While browsing the Internet Archive the other day, I came across a 12-minute film called A Visit to Santa. Usually, I love these old films (Kris and I spent a week this past summer digging through the good ones), but this? This is an abomination. See for yourself:
Are you in the Christmas spirit now, kids? Then sing it together: “Let’s give thanks to the Lord above ’cause Santa Claus comes tonight!”
There’s a light at the end of the tunnel, my friends. But before I reach the light, there’s still a bit of work to accomplish.
When I got out of bed and came downstairs this morning, the floor was cold. I opened the door to let the cats in, and the air outside was cold. I started run my bath, and the water was cold. “It’s that time of year,” I thought. “As soon as Thanksgiving has passed, as soon as we hit the first of December, the cold sets in.”
I think the same thing every year. In fact, as I soaked in the hot tub, I realized that I have a bunch of “weather rules-of-thumb” that I’ve developed after 40 years of living in and around Portland:
Okay, Oregonians. Which of these do you agree with? Can they be refined? What rules of thumb do you go by when considering the weather in your area?
None of our cats drinks water the same way. Simon prefers to drink from the toilet. Max likes to drink from the sink — and from the faucet, if it’s running. Nemo drinks from the “kitty fountain” we bought for the spoiled brats. So does Toto, but apparently she doesn’t know how to do it right. Every time she uses the fountain, she comes away with a wet head.
Despite her wet head, Toto has nothing on this cat, who may be the world’s most inefficient drinker:
That’s Kris’ favorite video lately. She can watch it over and over, laughing the whole time. She shows it to friends and family. I admit it’s funny stuff. But there are other cats who are goofy with water. For example, here’s a cat just hanging around in the bathtub:
Here’s a cat content to lounge in a sink full of water:
Here’s a cat in the shower!
And as a cat, what do you do when you’re done playing in the water? You have your human give you a blow-dry, of course:
Cats are so goofy…
Children of the seventies, I ask you: What could be better? Queen, muppets, HD. Just in time for Thanksgiving:
After this, nothing really matters to me…
I think I’ve figured out one reason writing this book is so tough for me. It’s because I’m wracked by self-doubt.
This self-doubt isn’t new. I’ve been struggling with it for years, and it’s just become more acute since I started Get Rich Slowly. I never set out to be a personal finance expert. In fact, I’m sort of the opposite of an expert. I’m an average guy who’s made a lot of mistakes. Sure, I’ve turned things around and that’s what I blog about, but I struggle with the idea that people expect me to know more than I do (or have more training than I do).
And so every day at Get Rich Slowly, I brace myself for failure. A part of me thinks, “This is the day. Today everyone will realize that I don’t know what I’m talking about, that I’m just a regular joe.” I wake up every morning expecting to find tons of negative comments about whatever it is I’ve written. (Or whatever my guest writers have written.)
For over three years — for over a thousand days — I’ve wrestled with daily doubt.
Kris has tried to talk some sense into me. So has Lauren, my wellness coach. “You don’t claim to be anything but a regular guy,” they say. “Nobody expects you to be an expert.”
Lauren tries to trace my thought process. “Did the blog collapse today? Yesterday? At any time over the past three years? Why should today be any different? How can you look at a thousand days of success and still expect to fail?”
I don’t know, but every day I do. I think that today will be the day that I fail.
“And if you do fail today, so what?” she asks.
Anyhow, the thousand days of doubt at the blog is one beast. I understand it. I know that it rears its ugly head every night before I go to bed, and that I tackle it head on every morning when I check to be sure everything’s okay. It’s a daily cycle — one that I know by heart.
But the book…the book takes this doubt and fear of failure to whole new levels. At least with the blog, I get immediate feedback. If I say something stupid, people let me know. If I stumble on something that resonates with readers, I can see it right away. I’m able to make constant course corrections. Not so with the book.
As I write it, my audience for the manuscript is small: Kris, my editor, two tech reviewers, and occasional folk that I let read a chapter for whatever reason. This is a tiny tiny sample size. And they’re looking at work I did days or weeks (or months!) ago. I have no chance to make course corrections.
And so every day I sit down to write the book, I drown in doubt:
It’s true that I’m proud of a few chapters (happiness, which required a lot of research; debt, which summarizes my philosophy on the subject and contains lots of useful resources; income, which came out much better than I’d planned), but I also loathe a few, as well (frugality, which is so damn big!; banking, which started fine, but which seems incoherent to me now).
