I've been thinking a lot lately about the idea of “playing to your strengths.” It started with vanity. Last month I made an impulse purchase in the Sephora check-out line: this peel (stay with me), and when I used it I was bowled over by what an immediate difference it made to my skin. Because I'm lucky enough to have naturally good skin, I never spend much time or energy making it better. That got me thinking. I know from experience that, despite many hours attempting to make my thighs leaner, it's far more rewarding to focus on whittling my naturally small waist because the results come so much faster.
I was still mulling that over when I spent an afternoon with a lovely singer friend. She's had quite a bit of success, but she confessed to me that because singing and performing have always come easy to her, she's never worked all that hard at it. She had a recent epiphany: if she could do this well without putting in a ton of effort, imagine where she might be if she really worked at it.
This resonated deeply with me. I have a strong and constant urge toward self-improvement, as I think many of us do, which means that my focus goes most often to correcting my deficiencies and developing new skills I lack. That can be incredibly satisfying; for example, after forcing myself to cook more I'm now relatively good at it and I love it. Often, though, it can feel like a never-ending struggle to be better at everything. I remember back when I was in high school and starting the college application process, some wise person (probably Mama Bossy) told me that it isn't true that colleges are looking for well-rounded students. No, they're looking for a well-rounded student body. Each applicant doesn't have to be good at everything—in fact, colleges want each student to have true depth of talent and passion, even if it's only in one specific area.
What if we're trying so hard to be well-rounded that we're missing out on that depth? What if, instead of relying on the things that come naturally to us to…come naturally, we focused our efforts toward those things and made them really great? What if we allowed ourselves to be bad at some things, and just go of them?
I don't know yet exactly how I want to apply this to my life (identifying exactly what your strengths are seems to be key in this equation), but it's giving me food for thought. You?
Showing posts with label Overanalyzing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Overanalyzing. Show all posts
Hello again
Soooo...you're not going to facebook OR blog now?!? What - are you trying some pioneer lifestyle? ;-p
I got this text from The Wise Soprano a few weeks back, followed by several concerned emails from other friends. So perhaps I should start by saying, everything's fine. Life is good. It turns out that the day I deactivated my Facebook account coincided with the last post I wrote here, almost 2 months ago, but I hadn't actually thought those events were related. Now I'm not so sure.
My 30th birthday, although it was relatively unaccompanied by angst or crisis of any kind, did bring with it a certain amount of stock-taking. 30, that nice big round number, feels like an arrival, time to know who you are and what you're doing. The big things in my life are right where I want them to be: I've just married a man more perfect for me than any I could imagine, my career is going swimmingly, I'm surrounded by a supportive family and the best friends anyone could ask for. I do worry, though, that the day-to-day is passing me by. When I have downtime, I'm more likely to fritter than to make it count, particularly when I'm away from CameraMan, which has been an awfully long time this fall.
I went off of the 'Book as a month-long experiment. I found myself spending an inordinate number of hours checking in on people I didn't feel particularly close to, and I wondered if I would miss it if I quit cold turkey. Turns out, I didn't, not at all, which is why I didn't reactivate my account after the month was up. I wish I could say that I've devoted the extra time I now have to better keeping in touch with the few people I truly care about, but that's still a work in progress.
The not blogging thing is something I don't understand as clearly. I'm struggling with what this blog means. I'm not an expat anymore. I don't have problems I want to escape. I'm thoroughly content living a life that consists mostly of work and CM, and honestly, I'm not entirely sure I have much to say anymore. Work has been hard these past few months, hard and dramatic and in some ways disappointing, but ultimately I've been reminded that I find great satisfaction in my work. And in an attempt to be kinder to myself, I'm telling myself that it's okay if the most I can accomplish on any given day is going to work, trying to do my job really well, and then telling my husband I love him. I'm giving myself permission to let go of self-improvement projects, to read the books I want to read instead of the ones on someone else's list, to stay up late watching episodes of Downton Abbey just because, to write only if there's something I want to say.
Tonight I felt like writing. Tomorrow I might not. Thanks for being here when I do.
I got this text from The Wise Soprano a few weeks back, followed by several concerned emails from other friends. So perhaps I should start by saying, everything's fine. Life is good. It turns out that the day I deactivated my Facebook account coincided with the last post I wrote here, almost 2 months ago, but I hadn't actually thought those events were related. Now I'm not so sure.
