Optimization run amok

How I learned to love things outside of their borders

I love optimizing for efficiency. One of my greatest pleasures as a professional writer is to reorganize and remove words. I try to anticipate what the reader is looking for, provide the clearest path, and delete any fluff. 

I also experiment with physical objects. 

Our house — 1250 square feet — is small by today’s standards in the US, but we made it work for our family of four. Yes, we built an attached screened-in porch. See Bun’s condo. And turned our garage into a studio. Still, our house proper has the same footprint today as our move-in date in 1991. Because of its size, I often experiment with the placement of our belongings to find the perfect flow. 

I can see all of my t-shirts when I open the drawer

My system has evolved over the years to:

• Everything has a home 

• There aren’t any duplicates

• Horizontal surfaces are mainly clear

• I routinely consider objects for their continued value

I’m not a minimalist, though, and don’t insist that every object has a purpose.

Still, I love to tinker to find efficiency. Do I lean on efficiency too much?

Once, years ago I saw a therapist who remarked how I hadn’t talked about the friends in my life. At that time my identity was all wife, mother, employee. I was so busy! It was obvious to me then that I didn’t have time for a big social life that was mine alone.

I was kind of peeved with the therapist at first and then reflected that while prioritizing family and career was not a bad path, it was limiting. So I started to reacquaint myself with my friends. Schedules were chaotic, but I saw that my friend connections were more important to me than being efficient with my time. 

This brings me to my cancer odyssey today and the outsized role family and friends have played in my recovery. The world of medicine probably saved my life this year, and I do not discount that. Human connections lifted me up in ways equally important. Some of the many ways family and friends have cared for me:

• Conversations — on our porch, on walks, over video/phone, on chat

• Soup, including an emergency delivery of chicken soup from The Soup Peddler

• Soft things, including a fuzzy blanket, a hoodie, and a fake Bun

• Reading material, including novels, reference books, trashy magazines (useful for the infusion room), and parables

• Tacos, casseroles, curated bread & cheese

• Lunch and dinner out on the town

• Emergency Advil

• Flowers

• Lotions

• Beverages

• Cards

• Notepads (useful for recording my questions before doctor visits and the conversations during the visit)

• Prayers

It’s not easy for me to reach out for help. One time a visiting friend asked me what I needed. It was early days post surgeries and I was a puddle of pain. What I really wanted was to reset a stone path and I knew I couldn’t, shouldn’t be messing with that. So I asked my friend if that was in her wheelhouse. She went on to organize the effort, bringing together two talented designers to complete the work. The aesthetic of that path is amazing. 

Physical contact is also important to me. One of many challenges for me during the pandemic was my not being comfortable hugging people. I’m still cautious about breathing in a lot of crowded air, but I value a physical connection when possible. I tend to hug people these days. 

A memory of mine about the power of physical contact was during a bad night in the ICU after my second surgery. This was the easy surgery because it was just a laparotomy. Except that I was nowhere near recovered from the first surgery. I awoke in the middle of the night and pressed the button. I asked the nurse to help me sit up on the edge of the bed. She helped me up and then without a word, she started to rub my back. This evoked a strong memory of how my mother cared for me. I so appreciated this show of care from the nurse.  

I’m glad I moved on from my ultra efficient ways. It’s given me the opportunity to connect and reconnect with people. The time and space to be able to say I love you. 

Celebrating my one-year anniversary of the ER visit in 2021 with my best friend, Chris