholy

    The other day I read about Jean-Pierre de Caussade and his 300-year-old book, The Sacrament of the Present Moment. I found it online and felt pleased that it was available to me. In his classic of spiritual guidance and enlightenment, Caussade encourages his readers to find each moment a holy sacrament. I have yet to read the book. It should arrive shortly. However, this review reminded me of my way of making the ordinary special and listening to God in the process.

    Sometimes I discover myself skipping over the important for the urgent, hurrying to accomplish large projects at the expense of the little things that make my life feel rewarding and complete, and pushing to get everything on my “to do” list finished before I relax. At the end of the day, I am tired, anxious, anything but satisfied, realizing that I somehow missed the elusive point. It takes time to recognize that much too often, in my hurry to accomplish the urgent goals, I justify overlooking the significance of the small, ordinary tasks by saying, “You can do that later.”

    But later doesn’t come, and the seemingly unimportant things, like refilling the soap dispensers, removing and rinsing out the vegetable and fruit drawers in the refrigerator before putting more into them. or straightening a cluttered drawer remain undone. I put these 5-minute-or-less tasks off until later—and later—until I awake one day and observe the unaddressed piling up around me— in every direction—and it gets me down.

    At this juncture I remember what to do. I sing an old hymn from my childhood: “Take Time to be Holy.” The song’s immediate effect? Relaxing and decelerating me. Now noticing what is right in front of me, I apply myself to each task presented. The second phrase of the hymn is, “Speak oft with thy Lord.” While focusing on the small but important tasks, I converse with Him about anything that comes to mind and needs to be addressed— from my own life purpose and spiritual awareness to the needs of others. Singing the old hymn while doing these little tasks becomes my leap to engagement with my emotional and spiritual life.

    God shows me that healing becomes available in the work of the moment. In slowing down I grasp that I have been hurrying in order to avoid engaging with myself and my creator. Perhaps a slight from a stranger or, worse yet, from someone close needs to be dealt with. Perhaps I need to confront a painful memory or loss that is fueling my hurried state. Details have been pushed aside in order to avoid a grief that is welling up inside of me. Hurrying in order to escape emotional issues enables me to trick myself into thinking that a hurt does not exist or an emotional/spiritual task need not be dealt with.

    So, I slow down, sing my self-instruction song, and find peace in dealing with whatever task is in front of me at the moment—physical, emotional or spiritual. In doing so, I find my sacrament in the ordinary while taking time to be holy, speaking with my Lord and giving Him the opportunity continue to make me whole.

  • No Charge!

    No Charge!

    “You get what you pay for.” I’ve heard that line many times over the years. We think that if we don’t pay a substantial price for something, it isn’t worth much. Sometimes there is truth in the saying. But who doesn’t love to hear, “No charge!” How does that work with the also old axiom, “The best things in life are free?” Well, it doesn’t really. But that’s okay.

    I don’t need to go far to find what I don’t pay for. My often-romantic husband will call me away from cooking, reading or watching television in order to take my hand, lead me outside, put his arm around my shoulder, and point to a full moon that is crisscrossed by my barren winter tree branches—or is peeking between leaves from my summer trees. Then he says, “Isn’t it beautiful?” No charge!

    When shopping or running errands, I will pass a person who smiles and nods his head—as if acknowledging an acquaintance. But he is not. I never met him before. It evokes a return smile from me and fills me with a positive outlook on my fellow man and a cared about feeling that impacts the rest of my day. No charge!

    On my morning walk, a breeze caresses my arm and causes green leaves in the trees to rustle, garnering my attention. I observe a neighbor’s daffodils catch that breeze in their yellow bonnets and give way—as if nodding to me. No charge!!

    There is nothing—nothing—like the smell of brewing coffee wafting all the way up the stairs and into our bedroom—and the.first taste of hot coffee in the morning is to die for. It’s even better when my husband makes it and brings it to me in bed. (I don’t think I’m going to let go of him.) No charge!