My 30th birthday, although it was relatively unaccompanied by angst or crisis of any kind, did bring with it a certain amount of stock-taking. 30, that nice big round number, feels like an arrival, time to know who you are and what you're doing. The big things in my life are right where I want them to be: I've just married a man more perfect for me than any I could imagine, my career is going swimmingly, I'm surrounded by a supportive family and the best friends anyone could ask for. I do worry, though, that the day-to-day is passing me by. When I have downtime, I'm more likely to fritter than to make it count, particularly when I'm away from CameraMan, which has been an awfully long time this fall.
I went off of the 'Book as a month-long experiment. I found myself spending an inordinate number of hours checking in on people I didn't feel particularly close to, and I wondered if I would miss it if I quit cold turkey. Turns out, I didn't, not at all, which is why I didn't reactivate my account after the month was up. I wish I could say that I've devoted the extra time I now have to better keeping in touch with the few people I truly care about, but that's still a work in progress.
The not blogging thing is something I don't understand as clearly. I'm struggling with what this blog means. I'm not an expat anymore. I don't have problems I want to escape. I'm thoroughly content living a life that consists mostly of work and CM, and honestly, I'm not entirely sure I have much to say anymore. Work has been hard these past few months, hard and dramatic and in some ways disappointing, but ultimately I've been reminded that I find great satisfaction in my work. And in an attempt to be kinder to myself, I'm telling myself that it's okay if the most I can accomplish on any given day is going to work, trying to do my job really well, and then telling my husband I love him. I'm giving myself permission to let go of self-improvement projects, to read the books I want to read instead of the ones on someone else's list, to stay up late watching episodes of Downton Abbey just because, to write only if there's something I want to say.
Tonight I felt like writing. Tomorrow I might not. Thanks for being here when I do.
Light, more light
Tonight I went in to the District to visit my good friend MuseumGirl. We've been friends since we lived in neighboring dorm rooms during freshman year of college. Apropos of nothing, she had a totally crazy roommate that year who Stole. Her. Underwear. And wore it. I kid you not. Anyway, now she (my friend, not the insane roommate) is a total bigshot at the Smithsonian, where she has worked her way up from an unpaid internship to being very very important and leading many many things. We ate grilled fish and veggies in her backyard, sipped wine, and talked about all kinds of things: relationships, our jobs, getting older (she recently turned 30, and you already know all about my own existential crisis). I even got to meet the new man in her life.
It was a great night, and not only because I've had so little contact with humans besides CM since we got here. In a business where intense friendships spring up quickly and fade just as fast, reconnecting with people who have known me a long time is refreshing and restorative. It's been 8 years since we graduated college, and it's amazing to see where we've all ended up (at least for now). The Best Friend just finished her dissertation and can now be referred to as Dr. Best Friend. My Gay Husband is living the glamorous NYC life we all dream of (those of us who have watched too much SATC, that is). The Soprano from Wisconsin is singing just about everywhere that matters (she had a 2-year head start on the rest of us, but still). MuseumGirl is kicking a** and taking names at the center of the U.S. museum scene. And me? I'm moving to my favorite city in the world with the love of my life. I'd say we're all doing pretty well.
And that, my friends, is the Lawrence difference.
It was a great night, and not only because I've had so little contact with humans besides CM since we got here. In a business where intense friendships spring up quickly and fade just as fast, reconnecting with people who have known me a long time is refreshing and restorative. It's been 8 years since we graduated college, and it's amazing to see where we've all ended up (at least for now). The Best Friend just finished her dissertation and can now be referred to as Dr. Best Friend. My Gay Husband is living the glamorous NYC life we all dream of (those of us who have watched too much SATC, that is). The Soprano from Wisconsin is singing just about everywhere that matters (she had a 2-year head start on the rest of us, but still). MuseumGirl is kicking a** and taking names at the center of the U.S. museum scene. And me? I'm moving to my favorite city in the world with the love of my life. I'd say we're all doing pretty well.
And that, my friends, is the Lawrence difference.
Bad news bears
The news has seemed unrelentingly grim lately. I don't know if it's because I'm back in the land of real NPR so I'm getting more thorough coverage, or if more bad things are actually happening, but with the oil spill, and the flotilla raid, and all that unconstitutional bull sh*t in Arizona, and the general economic and political mess we find ourselves in, I'm having a hard time finding the silver lining. And then today, the news of Al and Tipper splitting up. It could have been just a piece of gossip, a sad story of yet another celebrity couple who couldn't hack it, but it seems bigger somehow. Because it's not the divorce of just any celebrity couple; we're talking about high school sweethearts who just celebrated their 40th anniversary, a couple who spoke of each other with great affection any time they were interviewed and showed that affection (sometimes a little TOO much) easily and often.
