For Lily

I am a 60-year-old hippie-artist—in a casual relationship with discipline.

Running a high quality, custom jewelry business for 40 years in the small, rural state of Vermont is challenging, meaningful—and rich in personal freedom. Fortunately, my husband Bill has managed our finances so well, that weeks before Covid-19 rattled the world, we achieved a financial goal of zero debt.

But our business, like everyone else's, took a major hit during the pandemic as engagement and wedding ring dreams took a backseat to the crisis—understandably so. As it felt indecent to do otherwise, I did not send out a single advertisement, email campaign, or social media post from March through May—and watched our biggest sales season slip by—silently.

During these unprecedented months, my subconscious voice, (I call it my wild voice), quietly repeated the word ‘Column’, day after day. Unsure of the meaning at first, I trust this inner advisor, and soon realized I was being shown an important path forward—a path I had been searching for for so long. For nearly 10 years I had been trying to write the book Funology, but it proved to be overwhelming, boring— and just too hard.

But now I had something I had not had before—time. Time, normally used to run our business. So I took a bit of time to consider my assets—what did I already have to help me reach the goal of writing and sharing ‘Funology’?

• A bit of writing/self-publishing experience (2 tiny books).

• Creativity.

• Bullseye determination.

• Pen and paper.

What did I need to accomplish this goal?

• Self Discipline. 

As a 36 year ‘disciple’ of Funology (my lifestyle methodology), I knew that simply telling myself I should be disciplined—would not work. This standard approach to behavioral change had never worked for me since it lacked my personal ‘Trifecta of Motivation’—Adventure-Outdoors-Movement. 

When considering any personal challenge (in this case, gaining enough discipline to write a book (one column at a time), I knew a sustainable solution would be found— experientially. So, I took a job as an attendant at a State Park. The first 40 hours a week job I’ve ever had, and one that typically attracts high school and college students during summer break. Nonetheless, I was outdoors and moving—with a daily schedule to adhere to, so I viewed the job as getting paid to take a class in discipline.

I lasted 5 days.

The first day I realized that an 8-hour shift—is 4 hours too long. The morning flew by pleasantly but by lunchtime, I was ready to get on my scooter—and jet. Each day I embraced the newfound discipline of preparing for work and enjoyed the youthful, positive energy of the crew and leaders, and hearing their college and career dreams as we cleaned the bathrooms, swept cobwebs, raked campsites, and shoveled ash from the fire pits. 

But the state-mandated, Covid-19 cleaning protocol meant each 8-hour shift was spent mostly deep cleaning the bathrooms, showers, grills, and all touchpoints with multiple spray chemicals that did not pair well with a brewing lung infection that worsened with each shift. After 5 days of trying to find a workaround to save my lungs, the crew leaders and I realized I could not safely continue, and sadly, I handed in my navy green t-shirt at week's end.

But in those 5 days—I got what I needed.

Experiencing the routines of a job, I felt a subtle shift in my relationship with discipline, and taking advantage of it, began a new ritual. Rising at 6 am, I putzed around the house and yard until 7 am, then set a timer for 1 hour—and 1 minute. Walking straight to my computer, I sat down—and wrote. When the timer went off, I pushed my chair back and walked away.

I had gained the perfect amount of discipline I needed—1 hour’s worth. This daily ritual is delightfully short, pleasant, and productive, in other words—sustainable. Funology!

Joining in, Bill now works on our deadly boring taxes and accounting—1 easy hour at a time. We both love the mental roominess—where all the shoulds, have to’s and procrastination used to live. Why the extra 1 minute on the timer?

Our commute time—both ways