I have recently discovered the secret of how to get me to accomplish tasks that I do not want to do. And I must say that as a psychologist I am not proud of what I found out!! If I need to clean out a closet, just give me a task that I want to do even less, like cleaning the oven. When faced with a deadline on a difficult task, I end up engaging in activities that while needing to get done, are not a priority. I admit it I am a PROCRASTINATOR! Why is it that as a deadline approaches, I sometimes find myself organizing my desk or cleaning a file cabinet, rather than focusing on my writing that is my “priority”? I delude myself by thinking that these diversions are important tasks to accomplish as well, but why now?

PROCRASTINATION

Most of us engage in some form of procrastination, at least occasionally, and some of us are “pros.” The reasons for procrastination are many, but it is important to note that procrastination can costs us lots of money, time and emotional energy we could be using for better purposes. So, as we begin this New Year, let us take a few minutes to see how procrastination affects us and as we increase our awareness of this problem, we can decrease its cost to us.

SIGNS OF PROCRASTINATION

The most common form of procrastination is waiting until the last minute to do something. However, there are other signs that may not be so obvious. These include getting sick when facing an unpleasant task, being hesitant to try something new, avoiding decisions or confrontations, blaming others or the situation for your unhappiness, or being “too busy” to get tasks accomplished. Procrastination can lead to feelings of guilt, inadequacy, depression and self-doubt. It has a high potential for painful consequences.

CAUSES OF PROCRASTINATION

The root causes of procrastination can be overt or fairly complex. There are many causes; however, an overlying cause is fear. Each procrastinator responds to their own constellation and interpretation of their fears. Procrastination serves as an escape, albeit a temporary one, from doing unpleasant or threatening things.

The dynamics of putting off an important task can vary from individual to individual and from task to task for the same person. Do any of these sound familiar?

•The task does not hold interest for you
•Shortening the time you actually have to work on the task
•Evaluation anxiety (concern about others’ responses to your work)
•Fear of failure (not trying is a form of failure, but not as painful as actually trying and failing)
•Lack of information needed to complete the task
•The task seems overwhelming or unmanageable

WAYS TO DECREASE PROCRASTINATION

If we consider the idea that the basic issue is not “procrastination” per se, but rather procrastination is our response to perceived fears, then our path to a cure becomes more sharply focused. Addressing irrational beliefs, underlying fears and poor attitudes will provide an important place to start taming our problem. Listen to your own self-talk and come up with productive, helpful ideas to replace the critical, counterproductive ones. You can also try:

•The “30 minute plan”—Work on an unpleasant task for 30 minutes and then see if you want to continue. Reward yourself and try to initiate as many 30-minute periods as possible
•Focusing on your own needs and expectations rather than those of others
•Examining your standards and evaluate how realistic they are
•Setting realistic goals
•“Workaholics” need to learn the value of setting aside time each day for relaxation, socialization, exercise and play. Productive, creative people need to take vacations and play (without guilt)! Schedule some fun.

How does procrastination affect you? You could be one of the few persons who is organized and consistently tackles problems on your own terms. However most of us engage in some form of procrastination that limits our productivity, effectiveness, and happiness. Try one new behavior to limit the effects of procrastination this New Year and you may be surprised at how much it helps and can be encouraged to do more.

As for me, cleaning closets will have to wait…I’ve got 30 minutes more to “WRITE!”

Photo Credits

Clock @ Flickr

New Year, New Me: Confessions of a Procrastinator is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

In this final installment of the briefest of mini-series’, the author leaves the basement of his home reno project and goes right to the top – the attic.

OK, so call me fussy.  My wife insisted the new light I installed in the kitchen looked perfect, and there was no need for me to crawl through the attic to perform the minor tweaking I suggested. It was late, so I thought I would sleep on it.

Two am, and sleep still eluded me. After mentally adjusting the placement of the light dozens of times, I realized the best thing to do was climb up there and get it done. It shouldn’t take long, and she would never know.