It feels silly to care about people I don't even know, akin to ogling movie stars in US Weekly (Stars: they're just like us! They get divorced, too!) But there are days when I have trouble believing that marriages can be happy and healthy and last forever. The whole concept seems somewhat far-fetched, really, especially in our business, where it sometimes seems that every marriage is doomed either to end or to be riddled with infidelity.
The thing is, I'm an optimist, or a romantic, or something along those lines. Despite all evidence to the contrary, including my own experience, I still believe in marriage, in the forever kind of love. I believe it exists. And I don't have to look far to find evidence that I'm right: I have it in the 36-year marriage (and still going strong) of my own parents. One time I asked my mom how they did it, what was their secret, and she told me that in their entire marriage she had never had even a thought of leaving, not once. Doesn't that just take your breath away? It's something to strive for, and even more than that, I derive great strength from it.
Which isn't to say that I'm not still sad about the Gores—I am. But I'm able to step down from the ledge and realize that it's one sad story, not a sign that all marriages are doomed, or, you know, the impending apocalypse. And I also think of something Dan Savage once said on his podcast, something I hold very dearly and think of often, which is essentially (and I'm paraphrasing here) that a relationship is not a failure just because it ends.
But friends? If you've got some good news, send it my way, won't you? I think we all could use some.
It feels silly to care about people I don't even know, akin to ogling movie stars in US Weekly (Stars: they're just like us! They get divorced, too!) But there are days when I have trouble believing that marriages can be happy and healthy and last forever. The whole concept seems somewhat far-fetched, really, especially in our business, where it sometimes seems that every marriage is doomed either to end or to be riddled with infidelity.
The thing is, I'm an optimist, or a romantic, or something along those lines. Despite all evidence to the contrary, including my own experience, I still believe in marriage, in the forever kind of love. I believe it exists. And I don't have to look far to find evidence that I'm right: I have it in the 36-year marriage (and still going strong) of my own parents. One time I asked my mom how they did it, what was their secret, and she told me that in their entire marriage she had never had even a thought of leaving, not once. Doesn't that just take your breath away? It's something to strive for, and even more than that, I derive great strength from it.
Which isn't to say that I'm not still sad about the Gores—I am. But I'm able to step down from the ledge and realize that it's one sad story, not a sign that all marriages are doomed, or, you know, the impending apocalypse. And I also think of something Dan Savage once said on his podcast, something I hold very dearly and think of often, which is essentially (and I'm paraphrasing here) that a relationship is not a failure just because it ends.
But friends? If you've got some good news, send it my way, won't you? I think we all could use some.
Crisis averted?
It's been one existential crisis after another for me the past couple days, I could not even tell you why. First off, I ran into a friend from high school at the mall on Saturday. Wait. Take this in. I graduated from high school in Oregon in 1998...so, all the way across the country and 12 years ago. And then here it was, Saturday at Tysons Corner, and I heard my name, turned around, and saw my friend. From high school. In Oregon. 12 years ago. Weird, right? It was surreal, and my head's still spinning.
And then there was the matter of the ants. It's Saturday night, I'm going to the kitchen to fill up my water glass, when I notice some movement out of the corner of my eye. I do sort of a slow double take and manage to focus on the SWARMS of ants all over the Bossy Cat's food bowl. You know, I like to think of myself as pretty even-keeled, good in a crisis, quick on my feet, but this? This floored me and brought me to a complete halt, and honestly, if it hadn't been for CameraMan, I might have stood there rocking and keening all night long. Luckily, CM is actually even-keeled, good in a crisis, and quick on his feet. He was out the door to buy ant poison and ant traps before I had the chance to break down, and then he was back, and we were spraying the ants dead (oh, yes, ants have feelings too, but I don't care—I'm crazy bloodthirsty like that) and laying the traps all along their trail, and I was finally able to calm down. And there's been no sign of them since, no brave ones, no stragglers, no ants of any kind, and I'm just now quelling the feeling of being attacked in our own home. Is there anything worse than insects in your house? I can't think of much—tell me, is there anything worse?
Of course I had a lovely day yesterday—mood swings are tricky like that, you know? The lowest low is often followed by the highest high, or barring that, at the very least a lovely day.