    On some snow-covered mornings I gaze out my window and notice a black bird perched on the top of a massive pine. Why is it there, and where is it going? I observe its mate fly over and land just a few branches lower, disturbing the snow and causing it to cascade to the next branch – and the next – until a vertical stripe of the tree is green again. The birds fly together to their next destination, leaving me with my questions. No charge!

    It is true that in the world of commerce you often get what you pay for. Even sales must be scrutinized to determine if inferior material is displayed in order to fool the public into purchasing—or that a sale price is the regular price for ten months of the year. But it is also true that the best things in life are free. And it is okay to hold both these concepts in one’s mind. But don’t forget to notice the “No charge!” These things bring contentment, evoke smiles, and keep our hearts warm in what can be a cold world.

  • The Gift of Christmas

    The Gift of Christmas

    Today, Christmas day, I am delighted to be sitting on my couch reading articles and getting ideas on baking and decorating for next Christmas from Victoria Magazine.  (Yes, I am a planner.) It is a peaceful morning with houseguests and husband snug in their beds.  This year the weather is not cooperating with my romantic ideal of at least two inches of snow.  However, the morning sun radiating through the window behind me is welcome.

    As a Christian, I celebrate Christmas from both a religious and secular perspective.  The house is filled with greenery, two trees, candles and many Santa Clauses.  On the hearth, an elf doll peddles a metal tricycle. On the piano is a white china nativity with each figure edged in gold.  The living room table holds a statue of Mary and Joseph kneeling, he with his arm around her and both holding the baby Jesus.  Unlike the gold-trimmed china nativity, this simple, brown statue expresses the humanity of Jesus and his ordinary life with his parents.

    One way I celebrate Jesus’ birth is by giving presents to my family and baked goods to friends and neighbors.  This is all well and good, but this year I felt a need to give a gift to Jesus. After all, it’s his birthday—not ours. Whether in a religious context or not, Christmas celebrates the birth of a carpenter who walked this earth for 33 years, cared deeply for the poor and disenfranchised, lived a life of sacrifice for others, and changed the world.  This is Jesus birthday party. What gift would be appropriate for his birthday?  Family and friends suggested a few organizations that help those in need.

    But I give to charities throughout the year.  I want to give something different—and special. Then, a few days ago, with thoughts of giving occupying my mind, it occurred to me that Jesus is the gift.  I need only to be a good receiver with a grateful heart–that is my gift to Him.  This thought put a different perspective on Christmas this year. It reminded me that giving to each other is not just an exercise in commerce-driven spending, but a passing on of the generosity that resonates with the original gift of Christmas.

  • It’s Simple, Really

    It’s Simple, Really

    The other day, I dropped in on my neighbor to deliver a plate of cookies. I love to bake cookies, cakes, brownies, pies, etc.  My granddaughters love to bake with me, and it affords quality time with them.  Sometimes, I bake before they come, and the house smells of chocolate, cinnamon or vanilla.  However, too many goodies in the house equal too much temptation to eat them.   So, in order to enjoy the creative process with my grandchildren and maintain my baker’s reputation but not partake in the results, I distribute to my neighbors whatever the grandkids don’t eat or take home.

    This week, after I dropped off some chocolate chip cookies, my neighbor invited me to stay a few minutes.  We shared a bit of time in her warm and welcoming home—one of my joys.  After questioning me about my next book, she stopped and said, “It must be difficult to spend so much time on a writing project—years even—and all the while never knowing whether it will prove to be a book, and if it does, whether anyone will want to read it.  I can’t imagine the perseverance involved.”

    I thought for a few minutes before addressing my neighbor’s statement. Perseverance is what keeps me at my desk when my muse is hiding herself from me, warm days draw me outside, or I’m sleep deprived.  She was asking what motivated the perseverance. I answered, “I don’t think too much about the end game when I’m at my desk.  The fact is, I relish the process, the day-to-day effort. Whether I get anything published, whether another person reads it and likes it, whether it takes years, are important issues, but they are not what keep me writing.  I love the writing journey, and what I write springs from that love.”