If you have ever tried to sneak into a house with a frozen 16-foot aluminum extension ladder in the dead of night, you will quickly realize that these ladders do not have a stealth mode. Setting the thing up in the hallway with my wife sleeping five feet away behind a closed door proved to be a challenge, but I managed to pull it off. Good thing she’s a sound sleeper.

With a backpack loaded with every tool I thought I might need, I ascended to the attic. Once there, I flicked on my headlamp and carefully made my way to the far end of the house, stepping very carefully to avoid falling through the gyproc.

At this point, I made the 90-degree turn and crawled through the small opening in the roof to where the new section of the house attaches. Things get real squishy in there, and great caution had to be exercised to avoid injury with all the roofing nails sticking through, but I managed to creep my way to the end wall where the light was located.

Assessing the situation, I resolved to make it a quick fix, as it was not going to be very comfortable. Crouching down on a 2×6 truss, with nails inches from my head and more protruding from the frost-lined wall behind me was not my idea of fun. Removing the backpack in those cramped quarters was a challenge in itself, but I managed to get it off just in time to make an amazing discovery.

When flashlight batteries go dead, they do so in an instant.

Total blackness.

And awfully cold.

And, as I mentioned above, my wife is a sound sleeper.

It was a long night.

Renovation tip#2: Yes, there is such a thing as being too fussy.

Photo Credit

“Fun with a dark room and a flashlight” los ojos @ Flickr.com. Creative Commons. Some Rights Reserved.

The Reno Man: Tales from the Attic is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

I am 55 years old, what little hair I have left is gray, and I walk with a limp. I no longer tuck my shirts in, because doing so accentuates the large bump that protrudes over my belt. As we age, we deteriorate, and the awareness of that can bring on depression and anxiety. If unfettered, this state opens the floodgates to a host of diseases and afflictions that can, in turn, deepen the depression, sending the hapless soul into a downward spiral from which there may be no return.

Thankfully, there is a cure for this condition.

A sports car.

My wife, however, decided it was time to renovate our kitchen. Those old cupboards, she reasoned, just had to go.

Sports cars have the ability to make their owners feel 20 years younger (remember, you’re only as old as you feel). Manually shifting the gears and working the pedals quickens the heart rate, and getting second looks from attractive women increases this aerobic workout dramatically. A sports car can boost self-esteem, instill confidence, and add years to a man’s life.

Cupboards hold dishes.

Our budget could not support both ideas.

It was decision time.

The cabinet-maker was due to arrive at 8am on Monday morning. We had renovated the majority of our main floor five years previously, but stopped short at the kitchen due to the costs involved. One more room, and we would finally be done.

Or so we thought.

After 35 years of quietly performing its designated task, a water pipe decided the time to succumb to our Canadian winter had finally arrived. The day before the kitchen reno project started, the pipe froze, split, and flooded our basement.

Enter contractor #2.

While one contractor demolished our kitchen, the second one happily commenced gutting our basement. The result? Two months of utter chaos.

I am not, by any stretch of the imagination, a T.V. person. For half the year, I barely watch the thing. I am passionate about one thing, however.

Hockey.

The NHL regular season was drawing to a close, the playoffs were looming, and my plans of holing up in the basement TV room went out with the soggy carpets. My sanity was spared only by the fact that my favorite team missed the playoffs.

Which brings me to Renovation Tip #1:

The unexpected can happen.

START YOUR PROJECT WHEN DISRUPTIONS WILL HAVE THE LEAST NEGATIVE IMPACT.

TIMING IS EVERYTHING.

Photo Credit

Photo from Big Stock Photo

The Practical Man’s Home Reno Guide: Timing is Everything is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

I just don’t get it.

Why is it the retro look is in, but I still had to renovate my house? Being an old house it’s already old looking, so we’re there, right? Isn’t this the look everyone is trying so hard to obtain?

I have this theory. Somewhere, at least once a year, all the wives have a secret meeting with all the contractors, and they come up with a plan. Now, I’m not suggesting anything sinister, because I know for sure my wife would never attend a meeting like that without first informing me. But there are ways to tell a guy something while making sure he does not get the message, such as:

It’s Hockey Night in Canada, and I’m glued to the tube. From the top of the stairs, Shelly shouts down, “I’m going to a secret meeting with all the wives and contractors, I think I’m going to order new flooring. Can I get you anything?”