But today was the other swing of the pendulum, and all of a sudden I was feeling OLD. I know, I know, I'm only 28, but it's just now dawning on me that I'm not the youngest anymore. For years, for practically my whole life, I was younger than everyone I knew. Younger can be embarrassing, but it's also a source of pride, as you arrive at milestones before everybody else. But now, "pushing" 30, there are very few milestones I could find that haven't been reached by other people I know, some of them my age, some of them even younger. And I miss being the youngest, being precocious or ahead of the game. I'm still on track, I think, but I'm not ahead of the pack. CM says this happens to everyone, that at some point you look around and realize you aren't moving forward in leaps and bounds; you're just doing what you do, and living your life, and just happy to be doing it well. I think I can get used to that, but it's still a shock to realize that as I take the next steps in my life, I wouldn't be a particularly young director, or an especially young bride, or a surprisingly young mother. I would just be me, doing what I do, living my life, and trying to do it well.
Without much happening, it's managed to be an eventful couple days. I've given it quite a bit of thought, and I've decided the best thing to do is to chalk it all up to hormonal shifts of some kind.
After all, I am pushing 30.
And then there was the matter of the ants. It's Saturday night, I'm going to the kitchen to fill up my water glass, when I notice some movement out of the corner of my eye. I do sort of a slow double take and manage to focus on the SWARMS of ants all over the Bossy Cat's food bowl. You know, I like to think of myself as pretty even-keeled, good in a crisis, quick on my feet, but this? This floored me and brought me to a complete halt, and honestly, if it hadn't been for CameraMan, I might have stood there rocking and keening all night long. Luckily, CM is actually even-keeled, good in a crisis, and quick on his feet. He was out the door to buy ant poison and ant traps before I had the chance to break down, and then he was back, and we were spraying the ants dead (oh, yes, ants have feelings too, but I don't care—I'm crazy bloodthirsty like that) and laying the traps all along their trail, and I was finally able to calm down. And there's been no sign of them since, no brave ones, no stragglers, no ants of any kind, and I'm just now quelling the feeling of being attacked in our own home. Is there anything worse than insects in your house? I can't think of much—tell me, is there anything worse?
Of course I had a lovely day yesterday—mood swings are tricky like that, you know? The lowest low is often followed by the highest high, or barring that, at the very least a lovely day.
But today was the other swing of the pendulum, and all of a sudden I was feeling OLD. I know, I know, I'm only 28, but it's just now dawning on me that I'm not the youngest anymore. For years, for practically my whole life, I was younger than everyone I knew. Younger can be embarrassing, but it's also a source of pride, as you arrive at milestones before everybody else. But now, "pushing" 30, there are very few milestones I could find that haven't been reached by other people I know, some of them my age, some of them even younger. And I miss being the youngest, being precocious or ahead of the game. I'm still on track, I think, but I'm not ahead of the pack. CM says this happens to everyone, that at some point you look around and realize you aren't moving forward in leaps and bounds; you're just doing what you do, and living your life, and just happy to be doing it well. I think I can get used to that, but it's still a shock to realize that as I take the next steps in my life, I wouldn't be a particularly young director, or an especially young bride, or a surprisingly young mother. I would just be me, doing what I do, living my life, and trying to do it well.
Without much happening, it's managed to be an eventful couple days. I've given it quite a bit of thought, and I've decided the best thing to do is to chalk it all up to hormonal shifts of some kind.
After all, I am pushing 30.
Movin' out
These past few days have made me feel like I'm already off-contract. I haven't thought much about work, and I've been hitting the books pretty hard to learn my next opera. I've finally had some leisure time, and I've started planning what to do with the next few weeks. Unfortunately, I am in fact not finished with B&B yet. We have two performances this week—one tonight and one on Friday. I spent the afternoon today in my office doing end-of-show things, like making my score pretty (a losing battle) and cleaning out my desk so that the next AD can use it.
This is huge. I haven't had to move out of my desk since May 2007, and that was only to move across the hall. And although I know I'll be back in my office in March, it felt momentous to pack up all my office supplies (not stolen, I promise), tchotchkes (including an opening night gift from 3 years ago), and assorted cards and notes into a bag and bring them out to my car.
I have been working in Houston for over 3 years, during which time the company and the city have come to feel very much like home. And while I know this is the right time for me to start working other places, and I am incredibly excited to go to New York, I have mixed feelings about leaving. I know I will be sorry to miss the HGO winter shows, not to mention my friends, my kitten (more on that later), and my CameraMan.
