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Finding My Inner Beach Ball
March 18, 2008
"The matzo ball is flying around the house!" the mother of one of the children who attends religious school at my synagogue messaged me, referring to a matzoh-ball-patterned beach ball her first grader had won in a contest of sorts.
Confused? I can explain.
I belong to the only Jewish congregation in a small city in Indiana. It’s also a small—and dwindling—congregation. As with any small organization, some of us take on multiple roles. One of mine is religious school director.
We have five children. All come from interfaith families and many get their dose of Judaism only during two hours on Sunday morning.
With Passover coming up, I decided that the children would learn the Ma Nishtana—the four questions traditionally asked by the youngest person at the Passover seder, or service—in Hebrew. Most of the children are just learning to read English, so this would be quite a feat.
To move things along, I provided incentives. (Or bribes, if you like.) I got a selection of incentives—a roll of Jewish holiday stickers, squirting frogs, a walking matzoh ball, matzoh ball Hacky Sacks, flip frogs, and the aforementioned beach ball—and put them on display.
“When you can sing the Ma Nishtana to me,” I told them, “you can select a prize.”
In addition, there were personalized stickers saying “_____ Knows the Ma Nishtana,” plenty of applause and praise, pictures were taken, etc.
“M” wanted that beach ball. Even at the tender age of 6, she was shrewd enough to know that, if she didn’t learn the Ma Nishtana early enough, somebody else might take “her” beach ball.
She even called me at home Sunday morning to sing the Ma Nishtana so I’d know she had succeeded in learning it and deserved that beach ball. She had a goal and she pushed herself to reach that goal so she could get the reward she wanted.
It got me to thinking about goal-setting and rewards for myself. I need to lose weight. I need to get my HbA1c down. I like to go on cruises.
I usually just go on a cruise about every year no matter what. But what if I don’t allow myself to go on another cruise (after the one in May, of course) unless I, say, lose 50 pounds and get my HbA1c below 6.5%? And how about if it isn’t just any old cruise, but one I’ve been dreaming about for a while, such as one that goes through the Panama Canal or to cities in Northern Europe? (Hey! We all have our version of a beach ball!)
That reward is serious enough that I think I might just do that. Just the idea of no cruises alone until I achieve my goal should get me headed in that direction.
But I believe I also need some interim goals and rewards, and that’s a little more problematic. Obviously, if I want to lose weight and improve my HbA1c, a promise to treat myself to a Chocolate Thunder from Down Under (my favorite eat-out dessert) is not an option.
A trip? That could be problematic, too. I love San Francisco—and its sourdough bread. And New York City, with its cheese danish and real bagels (as opposed to the fluff they have in the Midwest). However, I do like to travel, even when a cruise ship isn’t involved. Chicago doesn’t conjure up any favorite foods, nor does St. Louis or Louisville.
I don’t care that much for clothes, so a new dress doesn’t do anything for me. Nor do shoes, especially after having had four surgeries on one of my feet. A massage? A day at a spa?
What should my milestones be? After every 10 pounds? Twenty-five, 15, and 10? Twenty, 20, and 10?
Help! I need ideas!
In the meantime, I’m off to read cruise brochures. I need to find my beach ball.
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