Of course, what I hear is, “Daniel passes the puck off to Henrick, he shoots… ‘Can I get you anything?’”

“Oh sure. A beer would be nice.”

“I’m leaning towards hardwood,” she continues. “You OK with that?”

“Kiprusoff kicks out the pad… ‘What?’”

“Hardwood!”

Hardwood? Who the hell does he play for? “I’m not sure who you’re…NOOOO!!! THAT’S NOT A CROSSCHECK! Gimme a break, where do they find these refs, anyways!”

“Are you listening to me?”

“Aaaah, the games in OT! Can we talk later?”

Now, I don’t want to leave the impression I’m one of those guys who never listens to his wife. Under normal circumstances I hang on to every word she speaks, eagerly anticipating the arrival of each syllable. But we’re talking hockey here and, as a Canadian male, I am duty bound to place the institution in its rightful place in our matrimonial hierarchy. Anything less would be unpatriotic.

Sooner or later, however, the dreaded renovation bug will arrive. It usually starts as a simple comment (didn’t you just love their kitchen?), and then gradually sneaks its way to the top of your priority list. As a survivor of two projects, I am willing to impart my wisdom and expertise so you, too, can renovate your house and still remain married.

Stay tuned.

Image Credit

Public Domain

How to Renovate Your House (and Still Remain Married) is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

Not long ago, I wrote about setting out to simplify my stuff.

So far, I have identified two clear stages to this process. Stage 1 is Inspiration: my desk will be clear, my home will be uncluttered, my mind will be free. I will embody mnmlist.

While delighting in Stage 1, I had little idea what loomed around the corner. Stage 2 is the Meltdown. Stage 2 is realization and reality. Realizing that a step forward can require two or three — or a few dozen — steps backwards.

Having committed to the idea of reducing my stuff, I am now struggling with the actual doing. Sitting in front of me at this moment, on the basement floor, are six boxes of paper files, electronics cords and connectors, one printer and one computer tower that needs to be de-commissioned. It’s not the only little pile of stuff that is being shifted from here to there.

I moved the six boxes and printer and tower down here in order to clear enough physical and mental space so that I can work at my desk. It really should be heading out the door, but all this stuff needs to be sorted before it can be turfed. I have started the process but struggle with finding the time and energy to carry on.

Then there are the challenges of consolidating electronic data. Part of my simplification plan was to collapse my three office locations into two, with the majority of my electronic documents in a ‘cloud’ as the IT guys say — online. At the same time, my wife was leaving her full time work so needed to shut down her out-of-home office and beef up her in-home workspace.

Long story short, some computer simplification was called for.

Now, common sense would suggest that migrating email data from one Microsoft product (Entourage for Mac) to another Microsoft product (Outlook for Windows) would be straightforward, especially since many of these emails originated on Outlook some time ago. Almost all email programs have simple export and import features that support this. Almost.

After spending last weekend downloading quirky little data transfer programs, copying files, getting cryptic error messages, and opening files to find that only half of them transferred, I found myself in Stage 2: the Meltdown.

Computers are a curse. Technology eats up more time than it saves. We are becoming slaves to silicone chips. All data is doomed. The end is near.

So it is that I learned one basic lesson of simplicity: do not enter Stage 2 on your own. Ensure that a spouse, trusted friend, social worker, nurse or karmic advisor is at hand.

Last weekend my wife ushered my babbling and glazed self into a dark and padded room and ensured that I didn’t hear the words “computer” or “data” for a week. Now, I have healed and am looking tentatively ahead to whatever Stage 3 may bring.

Photo Credit

“Soapy Wings” Madamoiselle Lavendar @ Flickr.com. Creative Commons. Some Rights Reserved.

Simplifying, Stage 2: The Meltdown is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

It sounds crazy, but I really hope my house burns down.