The next couple days will be spent finishing the packing up of my apartment, about which I have no mixed feelings. I might miss the sheer size of the place, but I'm looking forward to shacking up temporarily with CM.
Here's a little moving humor, courtesy of McSweeney's:
This is huge. I haven't had to move out of my desk since May 2007, and that was only to move across the hall. And although I know I'll be back in my office in March, it felt momentous to pack up all my office supplies (not stolen, I promise), tchotchkes (including an opening night gift from 3 years ago), and assorted cards and notes into a bag and bring them out to my car.
I have been working in Houston for over 3 years, during which time the company and the city have come to feel very much like home. And while I know this is the right time for me to start working other places, and I am incredibly excited to go to New York, I have mixed feelings about leaving. I know I will be sorry to miss the HGO winter shows, not to mention my friends, my kitten (more on that later), and my CameraMan.
The next couple days will be spent finishing the packing up of my apartment, about which I have no mixed feelings. I might miss the sheer size of the place, but I'm looking forward to shacking up temporarily with CM.
Here's a little moving humor, courtesy of McSweeney's:
Pickup Lines to Use While Moving (by Alison Rosen)
"Nice shoes. Wanna put them in that box over there?"
"Is that a mirror in your pocket? Because the movers are going to be here soon, so we should put it in bubble wrap."
"Your father must have been a thief, because I can't find the duct tape."
"The word of the day is 'tarp.' What do you say we go back to my place and spread the word?"
"Mind if I put my junk in your box?"
"If this bed's a-rockin' ... maybe it's not worth taking to the new place?"
"Nice shoes. Wanna put them in that box over there?"
"Is that a mirror in your pocket? Because the movers are going to be here soon, so we should put it in bubble wrap."
"Your father must have been a thief, because I can't find the duct tape."
"The word of the day is 'tarp.' What do you say we go back to my place and spread the word?"
"Mind if I put my junk in your box?"
"If this bed's a-rockin' ... maybe it's not worth taking to the new place?"
Stored up
My contract ends this Friday, which means that Moving Day is upon us once again. I'll be staying with CameraMan for about 6 weeks, and then it's on to New York for 2 months, so the next time I'll have ready access to all my stuff is March. I've spent the past couple days purging: magazines I'll never read again, clothing I'll never wear again, and what seems like mountains of trash. Then comes the sorting game, deciding what goes into storage and what goes with me to CM's place. The process of packing up my apartment was so much simpler in the summer; it's easy to streamline when everything has to fit in your car. When I'm in Houston, I end up making all-too-frequent trips to my storage unit, unpacking more boxes, accumulating more stuff.
I spent a good hour in aforementioned storage unit this afternoon, digging through boxes to retrieve my KitchenAid mixer (for holiday baking), ornaments (for the Christmas tree that I'm wishing for), and a few pieces of my favorite cold-weather clothing that I thought were lost forever. Finding things in there and then rearranging the boxes is like a giant puzzle, except that the pieces are really really heavy and when you're finished you are never left with a pretty picture. Add to that the annoyance of a motion detector light that doesn't detect your motion if you're inside the unit, "climate control" that most closely resembles a sauna, and U-haul boxes that are just barely hanging on after making about 3 moves too many, and what do you get? That's right, a nervous breakdown.
I haven't been doing it long, this living out of boxes thing. Really, it's been only a little over a year, but I'm done. I'm over it. I hate that my permanent address is a UPS store. I hate that I have every kind of baking dish you can think of, but I can't use any of them. I hate that when people ask where I'm based, I have to give some lame answer like, "Well, Houston, sort of, but really nowhere." I hate that every corporate apartment I stay in feels so...corporate. I hate that every 2 months like clockwork I have to go through several days of hell packing up all my stuff, only to do it all over again for the next contract.
Usually I like to end a post like this with some kind of decision, a positive step, something to make this more than just a complaint/rant, but in this case there's really nothing to be done about it, not yet. I'm looking forward to the day I can put down roots and make a home for myself, but the earliest I can foresee that happening is Fall 2009.
And in the meantime, thanks for listening.
I spent a good hour in aforementioned storage unit this afternoon, digging through boxes to retrieve my KitchenAid mixer (for holiday baking), ornaments (for the Christmas tree that I'm wishing for), and a few pieces of my favorite cold-weather clothing that I thought were lost forever. Finding things in there and then rearranging the boxes is like a giant puzzle, except that the pieces are really really heavy and when you're finished you are never left with a pretty picture. Add to that the annoyance of a motion detector light that doesn't detect your motion if you're inside the unit, "climate control" that most closely resembles a sauna, and U-haul boxes that are just barely hanging on after making about 3 moves too many, and what do you get? That's right, a nervous breakdown.