    Several times over the years, I’ve tried to produce a blog entitled Why I Write.  After I attempted to do so three or four times, each blogs ended up in my computer’s iconic trash bin.  I wrote for many reasons, and they blended together in such a way as to confuse me about motivation.  It never occurred to me to visualize myself at my desk and ask how I feel in the moment. 

    Instead, because I was abused as a small child if my mom caught me with pencil and paper, I decided that my writing sprang from a rebellious well.  I wanted the last word–always.  (Anyone who knows me knows just how stubborn I can be.)  But I knew that didn’t explain my persistence.  After all, I wasn’t always in a state of rebellion.

    Then, too, writing helped me process a difficult childhood–a saving grace.  It gave me direction.  It made my life richer, helped me sort out confusing situations, and enabled me to make healthier decisions that proved to be effective.  Writing is like a best friend who holds a mirror up to me and reflects who I am—my strengths and flaws.  Receiving this grace through writing is a tremendous gift; but then again, it didn’t always explain my persistence.

    At some point, I decided that being an author provided a source of identity. As a child, when I observed words that I wrote on a paper, it grounded me.  Loss of identity is a common occurrence with the abused child, and writing prevented that.  The term “I write—therefore I am” might apply here.  I considered that if I quit writing, I might disappear.  One seldom wants to disappear—yet identity, too, didn’t explain the perseverence.

    After years of sorting what didn’t need to be sorted, I concluded that I love creating through words on paper. I love the fact that I sit at my desk and two hours pass in what seems like 15 minutes.   I love that I get lost in creating, forgetting all my problems. For a few hours, I drift away to invented places with people I meet in my imagination.  How much fun is that?  I get to be a professional liar.  How much fun is THAT?

    When I explained this, my neighbor then understood why I keep writing, despite the uncertain results—and at last, so did I.   But despite my love of writing, from time to time I still must climb over a list of excuses like exhaustion, an unclear direction, fear of both failure and success, or lack of confidence.   For now, I’ve put them behind me and write every day.  However, most often between projects, they’ll pop up again.  Sometimes, driven by fear, they invade like a plague of locusts that need to be swept up and tossed out.

    After years of navel gazing, sorting through all the reasons that I continue to write, including stubbornness, grace received and identity, I discovered clarity about persistence by answering a neighbor’s question: It’s simple, really.  I write because I LOVE IT!

    Copyright: Laurel Jean Becker 10/24/2018

  • I’m confused

    I’m confused

    Were you wondering why Baby Boomers are the way they are? We received some very confusing messages from our parents. The good news is that I have never heard anyone in my generation who repeated these statements. Perhaps this will help you better understand the boomer generation:

                        I’m confused

    “I suppose you think you’re special, Lady Jane.”
    My name’s not Lady Jane.
    Of course I’m special!
    You always tell me that.
    So now I’m not special?
    I haven’t changed.
    And you’ve renamed me Lady Jane?
    It makes no sense.
    I’m confused.

    “I was not born yesterday, Mister (or Girlie).”
    What? No you weren’t.
    You’re really old –
                 much older than me.
    Which means you’re gonna die first, too.
    And what does that have to do with anything?
    I’m just saying I didn’t DO it.
    You make no sense.
    I’m confused.

    “This is gonna hurt me more than it hurts you.”
    No, it won’t!
    Do I get to spank your bottom?
    Are you going to yell or cry?
    Is your rear end going to sting?
    Will you be able to sit when this is over?
    I don’t THINK so.
    It makes no sense.
    I’m confused.

    “Don’t you make me pull this car over.”
    I can’t make you pull it over. You’re bigger, and
                besides, I’m not driving.
    I don’t know how.
    My feet can’t even reach the pedals.
    And I’m in the back seat, anyway.
    And why would I make you pull it over?
    You make no sense.
    I’m confused.

