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“2010th” is what my 4-year-old daughter calls the new year, so I hope that clarifies the title for you. Are you with me?

This year, contrary to resolution advice from the experts, I’m aiming too high. Rather than pinpointing a specific, achievable goal (“Whittle down the number of pasta dishes I eat per week to 2.5″), I’m using this resolution to try to bring order to a jumble of ideas that have been rattling around in my brain for most of last year. I can justify aiming too high by turning to other experts who say that being guided by an internal raison d’etre will help you stick to a resolution. So I’m listening to those experts.

201059212_15946166bfFor 2010th, I want to make a resolution about something that will make my life saner and more organized: alignment. I want alignment. I know that sounds like a really vague resolution, but think of it as a “thematic” approach to the year, like the Year of Living Dangerously or the Year of Flossing. This year will be the Year of Alignment. And I’ll spend the next few months figuring out how to do it.

Here’s what I know so far: Alignment means gathering up all my skills and passions and actual labor (writing, currently), and having them all move in lockstep toward the same vision. Maybe not everything can move in lockstep. I mean, I’m not completely naive about this. Nobody’s life fits together like a tidy puzzle, even if it looks that way from the outside.

I suppose what I want is to align what I do with what I care about. I want for who I am to dictate what I do, and the other way around. As it is, I move from one disparate activity to the next throughout the day — altering myself to match each task — rather than working toward one big idea. It may partly be a function of freelancing — I’m a hired gun who absolutely must bend and change in order to succeed. But I know that not all freelancers are working this way. (I’ll tell you about one of them later.)

Maybe this is a better way to describe it: It’s like I’m navigating a day using five different maps. Each day I take the necessary steps to successfully reach five different points on the five different maps. I always get there, wherever “there” is, but it seems likely that the maps are leading me to points on entirely different continents, and that some of those continents are a really bad choice for me, like maybe one or two of them are Antarctica.

A 9 a.m. to 3 p.m. work day for me might look like this: write a story about sugar silos, peruse communications listings on SimplyHired, scan newspapers for B2B newsletter fodder, write a grant application for my daughters’ school garden, research summer camps, dash off email to friends to see if anyone has a parenting anecdote I can use for a monthly parenting column, work with a classroom in the school garden, buy eight bags of topsoil, process emails to keep projects and my social life moving forward.

(For proof of my scattered life, look no further than this blog, which jumps from posts about being gracious on Twitter to one about catching a mouse.)

Does that sound crazy? Let me tell you, it feels crazy. For half of those tasks, I’m using my skills as a writer to do work I get paid for. The other half are things I do because I think they’re incredibly important to do, even if I don’t get paid for them and even if they cut into the time I should be spending on work-for-pay. The first half revolve around the business world. The other half revolve around outdoor education and food justice.

I could tell you that the common thread between the two camps is that I’m using my communication and organizational skills to be successful at whatever I tackle. But the truth is that I don’t feel any sense of commonality, not on the average day. These two forces are fighting for my time and focus, which are limited.

I know this: If I’m going to be good — really good — at something, I need to put in a lot of time doing that thing. In Outliers, Malcolm Gladwell says that to shine, you need to put in 10,000 hours honing your skill. Of course, I want to be really good at something. I also want that something to reflect who I am. To put in 10,000 hours, I will have to pick and choose, rather than jumping from one disparate activity to the next indefinitely. I’ll need align my work and the rest of my life.

Two initial steps I’ll need to take, as I muddle through this Year of Alignment:

1. I’ll try to discover my true voice. You could also call this authenticity, which everybody seems to want, whether they’re a CEO or a free agent. The idea here is that when you speak, people recognize your voice. Other people grow to expect a certain sort of expertise from you. They also know they can believe you, because you’re being authentic and because you’ve now established yourself as a bit of an expert.

Any successful blog has a focus, and there’s a reason for that: People are drawn to a strong, consistent voice. And that happens in real life, too.

After eight years of researching and writing about dozens of topics, I’m not sure where my voice is anymore.

