Thoughts

The Longest Day

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This year, the summer solstice fell on Tuesday, June 21st which was fitting because Tuesday was the longest day in what has felt like the longest month of my life.

My husband and I started June joyfully counting down the days until we would find out the gender of our first child. We were looking forward to getting serious about names and nursery themes (okay, I was maybe the only one excited about nursery themes..). When the doctor called and asked us to come in for an ultrasound due to abnormal quad screen results, my heart plummeted. My husband and I wanted nothing more than for our baby to be okay. As first-time expectant parents we worried about being able to give our baby the best possible life even if that life would be different than the one we had hoped and dreamed.

Yet, we still hoped and prayed that it was nothing and that the doctor was just being overly cautious, but I think we both knew that he would never unnecessarily worry us. At our appointment, we learned that our sweet baby had anencephaly and would not survive for longer than a few minutes, hours, or, at most, days after delivery.  I would be lying if I didn’t say that was a big pill to swallow. We were scared that we couldn’t be brave or strong enough to survive the coming months.

I have never felt so vulnerable. Normally, I am a very private person, and here I was emailing coworkers and texting acquaintances to explain the situation. It was hard, but somehow, sharing made it more bearable. I frequently thought of a favorite C.S. Lewis quote from “The Four Loves,” “To love  at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken.” Our hearts were broken, but we had so many people working to help us pick up the pieces. My husband and I will have to work on putting those pieces back together, but I know that we can (it helps that he loves a good jigsaw puzzle). With each passing day, it started to become easier to accept the diagnosis, and we were determined to love our baby the best that we could for as long as we could.

On June 21st, we went in for an appointment to ensure that both our baby and I were doing as well as possible. We had prepared questions about a birth plan and were anxious to inquire about the possibility of organ donation. It was truly a shock to learn that we had miscarried. I guess it is true that “the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.” *Shout out to my mother-in-law for successfully pulling out the appropriate Robert Burns quote and to my husband for knowing it was correct. What was otherwise a beautiful and still summer day became gloomy and dark in our eyes and hearts.

Although this new reality may be less physically trying, the emotional strain remains the same. I keep saying that June has been an emotional roller coaster, but that isn’t quite right because the lows keep getting lower and we haven’t managed to climb to any new heights. I have thought a lot about our decision to have the quad screen done in the first place. Initially, the possibility of it coming back abnormal felt distant and unlikely. We did it as a precaution with the thought that if something were awry we would want to have extra time to be prepared. Had we not had it done, we would have gone in for our anatomy screen only to learn that we had miscarried. We wouldn’t have had two extra weeks to love our baby and to be reminded of how much our family and friends loved both us and our baby. I needed those two weeks.

As we near the end of this month, I feel older and more vulnerable. Tears feel closer to the surface and laughter is not bubbling up quite as easily. But most importantly, I feel loved, and I feel love.

And,

That’s All She Wrote

*Song credit goes to my dear friend, Anna Schulze, who best conveys comfort through her music.

 

To Live is an Awfully Big Adventure

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I love children’s literature–especially the classics. They are all that is simple and good; there is none of the strife of the real world just simple lessons that most adults, including myself, can benefit from, and reading those books is an opportunity to escape from the harsh realities of “adulting.”

“Peter Pan and Wendy” has long been one of my favorites. I can never decide if I am more like Wendy or Peter, but maybe it is less about who I am more similar to than who I want to share more similarities with. Likely, everyone would tell you that I am a Wendy. I want to take care of and make people comfortable.  I love a plan, and Wendy seems like the kind of girl that likes a plan too. Peter, on the other hand, is so untethered. He operates on whims and fancies, and surprisingly, that is something that I envy.

Peter is always ready and willing to go on an adventure. In the book, Peter even goes as far as to say “to die would be an awfully big adventure.” The quote has always stuck with me. Although, I must admit that I much prefer the variation that was used in the popular Robin Williams movie, “Hook,”  which is “to live would be an awfully big adventure.” Recently, I have been reminded that living, is indeed, an awfully big adventure, but all adventures come with their fair share of challenges and strife. It isn’t all mermaids and flying; more often than not there are pirates lurking out at sea. And, some nights it feels as if a heavy fog has settled, and it is far more challenging on those nights than on others to find the “second star from the right” and fly “straight on until morning.”

When you are on an adventure, one of the greatest difficulties is changing course. My husband and I were thrilled to learn that we are expecting our first child, and we were preparing for the adventure of parenthood and raising a child. It was going to be a great challenge, but it is one that comes with many very tangible as well as intangible rewards. Unfortunately, we have had to change course after learning that our sweet baby has anencephaly and will not survive for more than a few minutes, hours, or days, at most, after delivery. We are now challenged with loving and caring for our baby the best that we can for as long as we can. We are hopeful that there will be rewards in this challenge as well, but I don’t think that they will be the tangible type. Right now, we are trying to navigate through the fog to find the “second star from the right.”