I honestly believe that if I lost all of my worldly possessions in a fire, I would be able to escape this house, the clutter and particular memories these boxes of crap represent. I half expect the producers of the show Hoarders to knock on my door any day now…And I will gratefully invite them in if they do, as long as they have Dr. Phil in tow….

I want to think that all the junk — I mean every last shred of it — speaks to my history, my youth, my willingness to “Risk It All” and live without self-doubt or denial. But I know in my heart it doesn’t.

Now, I want to purge this house of all that doesn’t belong, even if that means ME as an item destined for the dump, or a rainy day yard sale:

“…$48 for one used husband and father of three; die-hard Canucks fan doesn’t eat much; can cook like a chef and drink like a sailor…Loves candlelight dinners, long walks on the beach, because he can’t afford his Hydro bill, or anything else for that matter…”

How did I collect so much crap? Why do I continue to move it with me wherever I go? This cannot be purely my fault, can it? I try to purge, but something always stops me from packing the bags and boxes into the back of the Volvo wagon and being done with them once and for all.

For example: there’s a pile of stuffed animals I’ve repeatedly asked my kids to rummage through and choose a couple each to keep — At 8 and 10 years old, they shouldn’t really need stuffies anyway. They inevitably sift through the pile and find old favorites, and spend an entire hour endowing each one with voices, personalities and past histories. Some sit at a table, like a three dimensional still life picture, awaiting the tea and milk and cookies to arrive. I am torn as I watch this pre-tween psuedo-passion play unfold, as I want to cull all of them, including my daughter’s first dress-up baby doll that has a lazy eye.

I have a pair of skis, but I don’t ski. I have vinyl records but no turntable on which to play them — and according to my wife on perusing the selection, she thinks I liked the band Devo way too much. I have a harmonica that doesn’t work. I have AC/DC tour shirts I bought in my teens and university textbooks from classes I never even took. I have letters from ex-girlfriends and letters of recommendation for jobs I can’t really do from people who probably didn’t like me anyway. Somewhere in a box is a baggie that contains actual shavings of the first beard I ever grew.

I have high school track meet ribbons, and a Special Olympics bowling trophy won by my sister, Wendy. I have keys to cars, apartments and deadbolt locks that represent my life before now — and vague recollections of those locks they opened, and even who I was back then. Was my hair ever really that long? Did I really never call her again? I didn’t have the heart tell the guy that bought my Honda Civic that I used to LIVE in it for a summer when I sold it to him.

In my head, I dream that I hear the BEEP BEEP BEEP of the alarm, and have the time to gather my family in the dead of an August night safely in the yard. We would be clasped in a meaningful familial moment as sirens erupt around us, staring at the magnificent inferno as flames throw embers at the stars. Each plume of smoke would contain memories of Sunday dinners, pet gerbils, lost baby teeth, bedtime stories, birthday parties as well as lovesick poetry, unresolved arguments, the kisses forgotten past to present, and testaments of the early truth of my person — only to have those ashes scattered by a warm summer wind and land indiscriminately in the yards of other people’s homes while they are sound asleep.

So, I mean it: I wish for those flames to come, to consume every memento I have. That way, I wouldn’t have to think about what to keep, what to sell, and what to give away. I cannot seem to take that step, which is why I hope an electrical outlet sparks onto a set of old drapes, in turn igniting the couch, the ceiling and walls and my past life, as I know it.

Photo Credit

“Three Little Pigs” Illustration by L. Leslie Brooke, from The Golden Goose Book, Frederick Warne & Co., Ltd. 1905

“gotta match?” lazlo photo @ flickr.com. Creative Commons. Some Rights Reserved.

Little Pig Burns House Down, Blames Wolf: Drastic Thoughts About Clutter is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

I have cleared my desk. The piles of papers, books, household bills, and repair projects that normally weigh down its two wings are now on the floor behind me. Out of sight, if not entirely out of mind. This morning, I haven’t opened my personal or work email, nor opened my electronic calendar. I didn’t fire up Twitter to post a 140 character note that I #amwriting this blog. I brought in The Globe and Mail but left it rolled on the kitchen table.

