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Introducing…

For I-won’t-say-how-many-dozen years, I’ve done the frum thing every Elul: chosen an area to improve. Made a bite-sized, doable kabbalah. Had a little extra kavanah in tefillah. I know all the tips and “how to make your kabbalah stick” techniques, and have even taught them to others.
But have I ever really gone about this teshuvah business in a serious, organized way? Have I ever spent as much time preparing for the judgment on Yom Hadin as I have preparing our Rosh Hashanah seudos? Have I actually changed?

Getting Ready

Since I’m a stay-at-home mom, finding time should be a cinch, right? Wrong. All day, there’s a spill that needs mopping, an important phone call from the doctor, a car pool pickup, or a baby wailing way too soon after being tucked in. So despite being home all day, it’s 10 p.m. before I head to my room and lock the door. I grab my phone to open Evernote, but I decide against that; a cheshbon hanefesh needs good, old-fashioned pen and paper: tangible and indelible.

The Challenge

The pre–Yom Tov, back-to-school rush leaves so little time for contemplation. After getting Ruchie the right backpack, helping Shuey agonize over the clear frames versus the gold, and returning calls to two shadchanim, I have very little time or energy left for self-improvement. I still have to unpack the groceries and put up the brisket. It’s tempting to pat myself on the back for turning on a shiur while I chop and peel, but deep down I realize that TorahAnytime can’t be the sum total of my spiritual life.
This year, I’m really going to take stock. I want to come to Yom Kippur with a business plan: These are my assets and this is where I’m headed.
That means real introspection. Not saying Tehillim, not looking in a sefer. I’m going to spend a complete hour alone with myself, focusing on honestly evaluating my relationship with Hashem.

How It Went Down

In a word: anticlimactic. Being alone with my thoughts isn’t torturous or searing, nor is it revelatory and uplifting. Getting started is slow — I struggle to marshal my thoughts. Like a kid in a boring class, I sneak glances at my watch and am surprised that it’s not advancing.
I’ll concentrate better with a snack, I decide. I get up. I go downstairs. I’m being ridiculous. I turn around at the bottom of the stairs and go back to my room empty-handed. Are the white shirts going to wrinkle if I leave them for another hour? I close my eyes for a minute to focus my thoughts and wake up a few minutes later. This is not working very well.
I decide to be systematic. Like a good Jewish housewife, I write lists: “Things I Accomplished This Year.” “Things I Failed Miserably At.” “Things I Need to Improve.” “Things I’m Good at Without Much Effort.” Nothing on any of the lists is really news to me, but slowly, without fanfare or blinding flashes of insight, patterns start to appear.
Seeing the unifying threads gives me encouragement, and, gradually picking up speed, I outline a plan. Four segments, rotating weeks, a multipronged approach to tackle a major trait that hampers my growth.