    “Close the door. Were you born in a barn?”
    Of course I wasn’t born in a barn.
    Why would you ask?
    Animals live in a barn.
    They couldn’t close the door if they wanted to.
    They’re too slow—and don’t have hands.
    I’m just in a hurry, and I forgot the door.
    That makes no sense.
    I’m confused.

    “You’ll understand when you have kids.”
    Do I have to wait that long?
    What the heck are you talking about?
    Anyway, I’m never gonna have kids.
    Maybe you just don’t want to explain it to me.
    I wonder. Do you even understand?
    Are you pretending you do?
    It makes no sense.
    I’m confused.

    “Money doesn’t grow on trees, you know.”
    I know that.
    Money never grows on trees, Apples and peaches do.
                 I love apples and peaches—but mostly peaches.
    And what does that have to do with a new bike?
    Bikes don’t grow on trees, either.
    Can we buy it or not?
    You didn’t answer
    It makes no sense.
    I’m confused.

    “We’re not laughing at you, we are laughing with you.”
    Yeah? Well, I’m not laughing,
          so who are you laughing with?
    Must be all these people
         who think they’re laughing with me, too.
    Besides, I don’t think it’s funny.
    I’m going in the family room.
         so I can be with kids who make sense.
    I’m confused.

    “I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed.”
    Really?
    Then why do you look so mad?
    Your face is crinkled and you’re staring at me
         like you do just before you spank my butt.
    And what is disappointed, anyway?
    I think you made that up.
    I don’t believe you.
    I’m confused.

    “Remember the starving Armenians.”
    Who are the Armenians?
    And why are they starving?
    There’s a grocery on every block
              with hot dogs and candy and cola.
    And how can I remember
            people I never met?
    It makes no sense.
    I’m confused.

    Besides, what do Armenians
    have to do with
    these terrible peas on my plate?

    Copyright: Laurel Jean Becker 9/19/18

  • Guidelines Toward Civility

    Guidelines Toward Civility

    For several days last week, television featured John McCain’s funeral. His passing saddened me because we lost a man willing to be present with, give emotional support to, and befriend many who did not agree with his politics.

    Over the years, I have witnessed coworkers, friends and families split over politics or social media posts. Remember, your relationship with friends and family must come first. Your senator, congressman or president will not be present at your dying moment—your friends and/or family will. McCain wasn’t the only senator or congressman willing to set aside politics for friendship, but there are too few—and not just in the political arena.

    We wound ourselves as individuals and as a nation by forgetting civil discourse in favor of bitterness, anger and division. Not a recent development, it is rather an insidious attitude that evolved gradually over the last 30 or more years and became a viral infection. It took a long time to get where we are, and it will take time and effort to reverse course. Everyone gives lip service to civility, but attitudes, discourse and defensive posturing continue to worsen.

    Given the environment, we’re all vulnerable to this type of behavior and thinking—I know I am. What might we do to heal the wounds between politicians, friends or family inflicted by constant conflict and partisan bickering? Although only one person who affects a small corner of the world, I wanted to do my part to keep from pouring salt into the nation’s wounds. I created guidelines for myself. Be assured that I am a work in progress on this. However, these standards helped me evaluate and improve my own attitudes:

    1. Never question motive. Most people function from mixed motives, and only God knows the heart. I have no business deciding or analyzing why people say or do anything. I’ve known people who acknowledged doing the right thing for the wrong motive, and vise versa.

    2. Practice kind assumptions. When people think or act opposite from the way I feel they should, I remind myself they are doing their best and thinking their best. We all come from different socioeconomic backgrounds, religious upbringings and work environments that influence our way of approaching life.

    3. Listen. This cannot include considering a rebuttal while another speaks. It does include concentrating on the speaker’s words and body language. By doing this, I will learn why others think as they do and get acquainted with them on a deeper level. Instead of judgment and critical attitudes, I can offer understanding and support.

    4. Censure what I watch on TV, read or listen to on radio. People make lots of money stirring the pot of conflict and anger. They are not interested in kindness or civility. They are not worthy of my time. I will find avenues for information that treat everyone with respect and can handle differences with grace.