I am simply here to write.

But simplicity isn’t simple. We know this because our world overflows with books, blogs, courses and consultants all trying to help us to simplify. To clear our work and living spaces. To clear our minds of distraction and clutter.

Yet for all we try, we in North America still have a problem with accumulating things. We know we’re not on the right track when we need an advertising-filled magazine called Real Simple to tell us what ‘simple’ products to buy.

Prompted by some changes in my life, I’m currently rethinking my “stuff,” and this newly-cleared desk is a first step. On a business level, I am in transition from a traditional office (staff, machines, storage, and lotsa space) to a virtual office with a presence in two cities. All those shelves, filing cabinets, and storage boxes full of books and documents need to go. Somewhere.

Furthermore, the personal effects that my wife and I have accumulated over the years will soon need to be downsized. We are likely transitioning from the house where we raised our family to a condo of about 1/3 the total square footage. I say likely because the prospect is daunting. The thing about stuff is that it’s easier to just leave it laying around than it is to organize it and ship it out.

Ironically, my current purging and downsizing initiative started with a resurrection of boxes and crates of old writing files from various storage rooms. You see, as a writer, I had literally shelved many projects for years while I did consulting work.

As it happens, many of the electronic files I created years ago are no longer readable. Either the hardware (think 5 ¼” floppy drives) and software (Kaypro DOS??) have disappeared, or the actual data has dissipated into the ether.

That discovery has led me to dust off and crack open boxes of fading and brittle paper files. Each boxes poses the questions: What are you going to do with this stuff? What are you saving it for? When, exactly, are you going to use it?

The answers I give myself are enlightening.

My first impulse is to think that I will never be done with many of these documents. But how long is never? Really. ‘Never’ actually means ‘when I die.’ The vision of my survivors shuffling through the boxes of dusty records and relics does not inspire images of joy and excitement. Because if much of this stuff is of marginal value to me, it’s of even less import to others.

No, in most cases, my accumulated things will be superfluous before I am dust. So do I need these boxes another 20 years? 15 years? 5 years?

Which are my must-haves? Which would I save in an emergency?

How does one learn to detach from things — especially things that embody years of work? I suspect that Leo Babauta, who blogs at Zen Habits, is right when he says that clearing one’s space is one step in an ongoing practice of keeping a clear focus on what is important in life.

I am inspired too by remembering how my late mother would react when something of hers was accidentally broken. “Don’t worry,” she would say, “it’s just a thing.” Just a thing.

Of course, simplicity is not for everyone. Nor do I believe that it’s a necessary first step to productivity or creativity. For a number of years when I taught at Red Deer College, writer Birk Sproxton occupied the next office. Birk’s space was the literary equivalent of an archeological dig — many strata of documents layered on every horizontal surface. It worked for him — Birk not only got all those student papers graded but published books, stories, anthologies and articles with regularity.

For me, though, each pile of papers ultimately becomes a little pile of anxiety. Sure, there are great little writing ideas, clippings and musings embedded in each pile. But when my eyes fall on them, I am just as likely to feel guilt as I am to feel potential and possibilities.

Years ago I read that a person should toss out one old possession for every new one that they bring into the house. I’ve tried but (with the possible exception of underwear) have never really managed to comply.

So, in my life simplicity is very much a work in progress. In fact, remember back at the start of this piece, when I said that I left the Globe rolled up on the kitchen table? I lied. Writers always lie. It makes for better stories.

But what’s the harm in scanning the headlines while waiting for my bread to toast? You say I should be ‘in the moment’ with the toaster and the visible waves of heat rising up against the cool morning window? I’ll work on that next.

Photo Credit

“Zen Water” darkpatator@flickr.com. Creative Commons. Some Rights Reserved.

Lorne Daniel’s clutter-free desk, photo by Lorne Daniel

One Thing is Clear: I Must Simplify is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

The other day, I was outside in my Zen-weeding mode (how does chickweed have the energy to grow year-round?) and found myself going over the successes and failures of my gardening past — kind of like mental worry beads.

