It’s always interesting when you read something that corresponds so germanely to something that is happening in real life. I was recently talking to a wise friend of mine, who pointed out that every family has issues—even, or especially, the ones that seem perfect. No one should feel that their family is exceptionally messed up in comparison with other families, my friend said, because we all struggle. We may struggle in very different ways, but we all struggle.

Not long after having this conversation, I read this passage in the book Almost Everything by Anne Lamott:

“Almost everyone is screwed up, broken, clingy, scared, and yet designed for joy. Even (or especially) people who seem to have it more or less together are more like the rest of us than you would believe.”

All of this reminds me of Tolstoy’s maxim about happy and unhappy families. It’s true that, sometimes, everything falls into place and life rides along nicely. But this is very rare. It’s counterproductive, not to mention false, to assume that you are the exception if you or your family is going through a tough time. In reality, the exception that proves the rule is those few people and families who are right now, somehow, miraculously, doing well in every way.

In every way? That’s a heck of a lot of ways! Perfectionism highlights weaknesses while downplaying strengths, no matter how many strengths there are. So instead of counting up failings, let’s count up successes. Let’s count up the things we are doing well with right now—surely there are many, many things!—and be glad about those. If you need to wait for perfection in order to be happy . . . well, that could be a long, long wait.

Plus, you’ll have lots of company, here in the imperfection ring.

What are you and your family joyful about today?

The urge to help others is very much a part of being human. There are so many ways to serve others. Maybe you help people as part of your job, in your family or social groups, or by volunteering time or donating money. Maybe you have reached out to someone who seemed down and out.

All of those acts are wonderful and beautiful and important. But, sadly, as Anne Lamott knows, there’s a real limit to how much help you can give. Here’s another piece of wisdom from her recent book Almost Everything:

“Not one single person in history has gotten an alcoholic sober. (Maybe you’ll be the first. But—and I say this with love—I doubt it.) If it is someone else’s problem, you probably don’t have the solution.”

This idea is certainly very close to her heart, as she comes back to it later in the book, delving into it with more specificity—heartrending specificity. As it turns out, Lamott did know alcoholics whom she tried to help. She reached out, she cared, she kept trying, she didn’t lose hope. But she could only do so much. It did not matter how close she was to the person, by blood or spiritual kinship. It did not matter how much she cared. In the end, all love and friendship and suggestions and urgent recommendations cannot move a mountain, unless the mountain moves itself.

This does not mean we should stop trying to help others. But Lamott turns the idea upside down by noting that her need to help others is actually a personal issue that she struggles with. Helping others can make one feel important. It’s a form of perfectionism. It’s a way of proving your worth, to yourself and others. In that respect, it can be counterproductive; no one wants “help” from someone who’s self-righteous, pushy, or otherwise overbearing.

It’s difficult to know when to try to help someone and when to back off. It’s difficult to know which acts are truly helpful, and which just get in the way. But let’s not give up. Let’s keep trying to figure these things out. And remember: sometimes the smallest acts help the most.

Is there someone in your life who seems to need help?

I am interested to know about your dreams. Tell me about your dreams. Did you dream last night? Can you recall a long, harrowing sequence of events? Or just a feeling you retained upon waking? Did you dream of specific people? People you see in your current life? People you knew in childhood? Have you had any particularly powerful dreams that you remembered for years afterward, that seemed to guide you, or terrify you, or watch over you?

Please tell me about your dreams.

No, no, no—stop there! I did not mean that I wanted a blow-by-blow report. Your dreams are not that interesting. Do you take offense? I am sorry. Well, then, how about this? To return the favor, I will not share a blow-by-blow report of my own dreams, either. Fair? Fair.

However, I do still want to know about your dreams. Do you dream most nights? Do you dream only rarely? Have you never once experienced a dream? Do you know you are dreaming when you dream?

I never know that I am dreaming. I have always had very vivid dreams. On certain medications, they get even more vivid. I have had dreams that were so steeped in meaning that they felt like thunderclaps, missives, mandates. Have you? I would like to share what I mean . . . so can we amend our deal? Please? A blow-by-blow report is only okay if it is meaningful, and if that meaning is explained. Deal? Deal. Now, here is what I mean:

When I was in the final stages of finishing my novel, and was nervous about how it would finally turn out, and whether I could get it right—this was a few years ago—I had a dream. In the dream, I was at a place that has great meaning for me: the capitol square in Madison, Wisconsin. For me, this place represents peace and stability. I could hear a beautiful symphony playing, and I knew I had written it. I had written it by typing words on the computer, and the result was a symphony, and it was the most beautiful music I had ever heard. In the dream, I listened to the music, and I was proud, and joyously happy, but also sad, because no one else could hear it, or wanted to hear it. When I awoke, I could no longer hear the music and did not know what it sounded like. But the loss of the music was bearable, because I suddenly remembered that I had something else: a nearly finished novel manuscript.

Some time later, when I was contemplating seeking an agent for the novel and starting a blog, I had another dream. In the dream, I was a dancer/stripper, auditioning for a part. I performed on the stage, dancing to the music before an audience, slowing taking clothes off. The removal of clothes was, I knew, the same thing as publishing my writing. I desperately wanted to remove all my clothes, but I somehow could not manage to take off the last layer. But I danced my heart out, and afterward, despite not taking off my sports bra and little skirt, I found out that I got the part. I was ecstatic, but also mortified. How could I bear to finally take my clothes off, when it came time to perform for real? I walked out into the audience, and my college roommate was there, having watched my audition. I was terrified about what she might say. I was shocked when she started telling me about something in her own life. It was then that I realized that she, and almost everyone I knew, did not care that much about any decision I made about my own life—as long as it did not affect them—and my worries that everyone would judge me were unwarranted.