    5. Last but not least, remember what we Baby Boomers were taught as children: “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say it!” That does not mean I muzzle myself on ideas or wrongdoings. Rather, I watch that I not gossip, call names or make negative statements about others. Engage the brain and weigh words before engaging the tongue. No matter the subject, this is good generational advice.

    The message of John McCain’s life and funeral is needed today. It was a timely reminder for me to continue to practice my five standards listed above. We need not all agree with John McCain’s policy positions in order to appreciate his attempts at civility and friendship. We need more like him.

    Copyright Laurel Jean Becker 9/1/18

  • One Small Branch

    One Small Branch

    Last week, with a bit of sadness, I glanced up at my ash tree to find one small branch with leaves that turned yellow—a portend of the fall and winter to come. The rest of the tree retained its green, viable appearance. While staring at that one branch, questions came to mind: With maybe 20-25 leaves, what about that branch caused it to turn yellow first? Perhaps that branch is weaker. Perhaps it gets less nourishment. Leaves change in the fall because chlorophyll breaks down. But why only one tiny branch? An arborist might be able to inform me.

    As I gazed at upward, it occurred to me that single branch is a symbol of my own aging process. I’m in the fall of my life and I have a lot of years left. But that little branch is also a reminder of my aging body beginning to break down—one part at a time. (This week, my knee hurting. Opps! There goes another part. 🙂 ) I am doing everything to keep the rest of my leaves as healthy as possible, not only to remain active, but to stave off that time when winter comes.

    In order to enjoy addressing my bucket list without a bucketload of work, I need to make my home and yard maintenance free by ridding myself of paraphernalia, retained for years, that may be useful to others. Those items that need to be kept in the family are being disseminated to children and eventually to grandchildren. Our wills and distribution of assets after we are gone have been addressed. Fact is, the more prepared to leave this world for the next, the happier I am while here.

    Some might consider ruminating about the coming winter to be a bit depressing. However, I’ve faced my own demise many times—the proverbial one foot on a banana peal and the other in the grave. So I will exercise, do my best with healthy foods, keep my mind as sharp as possible. If the Lord calls me home, I am spiritually prepared and will have done my best not to leave a material mess for my children to sort through. Having done this, I plan to use some part of each day to address those things on my “I’ve always wanted to do that” list (a smaller version of the bucket list) and spend as much quality time with friends and family as my schedule and theirs will allow.

    In others words, until the last leaf on my tree falls, I’m embracing joy.

    Copyright: Laurel Jean Becker 8/21/18

  • Cycling Uphill

    Cycling Uphill

    This spring, while taking my bicycle out for a first spin, my abundance of confidence led me to tackle a long hill. I’m older now, and the incline proved to be quite a challenge. Winded and tired, my body struggled. The farther I pedaled, the father away the top of the hill appeared. Discouraged, I took my eyes off the distance and focused on the ground just ahead of me, making a game of targeting small rocks, running over oil spots on the road, finding leaves and squashing as many as possible. Forced to face my out-of shape body, I at least took comfort in my good eye-hand-ground coordination.

    While focusing on the game, my speed increased and my legs gained strength. I thought this might be what is called a second wind; however, when I lifted my eyes to the distance, my legs again tired. I know, I know, this seems weird, but I swear it is what happened. I repeated this experiment several times that morning with the same result.

    After I returned home, this occurrence continued to engage my mind, which I believe was applying this bicycling experience as a metaphor for the rest of my life. I needed to keep my focus on the immediate road ahead and not on the distant, insurmountable hill.

    After having had three surgeries in a span of 15 months—with considerable recovery times—unaddressed projects had piled up. In an effort to organize, I decided to make a list: publishing work that is sitting in the bottom of my files, cleaning out the over-stuffed shed and gifting or throwing out the things I once thought important to keep, creating another book, addressing my finances and updating my filing, continuing my marketing of Tales from Weaver Pond, sorting books and donating to the Jefferson County Library, cleaning out the crawl space, planting and grooming my garden, etc., etc. The list elongated while I spent time recuperating. I knew I needed a system that would keep me from feeling overwhelmed, and, as a result, not getting any of them completed.