In the hope of saving someone else horticultural grief, I thought I’d set down some of the common mistakes we gardeners make. I should add that this falls firmly in the “do-what-I-say-not-what-I-do” category because, although I am very cognizant of my error-strewn history, I do seem doomed to repeat it; well, some of it. So here they are, Letterman-style, my top ten mistakes.

#10  Planting trees too close to power lines. Doing this condemns the tree to being hacked, whacked, mutilated and deformed. Urban streets are full of such sorry examples. Planted too close to your house, trees can undermine your foundations, wreck your roof and make you think you’re living in a cave. So be kind to trees and yourself: choose varieties that won’t get too tall and plant them well away from any structures.

#9   Buying plants on impulse. There may be gardeners who actually make a list of plants to buy before hitting the nursery, but I doubt there are many who abide by it. Confronted with a tempting array of luscious plants, we easily succumb. We all want to be first with the new, the unusual, the lusted-after. It’s what we do. At the very least, only buy a plant if you know where it’s going to go or, like me, you’ll spend hours wandering around, pot in hand, searching for a spot.

#8  Making pathways too narrow, too late. That flagstone path looks charming, but then you try to get a wheelbarrow along it or negotiate it with an armload of shrubbery and the air turns blue. Pathways are one place where function must meet form. Ideally, they should also be installed first and the garden planned around them. Of course, that rarely happens: like many homeowner (versus designer) gardens, our garden evolves, growing as our interest, time and budget allow, and paths get added along the way. We always swear (as we wrestle the wheelbarrow to a standstill) that the next path will be sooo much wider.

#7  Being afraid. Gardeners can be nervous nellies, fretting that they are doing something wrong and not daring to make changes. Well, plants are amazingly forgiving. So plunge into pruning, yank out that unruly shrub, transplant that tree, experiment with that weird specimen from South Africa. It’s your garden so fling red, orange and magenta flowers together if you so desire, get that gaggle of gnomes you adore, create a Dr. Seuss topiary, just go fearlessly where the passion takes you.

#6  Making a pond too small. If you’re going to install a garden pond, measure out the size you’d like, then double, no, triple it. I guarantee the first one will end up being dis-satisfyingly puny. It took my husband and me — we’re slow learners — three pond makeovers to get it right.

#5  Using an arsenal of chemicals. I think, I hope, the days are gone when gardeners automatically grabbed some toxic spray at the first sight of a dandelion or bug. There is little or no reason to use herbicides or pesticides in our gardens, especially veggie gardens. Chemicals kill off beneficial insects, contaminate ground water and harm wildlife and pets (and children). Gardening organically means healthier plants, healthier gardeners and a healthier planet.

#4  Planting invasive species. Beware of plants whose not-so-hidden agenda is to take over the world. Look out for the euphemisms “vigorous grower” and “spread: indefinite” on the tags. “Weed” in the plant’s common name is another clue (goutweed, bugleweed, etc.). Many of these vigorous plants are exotic (i.e. non-native) invaders that are so incredibly adaptable they thrive anywhere, running roughshod over native plants. Also, beware of plants that self-seed promiscuously, unless you really want lots of babies.

#3  Starving the soil. Healthy plants need nutrient-rich soil, so feed the soil by adding lots of organic matter such as chopped leaf mould, compost or well-rotted manure. Just spreading this material on top as a mulch once a year (twice is even better, in spring and fall) not only nourishes the plants but also keeps the soil moist and, best bonus, discourages weeds.

#2  Putting plants in the wrong place. It may take a bit of homework beyond reading the tags, but the plants and you will be much happier if you site them in their preferred conditions, i.e., the right soil, light, moisture and exposure to wind. Despite one’s best placement efforts, plants sometimes struggle. I have a three-strike rule. I’ll try a plant in three different spots and if it still languishes, then it’s out. And I have another planting space.

And the top mistake is….drum roll, please….