2. I’ll doggedly follow my interests, even if I don’t get paid. Take my fabulous friend Tish, who writes a blog called A Femme d’un Certain Age and who first taught me how not to look like an idiot. A long-time fashion writer, an ardent lover of and resident of Paris, and a “femme d’un certain age” herself, she has merged her passions in a blog. Rare is the person who gets rich penning a blog, of course, but such things can and do lead to other professional opportunities, which has been the case for Tish. Remember the freelancer I mentioned earlier? The one working toward one big idea? This is the one. And I’ll also say this: The fact that Tish writes about something she’s passionate about — you can hear it in her smart, tart voice, can’t you? — makes the internets a better place.

Another acquaintance of mine, Mark, who is a communications/marketing guy, works for a local coffee-bean roaster. He also donates significant time as a volunteer to the local Slow Food convivium, writing their newsletter, organizing and promoting events, etc. — the perfect blend of expertise and passion. That’s beautiful, alignment-wise.

Back to my point, though: If you start a work/life alignment exercise by thinking about whether something’s going to be lucrative, you might not start the exercise at all.

So my challenge for the moment is to forget about getting paid, and think about what I’m interested in. Because to follow your interests, you first need to figure out what those interests are. Does that sound silly? Like you wouldn’t know what your own interests are — ha! And yet people sidestep their interests all the time and choose to do something else. As Gretchen Rubin of The Happiness Project says, “You can choose what you do, but you can’t choose what you like to do.”

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Only three more weeks until my daughters go back to school and my work schedule returns to normal. Maybe then I’ll finally get back to blogging with regularity.

In the meantime, here’s a little something I just wrote for Sesame Street (sign up for the newsletter here) about a play date gone bad:

friends foreverIt’s not exactly a walk in the park

A play date between 4 year olds is like a stroll through a booby-trapped park. The two could be skipping along, all unicorns and rainbows, when suddenly they take a sharp turn into troublesome territory because one of them isn’t sharing, or someone’s feelings are hurt, or someone is suddenly in the mood to be alone for no apparent reason.

It shouldn’t be surprising, really. Even adults sometimes have trouble getting along, hurt each other’s feelings, or need solitude. Only we’re not as blunt as 4 year olds.

Yesterday was a perfect example. For days, my 4-year-old daughter Phoebe had been looking forward to a playdate with one of her favorite friends, Renn. Shortly after arriving at the park, the girls began a pretend game involving two girl pirates and a bear. Within moments, Phoebe and Renn ran smack-dab into conflict.

Pirate Phoebe wanted the pretend bear to be the sort of bear who can’t climb. She was tired, and wanted to scale the play structure to be safe from the bear. Pirate Renn, on the other hand, wanted the bear to scramble up after them, so the girls would have to keep climbing and outfox the furry beast. Neither would budge.

Words were exchanged. Feelings were hurt. And the game came to a standstill.

With lips quivering, all that my tired and sweaty daughter could say was, “I’m feeling a little homesick. I want to go home.” What had started as a long-awaited play date came to an abrupt end.

Learning to work it out

Working out a problem can be tough for anyone, but especially for young children who have less experience. Conflict resolution takes two — two kids willing to listen, share, cooperate, or do whatever it takes to resolve the problem, and at least one adult encouraging their problem solving.

Yesterday morning, Phoebe wasn’t willing to do what it took. I could tell she was overtired and wounded. So, rather than put on my mediator hat, I opted to haul my exhausted daughter home. I fell over myself apologizing to the Renn’s mom, promising we’d try to do it again, all the while wondering whether I came across as a wimpy, indulgent parent and whether the girls’ friendship may have lost some of its sheen.

Later, I asked Phoebe some questions about what had happened at the park: “How do you think you might have solved the problem with Renn?” “What could you say to Renn next time you can’t agree on how to play a game?”

Then I boosted her confidence: “Do you remember when you were little (like, last year) and you didn’t even know how to share toys with your friends? And look at you now — you know all about taking turns. That’s because you’re growing up, and you understand more about how to be a good friend.”

Phoebe perked up and said, “Maybe next time I could say, ‘Let’s work it out! How about we play pirates and zebra instead? I’ll be the zebra.’”