I know that it will take us awhile, but we will continue to move forward. I hope that I can be a little more like Peter and have the courage to embrace this element of our adventure. Because of course, it wouldn’t a true adventure it were easy. And in the meantime, I might pick up a few more children’s books to read.

And,

That’s All She Wrote

 

 

An Entrepreneurial Spirit: Varmint Control

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I might currently be a bureaucrat, but there are certainly days that I vehemently wish that I owned my own business. This desire is generally the strongest when there are sub zero temperatures, and the idea of putting on work clothes seems about as appealing as contracting leprosy (in my alternate, business owner reality I get to wear sensible shoes and jeans to work in the winter). It is on these days that I fondly recall the summer sun, bare feet, and my first venture into the business world.

I was young. I was hungry. I was ready to take the world by storm. Reality check: I was 6. It was summer, and I lived one door down from Ed’s Bait Shop aka The Candy Store. I was looking for an extra 35 cents. *Don’t scoff. 35 cents could get you a tootsie pop, a blow pop, and 3 gummy worms OR 35 tootie fruties OR 5 peachies and 2 gummy worms. The possibilities were endless. Like any self-respecting 6 year-old, I liked to hit up the candy store around 3 pm after having a nice little rest. My mom was certainly willing to finance this daily venture, but 25 cents was all I got. I had big dreams; 60 cents could buy a full bag of skittles. Summer is always full of possibilities, and the summer of ’96 was no exception.

What was my business you ask? Lot’s of kids go for the lemonade stand, but not me. Well, I should say not us. At 6, I wasn’t ready to give up all of my time to growing a business. I had a very active social agenda, and I saw the value in having a few partners to lean on and help with math that went beyond simple addition and subtraction. It was a family venture. My older brother and I boldly entered into a partnership with a brother/brother combo. Our business was critter catching. The neighbors no longer needed to worry about that pesky raccoon getting into their garbage. We were prepared to trap it.

How successful was our business? Well, we caught every critter we went after–we had a 100% success rate. This meant, of course, that we caught one raccoon. Why didn’t we stick with it? I really couldn’t tell you, but I like to chalk it up to differing management styles. My career as a varmint hunter and a principal owner of a successful business was short-lived, but I know what success (and a full bag of skittles) taste like. So who knows, maybe someday I will once again be struck with the entrepreneurial spirit. But, it’s tough to imagine a better career for me than varmint control.

**Correction: After posting I was reminded that the 3 pm trip to the Candy Store came after rest time rather than prior to it. 

Here we are after our first (and only) great success. Not we are all holding up one finger to note that this is just the first of many critters we intended to catch.

Here we are after our first (and only) great success. Note we are all holding up one finger to signify that this is just the first of many critters we intended to catch.

Living Each Day

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New Year’s resolutions are not a new phenomenon. As the sun sets on each year, it is quite common for people to take a step back and reflect the on their past 12 months. That reflection time is often brief and results in a new found dedication to diets, exercise, organization, and other life improvement goals.  This year I took a step beyond making new resolutions.

Rather than just looking back on areas where I fell short, I took time to remember the days I found fulfilling, memorable moments, and all of the fun times I had. I was inspired by a friend (aka I entirely stole his premise) who explained to me at the close of 2014 how he took the time to identify his top 30 days of the year using fulfillment, memorability, and fun as the primary factors.

I found that I had a hard time making a similar list. It is possible that I didn’t dedicate as much time to it as my friend who came up with the exercise while studying for law school finals. Why is it that we are so often struck by great ideas when our focus should be elsewhere? Regardless, I am positive that I had many days and experiences in 2014 that were memorable, fulfilling, and fun; I just couldn’t recall all of them or pinpoint the exact day most occurred. But, I loved the idea of tracking those days and am taking a more thorough approach in 2015.

This year, I am using a very basic spreadsheet to track the most significant event of each of my days whether it be a meeting, a meal shared with friends, or a soccer game on an uncharacteristically warm January day. At the end of the week, I pick a “Best Day.” And from my list of “Best Days of the Week”, I pick a “Best Day of the Month.”  It will be easy come December to pick my “Best Day of 2015” because I will already have it narrowed down to 12 days.

It has been one month since I started this exercise, and already, I am incredibly grateful for it. Here’s why:

  • Even on the most frustrating and tiring days, there is a diamond in the rough. It might be an important lesson learned, but most days it is just the active choice not to let the bad out-shadow the good.
  • If I am ever a key witness in a criminal trial, I will be able to clearly recall my day’s activities. There won’t be any of Serial’s inconsistencies.
  • I love Sundays.