#1  Ignoring a plant’s ultimate size. Do this at your peril. Read the tags, which usually give height and spread. That cute little blue spruce at the nursery can become a yard-eating giant before you know it. It’s a make-work project to be constantly pruning to keep a plant in check or having to move it because it’s outgrown the space. Yes, we all want a new garden to look lush and full but, rather than stuff things in cheek by leafy jowl, give the keepers (the plants you want for the long term) plenty of room and fill the spaces between them with annuals or easy-to-move perennials or a nice big rock. Having said that, I must now go and move some plants I seem to have put way too close together.

Photo Credits

“Cute but not very practical pathway” ©  2010 Karen York

“Garden bench” Daisy Little Cottage @ Flickr.com. Creative Commons. Some Rights Reserved.

“Crazy topiary tree” ©  2010 Karen York

“A lovely pond” ©  2010 Karen York

Confessions of a Mistake-Prone Gardener is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN

What unique quality does IKEA possess that separates it from the rest of the big box stores? Why is it women love the place, but guys would rather stay home and do the laundry than pass beneath the big blue and yellow sign?

Being as analytical as I am, I think I finally figured it out. Kind of.

First of all, not all men are do-it-yourselfers. While finding a man who confesses he’s lacking in that particular area may be challenging, they do exist. In fact, there are closets stuffed full of them all across our nation. I, of course, do not fall in that category, but I have a friend who does.

My friend assures me getting dragged from the sanctity of one’s home, only to be thrust into a “some assembly required” environment poses a threat to his manhood. After all, he reasons, we’re supposed to be able to bolt things together. We’re guys, right? I tend to agree.

As I discovered on my first trip into the place, the store layout is a big problem. The vastness overwhelmed me and, from my vantage point, everything looked the same. Which way do I turn? Recognizing my dumbstruck expression, my wife sidled up to me and replied, “Stick with me. I don’t want you getting lost.”

Get lost, indeed. I found the way here, didn’t I? Being too mature to make a big scene over a little thing like this, I decided quietly proving her wrong was really my best option.

“I’ll catch up with you in a bit,” I replied. “I want to look at some stuff over there.”

“What stuff?”

“It’s a surprise. I’ll see you at the checkout.”

Number one on my agenda was to see if they gave out free food, like they do in Costco. No luck. I then looked around for navigational landmarks, just in case. Everywhere I turned I encountered rooms with similar looking furniture, fake TVs and imitation books. No biggie, I would find the checkout and wait there.

After several minutes of aimless wandering, I realized I had been going against the flow of traffic. That struck an odd chord. The flow of traffic? In a store? Apparently IKEA controls foot traffic by painting lines and arrows on the floor; the only thing missing is the cattle prod. So what happens if you step outside the lines? In the interest of research, I gave it a try.

And got lost.

Let’s face it; men hate asking directions. It leaves the impression we don’t know where we’re going. I thought the whole purpose of building a store was to get people to the cash register. But what if you can’t find it?

I checked my watch. Fifteen minutes elapsed since I struck out on my own, and I still had no idea which direction to take to find the elusive checkout. I felt like a lab rat in a maze looking for that big hunk of cheese. Should I swallow my pride and ask for help, or stick it out and run the risk of having my wife come and rescue me? As I wrestled with my options, God sent me an angel.

Ten feet away, I overheard a woman talking on her cell.

“OK, hon, I’m finished here. I’m just heading to the checkout, so I’ll meet you at the car in five minutes.”

I didn’t think it appropriate to hug a stranger, so I simply followed her to freedom.

Since that time, whenever I hear of a missing person I resist the urge to call their families and ask, “Have you checked IKEA?”

I am much more selective in my shopping excursions now. In fact, my wife is at IKEA at this moment, looking for a lamp. I opted to stay home.

Now, where did I put that fabric softener?

Photo Credits

“IKEA Store in Queenstown, Singapore” © Calvin Teo. Creative Commons. Some rights reserved.

“IKEA” IKEA Lovers @ flickr. Creative Commons. Some rights reserved.

“IMG_0444″ Teddy Song @ flickr. Creative Commons. Some rights reserved.

Lost in IKEA: One Man’s Odyssey is a post from: LIFE AS A HUMAN