One Day At A Time

By T. Dean Adams

I lost my Day Timer. I have been praying for guidance and getting the answer, "Slow down, do fewer things, let go of old ideas, make room for what you really want to do, take care of yourself before others." But I’ve been humming with my fingers in my ears to ignore the message. And so, Goddess, God or whoever, snatched my Day Timer, my precious calendar, my little illusion of control, out of my life.

It was a simple, medium priced, medium sized, black leather Day Timer with a zipper. I bought it in 1995 at a office super store with all the accessories to maximize my efficiency. It was proof of my life being in control. See here, see the tabs, the address section and the business card section? Yet behind each tab were notes long forgotten and to-do lists not done.

In 2001, my life felt more chaotic than ever, and I decided it must be my Day Timer. If I could organize better, everything would be fine, I thought, in spite of plenty of evidence otherwise.

I hinted at the direction I really wanted for my life. I bought the planner of all planners for a writer to have on her desk – The New Yorker Desk Diary. Oh, how marvelous – the font, the vertical day spaces, the three tiny months – past, present, future on the bottom left and the Notes section, crisp and white. And the dreamy cartoon for each week, known for not always being funny, but at least wry (“See, the hotel is on vacation… get it?), and the temptation to read all the cartoons at once. A classic wide blue ribbon works as a page marker, like a Bible marker, in this holy planner for a fiction writer working in advertising. But soon the love turned to annoyance because it’s heavy and big and not very functional. The beginning pages listing night life and museums and a “Table for Two” in New York City are depressing when working late on a Thursday night with nothing fun happening in this town.

Swinging to the other extreme I tried the Day Timer pocket size calendar. It only held one month at a time – a little spiral book with a page for each day. So I wandered around for a while feeling trapped in one month. There was a little yearly calendar for future notes, but it required writing microscopically.

I returned to my old Day Timer with it’s faded spot shaped like a sun from spilled nail polish remover, a piece of paper taped to the beginning of the address section – the roster of the first class I taught, and pages of recommended movies and books. Different sections for the variety of projects and ideas in my life – always too many to finish.

Neither my life nor my Day Timer improved even though I stuck with the illusion until I lost it. The calendar racks are depressingly bare in June. I found a new calendar small enough to fit in my purse, but large enough to write in. I broke all my ‘has-to-be’s” about vertical day spaces and places to hold paper. A plastic exterior holds thick white cardboard with an American flag and a book of calendar pages inside. I bought it when I realized I could pull out the cover and make a new one. I want to make a humanity flag. I want to make a simple life full of what matters to me – writing, art, close friends, the ocean and political action.

With much effort I have surrendered to the loss of my day timer. My only lingering pain is the lost yellow sticky note from 1996 regarding an article in skirt! I wrote about losing my friend Melissa to suicide. My dear friend and roommate, Stephen, took the message at our apartment in Boulder, Colorado. “Rhonda from Charleston called. You don’t know her. She just read your article and wanted to tell you how much it moved her."

Now I wish I had framed it. I kept it in a clear zippered pocket. Rarely did I read it, but it was a subconscious comfort, a flicker of yellow as I flipped opened the calendar. It was an honor to Melissa, to my 24-year friendship with Stephen, to my writing and the connection between all of us not matter what’s on our calendar.