Her face lit up into a big smile. It was the perfect solution.

Through thick and thin

Later that night, feeling bad about the problem left unfixed at the park, I decided to check in with Renn’s mom. After leaving the park, they had gone home and talked about the incident over some macaroni and cheese.

She reported that Renn was sad, but not just because she and Phoebe had argued. The incident had triggered deeper worries in her daughter, about the next school year and whether her new friends would want to play the same kind of games she likes to play.

As for her friendship with Phoebe, it was as sparkly and untarnished as ever. As Renn said, “I just don’t think Phoebe and I were in the same place today. But we’re still very good friends.”

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My 4-year-old daughter Phoebe came home from her kiddie-gymnastics class yesterday with body language that was screaming “exhaustion.” She practically stumbled into the house, eyelids heavy as frying pans.

bopIf she were still taking midday naps, now would have been the perfect time for one. Except that she doesn’t nap anymore. Instead, Phoebe just keeps going, even when she’s worn out and frazzled. And when she’s particularly tired, as she was yesterday, she only wants one thing: her pacifier (aka “boppy”).

I’m embarrassed to tell you about this. I never imagined myself as a parent who would allow her 4 year old to use a pacifier. But here I am, finding it nearly impossible to take away my daughter’s most beloved possession.

Part of me believes it’s long overdue. She’s not a toddler anymore, and all of her peers who once had pacifiers have long given them up. Some of Phoebe’s preschool friends have shifted their attachment away from a pacifier to a new beloved object. One kid we know gave up his pacifier but now wears a cape everywhere.

Another part of me still isn’t ready to take away my daughter’s self-soother, because it does an amazing job when she’s sad or needs to collect herself. I just keep hoping that she’ll gradually lose interest. I once read that kids with an unwanted behavior, like pacifier-sucking habit, usually give it up on their own by age 5, even if you do nothing.

So far, Phoebe hasn’t lost even a smidge of interest in boppy. She loves, I mean, really loves it. Sometimes I think that if her pacifier could warm up macaroni and cheese in the microwave, Phoebe would have no use for me at all.

I may be dragging my feet on eliminating the pacifier, but it’s certainly not for lack of suggested tactics. My wise mom friends have lots of ideas and strategies.

Here are five of their cold-turkey tactics:

  • Donate. Encourage child to donate his pacifier to new babies who need them. Of course, you’re not really donating your skanky, old pacifiers to nice, new babies. But your child can believe he’s doing a good deed by making a gift of his pacifiers. They can be left under a pillow at night for the Pacifier Fairy to magically retrieve or given to the family dentist.
  • Off With Their Heads. Cut off the tip of the pacifier. Without suction, pacifiers are frustratingly non-suckable.
  • Bribery. My brother- and sister-in-law promised their 3-year-old daughter a fabulous dress-up dress to reward her for giving up her pacifier. That was all the incentive she needed.
  • Oops! I forgot the pacifier. Leave town for a vacation and “accidentally” forget the pacifiers. This is Matt’s idea. I’m not sure how I feel about it. The only thing worse than being at home when your kid is wailing inconsolably at night because she’s going through pacifier withdrawal is being on vacation when it happens.

In the meantime, my husband and I have done what our dentist advises us to do: begin weaning Phoebe off her “boppy.” (Our dentist tells us that Phoebe’s bone structure makes her a prime candidate for braces, regardless of how long she sucks on her pacifier. Is that good news or bad news? I’m not sure.)

So we’ve laid down a rule at home: We’ve told Phoebe that she’s only to have her bop at bedtime. She’s allowed to get it once she’s wearing her pajamas. Before we made the rule, Phoebe would pop her boppy in her mouth throughout the day.

And I’m looking at the calendar to set a date for giving up the bop. I want things to go as smoothly as possible, so I’m aiming for a perfectly ordinary week, when no one has the flu or a new schedule. Mid-summer is looking good.

I’m ready. But is Phoebe? Doubtful.

(Note: This is something I wrote for Sesame Street’s parenting newsletter, which comes out today. I’ve deleted some paragraphs and made a few embellishments. Sign up for the Sesame Street newsletter here.)

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