And most importantly, I have been reminded that each day is a gift. The time we have on this earth is precious, and we should use it wisely. Tracking my daily activities has led me to live my life in a more purposeful manner. So, here’s to 2015 and the implementation of pirated ideas!

and,

            That’s All She Wrote

The Truth about being Busy

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Everyone is busy. That is a plain and simple truth. I don’t know one person that doesn’t consider them-self busy.The plight of being busy now begins in childhood. Even the youngest of children participate in multiple extra-curricula. By high school, students barely have time to eat dinner with their families, and most are too busy with one activity or another to even consider taking on a part-time job. *As an aside, I worry that many teenagers are missing an important opportunity to develop soft skills and to better prepare themselves to enter the workforce.* Those of us  already in the workforce face a constant barrage of emails and meeting invitations.  But, no matter your age or employment status, each of us is living life, and life has a way of being busy.

We are a society of multi-tasking, over-committers. And what’s even worse, it seems that many people seem to glorify being busy. I think we all know someone who attach some self-importance to being busy. They are the individuals who will spend an entire conversation meticulously telling you either everything they have to do or everything they have just accomplished. Precious moments that could be spent exchanging ideas are wasted on recitations of to-do lists.

I will admit with some embarrassment that there are times that I have been that person talking about my schedule. I don’t feel that being busy elevates me either personally or professionally. In fact on some days, I really begrudge being busy. But, I remember a time shortly after I started working that I would have given anything to have a way to fill my evenings. So on most days, I am grateful to have what I consider a full life, but a full life doesn’t necessarily have to mean a busy life.

A quote that is often attributed to Socrates reads, “beware the bareness of a busy life.” Now, I am unsure of whether Socrates ever said that, but since it is on the internet, I assume it must be true… Regardless of the statement’s origin, it puts forth a sentiment that I entirely subscribe to. A person whose days are full might have a very empty life.

I was especially struck by the distinction between a busy and a full life a few weeks ago while visiting a dear relative who has been a member of a monastery for more than 60 years. The members of this community do not have “busy” lives by modern standards yet their hearts and days seem very full.

Maybe your busyness is fulfilling and life giving, but maybe it isn’t. At the end of the day, I think that as a society we should stop the glorification of “busy.”

and,

            That’s All She Wrote

A Latin Lesson

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Had I waited until I was in my twenties to attend college, I likely would have chosen a more practical course of study. I may have become an engineer, an accountant, or majored in business administration. But instead, I was eighteen and chose to study Latin and Political Philosophy. Upon learning this, it is clear that people often teeter between thinking I am a high-brow intellectual or a raving idiot. I like to think I fall somewhere in between. Regardless, there is almost always a joke made about how useless Latin is in 2014.  The funny this is, Latin is actually fairly useful. Well, it is at the very least more useful than Political Philosophy…

Latin crops up quite often in our daily vernacular, but our use of it is sloppy at best. There was a time when all schoolchildren studied Latin, but as that is no longer the case, most people don’t realize that they are misusing Latin words. For example, have you ever referred you yourself as an “alum” or to your group of friends as “alums” of an institution? I hear intelligent people do it all the time. Guess what, you are not an alum. Look it up–Webster’s Dictionary defines alum as, “a potassium aluminum sulfate.” Guilty of this mistake? Don’t worry, you’re not the only one. See here, here, and here for just a few news stories that used either “alum” or “alums” in their headlines in the past twelve hours.

To avoid this mistake, keep the below in mind:

  • Alumnus = one man
  • Alumna = one woman
  • Alumni = group of men
  • Alumnae = group of women (pronounced like alumni)
  • Alumni = group of men and women

Whether or not you care, now you know.

and,

That’s All She Wrote

Daily Opportunities

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I have a job where I have the opportunity to be both yelled at by people who are frustrated and cried to by people who are desperate. And, I promise that I am not being facetious in my use of the word opportunity. These interactions have not only opened my eyes to the real struggles that so many people grapple with, but they have also helped me realize the type of person that I want to be.

There are two types of people in this world those with real problems and those with fake problems. Each day when I awake and am safe, warm, and know that I will be able to eat, I am grateful that I fall into the latter category. I am privileged that I am faced with the annoyance of having to complete my homework for grad-school, the challenge of finding time to do basic household chores, and the looming fear of always being single.  My issues seem so petty and small when I am talking to people who in pained voices tell me about how they are losing their homes, jobs, or children. It is true that these people might be the catalyst for their own problems, but that fact is really only indicative of other, real problems lurking beneath the surface.

I am often blamed, implored upon, and taken to task on how to best solve challenges that generally are far beyond any help that I am able to give. After a year of being on the receiving end, I have decided that, no matter the situation, there is a basic three-step approach that can be applied to any social interaction.