Every day, my stomach is tied in knots as I start to write. Will I do this subject justice? Have I included enough useful tips for the readers? There’s so much to cover — what if I leave out the wrong stuff?
In the end, I have to trust my editor. She’s been awesome so far, and she provides an excellent sounding board. She puts up with my neurotic angst (as does Kris, who is earning a million wife points through this whole process). And I have to admit to myself:
I’m doing the best I can considering the circumstances.
What more could I possibly do? If my best isn’t good enough, there’s nothing that can be done, right? So, if I’m doing my best, why worry? But I know that tomorrow I’ll wake again filled with doubt.
True to my word, I’m here to bring you another story of animal intelligence. Lisa sent me a story of animal semi-intelligence yesterday, but this one’s more what I have in mind when I think of the subject. It’s all about a National Geographic photographer coming face-to-face with a deadly predator:
I love stories about inter-species communication, and there’s no doubt that’s what’s occurring here. The best part, though, is when other animals consider humans the stupid ones.
So, I suspect most of you have already seen this fun YouTube clip of the ninja cat who seems to move without moving (if you get my drift):
Well, here’s a follow-up that shows the same cat’s ninja secrets:
It’s been a while since I gave an update on my own feline companions. Let’s examine each in turn:
Simon has become a mellow lug. He’s about seven now, and though he still enjoys Outside, he’d almost prefer to stay in most days. He’s quite fond the clothes basket. In fact, Kris has created a basket of clothes just for Simon. She even washes them once they get too furry. Simon loves cereal milk. That cat is spoiled.
Max, however, is convinced that he’s meant to live Outside. He comes in to say “hello”, but then he wants right back out. He even stays out many nights. I’m paranoid that he’s going to get run over. We have a very low traffic street, but Max takes unnecessary risks. He doesn’t look before crossing — which he does often — but just darts across. Max loves human food of all sorts. That cat is spoiled.
I used to think Nemo was lame. In fact, I still think he’s pretty lame. But I’ve decided that I’m underestimating him. He’s a much better hunter than I give him credit for, that’s for sure. He’s kind of a jerk, too, though. For whatever reason, he’s decided that the best thing in the world is to beat up Max. We came down one morning last week to discover tufts of grey fur floating around the floor. But Nemo’s favorite thing is to curl in Kris’ lap while she watches Edwardian costume dramas. That cat is spoiled.
Toto is basically a giant hairball. She licks herself constantly, which she has to do because she’s always shedding. I’m surprised she has any fur left. She spends most of her day on the bed when we let her, which isn’t often because she throws up a hairball once or twice a week. Toto’s favorite thing in the whole world are the three “greenies” cat snacks that Kris gives her before bed every night. Then we turn out the lights and she cuddles up between us, purring like crazy. That cat is spoiled.
And that, my friends, is all the cat news I can spare. Now I need to get back to writing my book!
Once upon a time, not so long ago, there was a lazy young man who did a whole lot of nothing. And loved it. He did as little work as possible, and spent his free time doing even less.
Then one day that young man grew up to find that he actually enjoyed doing some kinds of work. So he worked. And then he worked some more. In time he found that he was no longer lazy, but something of a workaholic. In fact, at times he didn’t know how to relax.
That young man is me, of course. After experiencing both ends of the spectrum, I’m pleased to report that after 40+ years of life, I’ve finally come to appreciate balance. That doesn’t help me much right now, though. At the moment, I’m in one of the most intense work periods of my life!
All I can say is that I’m grateful for how understanding Kris has been over the past month. She’s essentially resigned herself to the fact that I eat, breathe, and sleep The Book. I do my best to take a day or two off every week, but even then I’m not really In the Moment. I’m thinking about The Book. And when I’m actually working? Well, I got up at 5:30 this morning, thought about The Book for an hour or so, was at my office writing by 7am, and now it’s 9pm and I’m heading home.
The sad thing is that despite this mad level of productivity, I’m unsatisfied with what I’ve produced. Kris and Michael tell me it’s good, but I’m not convinced. I wish I had a month for each chapter, not a week. I don’t feel it’s possible to produce quality at this pace.
Still, I’m doing the best I can. And my editor is great. I have to put my faith in her, trusting that she won’t steer me wrong.
Mostly, though, I keep reminding myself that this will be all done by New Year. When it’s over, I’ll be able to return to that life of balance once again: walking, reading, writing, and spending time with friends.
Sounds wonderful.
Wow. According to the YouTube page, this is “yet another lost video that used to frequently be aired on Pittsfield Cable Access TV in the late 80s/early 90s”.