    Serendipitously, I had just read an article about an experiment conducted in 1918: the Ivy Lee Method, devised by Lee for Charles M. Schwab to encourage productivity in his company. Lee instructed each employee to make a list of six work priorities each day. No more than six were allowed. At the end of the day, they were to make the list for the next day—putting at the top any items they were not yet accomplished. If the employee completed four, he put the other two priorities on the next day’s list and added four more. As a result, company productivity increased exponentially.

    I determined to put what I learned on my bicycle about focusing on the immediate to a test in my daily life by using this formula. I listed only six reasonable priorities each day. Instead of putting an entire project on the list, I chose to work on each in limited time periods, i.e., ½ hour/day on the shed, garden or finances, etc. I also included some small items on the list. This was not a catalog of “to dos.” Rather, it was a limiting list. Throughout the day, whenever my mind led me down the dark path cluttered with huge projects and unreasonable deadlines, I reminded myself to focus only on those things on my daily list, forgetting about goals and focusing on the 6-point system. The self-talk helped and had to be repeated a few times each day.

    It worked! My energy no longer decreased by mid-morning. At the end of the day, I didn’t kick myself for not meeting a goal. Rather, I felt good about anything I took off my list and added the unaddressed priorities to the next day. Some days it worked better than others because of unexpected chaos. However, it helped me to let go of stress over what I did not have the time to do. I finished my gardening goals and to date have sorted through half of the shed. Randy is helping with this project, and we often stop, laugh and state, “Why did we ever think it necessary to keep THIS?” I’ve decided to work on the crawl space and books when winter weather prevents me from tackling the outdoor projects.

    I am ecstatic about how much I’ve accomplished so far this summer. That overwhelmed and discouraged feeling has left me, and I can see light at the end of my project tunnel. With the Ivy Lee Method and limiting time spent on a large project to ½ hour each day, I keep my eyes on the road ahead of me and off the metaphorical distant hill.

  • Prepare to be Unprepared

    Prepare to be Unprepared

    I am a planner. I like my world organized, taking time to anticipate and head off problems. I don’t think I overdo the planning thing–though some might disagree 😀. However, I found there is wisdom in preparing to be unprepared. I suspect some of you are impressive preparers—scheduling the course of a vacation to the last detail, positioning place cards for the perfect seating arrangement at a wedding or dinner party, mapping out a 5-year career plan, or deciding how to respond to a future success (or failure) ahead of time.

    To your surprise, on your well-planned vacation, your plane reroutes around bad weather, and you miss your first connection, throwing off your oh-so-perfect schedule. Or at your dinner party, one of your guests dislikes your seating arrangement and changes the place cards, putting you in the awkward social position of either changing the cards back or accepting, with a bit of resentment, this breach of etiquette. What happens when you find yourself walking out of your boss’s office in shock because your 5-year career path didn’t include the company making bad financial decisions, closing its doors and laying you off? Sometimes instead of the planned success of an endeavor, you get the opposite, i.e. a movie star, certain of an Oscar win, must tuck his acceptance speech back into his pocket and pretend to be happy for the other guy. This happened to me in reverse when I planned NOT to win the Author U award for best manuscript for my book, Tales from Weaver Pond. When my name was called, I stayed in my chair for a few minutes. Then I heard my name again, and while walking up to receive my award, I was sad because I’d already planned ahead for losing and couldn’t quickly get my emotions around winning. Really?

    With age, and hopefully some wisdom, I came to appreciate the idea of being prepared to be unprepared. Though not an extreme planner, I still find comfort and security in knowing where I’m going to be, what I’ll be doing, and how I’ll be doing it. This tends to reduce my apprehension. In the past, when my plans went awry, it elevated by 2x any anxiety I may have had by not planning. Since the odds of everything always going well are small, this was a breach of logic.