Each of these dreams taught me something about myself that I had not known before. Each of them also guided me toward the future. I do not necessarily believe that this can be attributed to some sort of woo-woo mysticism, but rather to the workings of the unconscious mind. The unconscious mind often has access to knowledge that the conscious mind does not.

So anyway, few days ago, I had another such dream. In the dream, I knew I should do something, and I knew I should do it alone. It’s nothing bad or illegal or harmful, but it would require a certain outlay of money and time.

Should I do it?

I would like to discuss with you a modern problem, one that has the potential to strain relationships, upset family members, destroy old friendships, prevent new friendships, and restrict opportunities of all kinds. All this, you say? Yes, the potential for all this, I say. What is this potentially destructive modern problem? you ask. Let me explain through a story, I explain:

I had gone on a few dates with a sweet, athletic, intelligent, family-oriented, and career-minded man. Wishing to communicate something important to him, I made the regrettable—for more than one reason—decision to do so through text messaging. I am a woman of the modern era; that’s my excuse. Well, and I may also be a rotten and thoughtless person. In any case, he called me the next day.

For twenty excruciating minutes, he beat around the bush. He wanted to talk about anything and everything, except for the content of my text. Meanwhile I, trying to go with the flow, did not intervene, but rather answered his questions briefly and without emotion (see: rotten and thoughtless person, above). Finally, he said, “Well, it doesn’t seem like you’re in the mood to talk tonight.”

“Um,” I blurted out, “don’t you want to talk about my text?!”

(By this point, you’ve probably guessed where this story is going. . . .)

“What text?” he said.

He had not received the text! Caught off guard, I proceeded to completely bungle an oral explanation of what I had written, communicating in the most uncomprehensible English my convoluted point of view; and things ended badly.

In addition to having experienced outbound texting failures, I have also been on the non-receiving end of things. In the past year, I have failed to receive text messages from my mother, my psychotherapist, and my housemate. That last was an especially interesting case, since it was a group text, and the other recipient got it just fine.

Having felt frustrated by this problem for months, I finally found the time to scamper off to the Internet. There, I discovered that many others are having this issue. And then I discovered that my phone service provider offers a text messaging app that can be installed on multiple devices (in my case, phone and laptop) and that, people claimed, solved the problem for them.

The setup of these apps went uncommonly smoothly. And now—whoa!—I can text from my laptop, not just my phone. This is an exciting development, as it means I don’t have to interrupt the flow of my work at the keyboard if I want to shoot off a quick text, or read an incoming text. Moreover, if my phone breaks or goes missing, I can still access my text messages.

Something else interesting occurred when I installed the apps. The missing text from my housemate appeared, in proper sequence, on my laptop’s app! . . . though it is still missing on my phone’s app. Such a mystery!

How many friendships around the world have been damaged, or prevented from flowering, due to missed texts? How many business opportunities have fallen through? How many mothers have sighed, thinking their children were remiss in sending love, when actually they were not? What countless words would Charles Dickens pen about this tragedy, were he alive today?

Have you ever missed an important text? Have you ever sent one that never made it out of the ether and onto the intended recipient’s phone?

I know, I know—we were in the middle of a series of posts about Émile Zola’s The Ladies’ Paradise, but I’d like to hit pause on that to share some exciting news with you all: I have acquired my first byline! So, apologies, but you will have to live in suspense as regards the nineteenth-century novel I was previewing—it’s a lot to ask, but I’m confident that you will find the strength to abide the delay—as I tell you about something really cool called Silent Book Club.

Unlike traditional book clubs, Silent Book Club has no assigned reading. You don’t have to read what other people are reading—although you can, if you want to. Like traditional book clubs, Silent Book Club brings book lovers together to talk about books and interesting ideas, make new friends, and hang out with old friends.

What do people do at a Silent Book Club meeting? Well, first, we bring whatever book we’re reading to the venue, and we order a drink; meetings are often held at places like bars, wine bars, breweries, and the like (though, of course, there’s no obligation to drink alcohol, and people order what they please). Then, we alternate between chatting informally about books and anything else we feel like yammering about, and reading in friendly silence.

I first heard of Silent Book Club through an article in Poets & Writers magazine. Upon learning that the nearest club was farther from my home than I wanted to travel, I started my own local club. This was one of the best decisions I have ever made. I discovered that Silent Book Club is a great way to meet interesting, smart, and fun people. It’s also a great way to get some reading done.

I have been hosting Silent Book Club meetings for two years now, and our club has recently expanded from offering meetings every other week to offering meetings most weeks, at two different times and days so more people can participate. We also recently took a “field trip” to a bookstore / wine bar in a nearby town, which was great fun.

But back to my exciting news—I was invited to write a blog post for the Silent Book Club website, and it is now live! I invite you to read my article New Year’s Book Solutions, which is about tips for making time for reading. If you’ve ever struggled to find the time to read, or if you, like me, have made a New Year’s resolution to read books, you may find something useful in there. Click here to read the article!

I want to thank you all for reading my writing—it means a lot to me. I hope it helps you in some way. Our regularly scheduled programming will resume on Wednesday. Until then, stay safe, stay warm, and keep on reading, folks.