A less intimidating approach to journaling
This is my second hand-made journal. The first was the October journal - 10 pages folded in half to make 40 pages. At least one page for every day of the month.

I decided to create my own journal book because big, blank journal books are intimidating. So many pages to fill compounded with the idea that the pages should look good, my handwriting should be at it's best, and what I write should matter.

But I've discovered those things don't matter. With a small, monthly journal, the pressure is off.

Why have a journal?
My goal is to write once a day. To mull over what I'm trying to get done, how it's going, and what I need to do next. To ask questions of myself. Writing helps me work through the tough stuff, make sense of what's baffling, and record my progress...and success. However small.

And I get to create a new cover design each month.

Steady progress
In the front of last month's journal I wrote two goals for the month. To finish my letter writing book and a book about birds and birding.

I accomplished the first. Still working on the second.

To be honest, I forgot that I wrote my goals in the front of the book. When I flipped through the book at the end of the month, it caught me by surprise. The other thing that caught me by surprise was that I wasn't disappointed that I hadn't completed both.

I'm thrilled that I completed my first goal (I'm waiting for the final proof of A Snail Mail Guide to Cursive Writing Practice to arrive in the mail today), and I'm working on the second.

The second book is underway, but far from complete. I think the reason I felt okay about it all was that I've been working on it. Making steady progress. 

It's hard to know exactly how long it will take, but I do want to push myself and try to finish it by the end of the month.

What I'm discovering, though, is that working toward something is just as important as finishing it by a certain date. The work is the reward. It makes me feel productive, engaged, and ... just better.

And that's why I wrote, "Just the beginning..." on the cover of this month's journal. Because after I finish the birds and birding book, I've got another idea, and another. And that means beginning ... all over again.

Every day is the beginning of something. Maybe it's because something ended yesterday, maybe it's because we discover a new approach, trick, or method, and we're starting in a new direction.

The key is to keep going. Plugging away at things. It's amazing what can get done.

Every day we begin. We can toss aside a bad habit or distraction and focus on something we deem more important. Or not.

If it doesn't work today because you're tired, or not feeling well, or someone needs something you can't put off, you can begin again tomorrow.

It's up to us to do what we tell ourselves we're going to do. Because in the end that's what matters most. I don't want to disappoint anyone ... but most of all, I don't want to disappoint myself.

What are you beginning?

Yesterday I became the reluctant fixer when the hose on the back of the dryer disconnected. I couldn’t get it reconnected and it started a string of lefty-loosey, righty-tighty missteps, YouTube videos, and a trip to the hardware store where a patient and far-more knowledgeable expert put and end to my cycle of frustration.

Are you handy?

Most of the time I would say I am. But truth be told, it depends when you ask.

Yesterday when I was in the middle of trying to attach that hose, I would have answered with a resounding no. Today, basking in the satisfaction of a job well-done (well, done anyway), I’m more likely to say yes.

It’s a truth most of us can relate to. Doing something for the first time comes with unique challenges:

• lack of know-how and experience
  
• tools
• patience, and
• persistence

The key of course of course is pushing through.

Though I wanted to give up, and nearly did, I knew it wasn’t an impossible task. Connecting a vent hose requires minimal tools and supplies ... there’s no rewiring of electricity or other element involved that would best be left to a professional. But I couldn't do it alone.

It took seven YouTube videos, two hours of trial and error, and two trips to two different hardware stores before I figured out what was missing and found what I needed:

A missing element and some guidance.

It also meant letting go. Of a quick fix, of all I had planned for the morning, of perfection, and frustration.

Though I won’t been installing dryer vent hoses on a regular basis, it’s a good, and constant, reminder that while there can be a quick fix here and there, it’s not the rule.

We’re better served, it seems, to recognize things will take more time and effort than expected. That frustration is part of the deal, and a little help from an expert goes a long way.

That even though what we’re trying to accomplish may not always be easy or fun, what we’re left is increased confidence, a bit more know-how, and a deep sigh of satisfaction.

Is it time to shuffle off?
I started tap dance lessons last fall, and I’m not sure I want to continue. I do love the shoes, but the lessons? I'm frustrated. The decision now is, how do I move forward? Will I move forward?

Starting a new hobby is an exciting adventure. But it can also be rife with doubt, confusion, and questions.

• What does it cost to get started?
• Are you willing (or able) to make the investment?
• Can (and will) you commit the time it will take to master, create, or perform whatever it is?

And what about that learning curve? Is it relatively low? If it’s steep, will you be able to push through the frustration of being a beginner?

I never dreamed of being a tap dancer, so I was surprised when the listing for “Tap Dance: Beginner” caught my eye. The schedule was good (Saturday mornings from 10:00 - 11:00), and the price was reasonable: $12/lesson for drop-in, less if you sign up for the full eight week session. And shoes. Prices start at $25, though for beginners in the class I was starting, smooth-soled shoes are acceptable.

But I wanted the shoes.

It took three orders on Amazon to get a pair that fit properly and I was ready.

I was dizzy after the first class, excited after the second, and felt doubt creeping in after the third. The fourth was the best. We learned some new steps and the routine at the end brought things together nicely. I felt like I was starting to get it.

And then there was the fifth class.

We start each class with warm-up exercises, a review of steps we’ve already learned, and the introduction of new steps. The second half hour is when it all comes together in a short routine. Or should.

It was tough. The routine was too complex for this beginner. I couldn’t remember the order of the steps, I missed the beat (more than once), and found myself making simple steps just to stay in line with the other dancers. I was discouraged.

And the next class wasn’t much better. Or the next.

So I'm asking myself, "Is tap dance right for me?" I don’t know.

What I do know is that I'm not alone. Starting a new hobby can be frustrating. When things get tough, do we stick it out, or let it go?

The answer, I think, can only be found by asking ourselves the right questions.

Questions like:
Do you have the right tools?
The right teacher?
Have you done the prep or practice that’s required to improve?
Do you care about this enough to keep going?
Is there something else you’d rather be doing?
Is it worth another try?

Is tap dance for me? I don’t know.

I'm trying to answer the questions honestly. Am I practicing enough between classes? No. Is it worth another try? Yes.

I'm not sure if I'm in the right class, so I’ve decided to look for another. I’m also looking at online lessons to boost my practice because I’m not ready to give up.

I really like the shoes.