    But age has its advantages, and one is that, given enough time, we can figure out what works and what doesn’t work in our lives. I now prepare to be unprepared by keeping realistic expectations. Still somewhat of a planner, I take a philosophical approach by reminding myself that demolished plans often lead to unexpected pleasantries. Recently, on our way from Glenwood Springs back to Denver, my family turned around at Vail Pass, which was closed for bad weather. Instead of getting upset because we tripped back to Glenwood Springs and I missed a meeting, I noted it wasn’t a big deal and I’d experience more time with my granddaughters. That is always a blessing.

    Now in each attempt to prepare to be unprepared, I point out, Realistically, these plans may not work out just as I might like. If not, it’s meant to be and something good will come out of the changes. There are always silver linings when life alters my plans, though admittedly some are easier to find than others.

  • Falling Down the Rabbit Hole

    Falling Down the Rabbit Hole

    I’ve both blamed myself and I’ve been blamed by others for following my own white rabbit down many a rabbit hole, leaving me in a place of emotional and logical nonsense. Well, guilty as charged! But I know I’m not alone.

    The term rabbit hole originated with Lewis Carroll’s 1865 classic, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, in which Alice follows the White Rabbit into his burrow, which transports her to the nonsensical world of Wonderland. Over much of the 20th century, falling down the rabbit hole has been used to characterize irrational, magical and challenging experiences.

    The use of the term has evolved to take on other meanings. During the crazy 60’s, tripping down the rabbit hole referred to taking hallucinogenic drugs and exploring existential thinking. It is often used as a way of explaining the process of getting from Point A to Point B with no clear route (and often no recollection) as to how one got there. I often find myself in a mini version of this when I don’t know why or how I entered a room. I just stand motionless, like an empty-headed statue, trying to remember. This behavior can be a subset of the hallucinogenic tripping above—but not always.

    On the Internet, a rabbit hole refers to an engrossing and time-consuming topic. While doing legitimate research, I’ve acquired habits that are spectacularly addictive: scary stories, obscure conspiracy theories, or famous last meals. (I actually fell down the famous last meals one—typical of my tendency toward the dark side. 😀) When Facebook and Twitter first arrived on the scene, I spent too much time with them. However, they soon lost my attention and, while I still maintain them, I climbed out of that one.

    These days, the term rabbit hole is also showing increasing use as a modifier, e.g., a rabbit hole question or phenomenon. An example question might be something like, “We’re not having this for dinner, are we?”

    I have many rabbit holes. I love occasionally binge-watching a favorite TV show. Netflix and Amazon Prime make it easier to get addicted. Once, Randy and I made permanent sags in our couch while we binge-watched 24 with Kiefer Sutherland for 3 days running. “What are we doing here?” we asked. “Are we nuts?” Occasionally we questioned, “Don’t we have a life?” while we laughed at ourselves the whole time. However, we kept falling down that hole until Monday, when we had to go to work. Thank goodness this is only an occasional rabbit hole.

    When I want to avoid writing, I search for work to do around the house. The smell of PineSol and shine from lemon-oiled wood make me feel good about myself—and look good to others—while I am neglecting my responsibilities and my internal critic. In the winter months, the heat from my iron warms the hand that doesn’t want to write. Other ways to escape writing time (or anything else I might try to avoid) is by perusing emails, reading, playing games online, etc.

    Randy and I sometimes watch a good historical movie or program while I keep my over-heated computer on my lap in order to fact check the writers and point out when some small event or statement is historically incorrect. I LOVE this rabbit hole! I get to be a critical nerd and learn obscure trivia at the same time.

    Okay, most rabbit holes are not worth the time spent in them. But I’m particularly fond of mine, and it’s hard to let go. Some result in benefits, like cleaning house and ironing. As misery loves company, I hope I am not alone while sitting at the bottom of any one of my dark rabbit holes. Perhaps you can recommend some new ones.