  • Listen: How often do we allow ourselves to be distracted when friends, family, new acquaintances, or colleagues are trying to relay information to us? I am embarrassed to admit that I used to promptly forget peoples’ names after being introduced.  But in the past year, I have been forced to be an active listener, and for that, I am grateful.  Sometimes all people need is somebody to listen to them and be able to say, “I am so sorry. This sounds like a really challenging situation.” Listening to complete strangers all day long has led me to truly listen when I interact with those people I do know well and actually listening has deepened my relationships.
  • Be Kind: There is very little to be gained in life by being rude or short with people. I have never once felt good about myself after being snarky or snapping at someone. However, I have been proud of myself when I have been patient or bit my tongue when I wanted to be rude or short. Certainly, I stand up for myself if need be, but I try to avoid being petty. There are three areas in which we can be kind: thoughts, words, and actions. Sometimes in life you have to fake it until you make it. I am not suggesting being insincere, but if you choose to be kind in words and actions, kind thoughts will follow. The being is in the             becoming.  Choosing to be kind has brought me peace. Being on the receiving end of rude behavior only reinforces to me that I don’t want to be burdened by that type of behavior.
  • Be Honest: Honesty is the best policy, and honest responses should be delivered with sincerity. I am sure there is something behind the saying, “cheaters never prosper,” but more than that, I want people to tell me the truth. I don’t want to give people false hope, but rather, I want to help in whatever way I can. Sometimes the only way that I can be helpful is by saying, “I am so sorry but this is not something that I am going to be able to help you with.” We should all be honest and not just with others, we also need to be honest with ourselves. The alternative is being dishonest. And, who wants to be known as dishonest?

Taped to my computer on a very professional pink sticky note, I have written a Charles Dickens quote that reads; “have a heart that never hardens, a temper that never tires, and a touch that never hurts.” It serves as a daily reminder to listen, to be patient, and to be kind. It describes the person I want to be not just at work but at all times.

and,

That’s All She Wrote

100 Fewer Friends

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Today I have 100 fewer friends, and I am apathetic about the loss. In fact if I am being entirely honest, I feel freer, lighter, and even a little relieved. I realized a while back that a large portion of my “friends” on Facebook are virtually strangers to me—or, I suppose it is more apt to describe them as “virtual” strangers. Scrolling through my newsfeed, I was bombarded by engagement announcements, wedding photos, new babies, new puppies, vacations, funerals, and an assortment of other major life events. Facebook was the sole reason that I was cognizant of these passing occasions. Although generally intrigued by the onslaught of personal information, I found one of the three scenarios to be true: the news had already been shared with me in a more personal manner, I was entirely disinterested, or the updates inspired me to be either judgmental or jealous. At best, it was old news, and at worst, Facebook was making me a small person.

Since I seem to be continually on a self-improvement kick (out of sheer necessity), I took a thirty-day hiatus from Facebook and reflected on what it means to be and have a friend. Our Facebook friend lists are deep and generally include acquaintances from high school, floor-mates from college, and fellow conference attendees from our post-grad lives. But, are these people really our friends? I think that we can all agree that they are not. Friendship is far more than liking flattering photos and remembering to wish people well on their birthdays.

Most of us have a best friend. Some of us are lucky enough to have a handful of close friends that can be entirely relied upon: the childhood friend who knows your entire family and the name of every pet you’ve ever had in chronological order, a smattering of college friends who stuck by your side during both toga parties and late night study sessions, and of course, the friends you make after college who help you navigate your way through adulthood (I am sure that there are other types of friends but this is as far as I have gotten in life). No matter the stage of life they were acquired, my friends are the people that I have laughed with and whose shoulders I have cried on (only the truest of friends love you enough not to complain about mascara stains and runny noses—this is doubly true if you are a female crying to your male friends). They are the people that I have stayed up all night with talking about both everything and nothing at the same time. They are also the people with whom I have been silent. I know my friends’ hopes, their business schemes, and how they plan to make a living if magically transported back to the 14th century (I plan to marry but have some concerns about being freakishly tall). Most importantly, my friends are the people I would do anything for and the people I could ask anything of. It is almost an abuse of rhetoric to use the same word to describe both the individuals to whom we bare our souls and the folks who know little beyond what is included in our “about” section on Facebook. But, thus is life, and I suppose there are more significant battles waiting to be fought.

At the end of my 30 days (and after being mildly chided by a friend who I do not get to see on a daily basis), I reinstalled the Facebook app on my phone. I recognize that it can be a great way to stay in touch with family and friends who live far away, but I decided that I do not need to keep up with people to whom I never talk or who were at the height of our relationships barely acquaintances. Society’s definition of friend might not be as lofty as Aristotle’s (see the Nicomachean Ethics or read a summary of it on the internet), but I think that, at the very least, I should only apply the term to individuals whose successes bring me joy and whose sorrows I am able to mourn. So, today I have 100 fewer “friends.” Do all of my current friends fit my qualifications? Probably not, but I got tired of being on Facebook.

                 and,

            That’s All She Wrote