I haven't been doing it long, this living out of boxes thing. Really, it's been only a little over a year, but I'm done. I'm over it. I hate that my permanent address is a UPS store. I hate that I have every kind of baking dish you can think of, but I can't use any of them. I hate that when people ask where I'm based, I have to give some lame answer like, "Well, Houston, sort of, but really nowhere." I hate that every corporate apartment I stay in feels so...corporate. I hate that every 2 months like clockwork I have to go through several days of hell packing up all my stuff, only to do it all over again for the next contract.
Usually I like to end a post like this with some kind of decision, a positive step, something to make this more than just a complaint/rant, but in this case there's really nothing to be done about it, not yet. I'm looking forward to the day I can put down roots and make a home for myself, but the earliest I can foresee that happening is Fall 2009.
And in the meantime, thanks for listening.
TGI my birthday weekend
Little Ms. Hardcore teases me that I always wind up with the "easy" shows. I'm never on the show with the crazy director who tries to fire me, or the insanely complicated set that requires stagehands in every rehearsal, or (ahem) the set piece that's so tall it takes off a sprinkler head in the theatre, pouring thousands of gallons of water onto the stage. Instead, I get the good-guy directors, the 2-hour running times (that's short in the world of opera, you know), and the early rehearsal endings.
Beatrice and Benedict is no exception, which is how I've hit the jackpot with two days off this weekend. It couldn't come at a more perfect time, since this is my birthday weekend! No rehearsal today, so I've been relaxing and cleaning. Tonight I'm being taken out to a nice dinner—I don't know where, just that I need to be ready at 7:45 wearing my new dress. I love surprises. I have rehearsal all day tomorrow (my actual birthday), but as soon as rehearsal's over at 10pm CameraMan and I are driving to my birthday present. I've guessed where we're going (and it's really really awesome), but I don't know for sure. The present will take most of the day Sunday, and then we'll drive back to Houston in time to throw a joint birthday party (CM's b-day is 10/17, in case you were wondering). I'm so excited for the whole weekend.
It's impossible for me not to compare this birthday to last year's. Although I had lots of fun with my friends at my party, everything is so much better this year. Last fall was such a difficult time for me, and the whole time I felt like I was struggling to stay afloat. Now, on the other hand, I am so happy. Happy at work, happy in my personal life, happy happy happy.
I think it's going to be a happy birthday.
Beatrice and Benedict is no exception, which is how I've hit the jackpot with two days off this weekend. It couldn't come at a more perfect time, since this is my birthday weekend! No rehearsal today, so I've been relaxing and cleaning. Tonight I'm being taken out to a nice dinner—I don't know where, just that I need to be ready at 7:45 wearing my new dress. I love surprises. I have rehearsal all day tomorrow (my actual birthday), but as soon as rehearsal's over at 10pm CameraMan and I are driving to my birthday present. I've guessed where we're going (and it's really really awesome), but I don't know for sure. The present will take most of the day Sunday, and then we'll drive back to Houston in time to throw a joint birthday party (CM's b-day is 10/17, in case you were wondering). I'm so excited for the whole weekend.
It's impossible for me not to compare this birthday to last year's. Although I had lots of fun with my friends at my party, everything is so much better this year. Last fall was such a difficult time for me, and the whole time I felt like I was struggling to stay afloat. Now, on the other hand, I am so happy. Happy at work, happy in my personal life, happy happy happy.
I think it's going to be a happy birthday.
A day to remember
Within 5 minutes of meeting Grandma Bossy, she will invariably ask you when your birthday is. She will then go through the extensive birthday calendar IN HER HEAD, and tell you who in her extended network of family and friends has the same birthday. Failing that, you will usually get at least 2 people whose birthdays surround yours. It's uncanny.
I don't have nearly her total recall when it comes to dates, but I do have a tendency to keep track of milestones (as you may have noticed), particularly in relationships. First date, first kiss, first everything. I even like to acknowledge them, not just yearly, but monthly, too: luniversaries.
Unfortunately, I have yet to figure out a way to turn off this habit when it comes to past relationships, and so today I am stuck remembering that this would have been my wedding anniversary. Starting this year, it's my noniversary. If I were as wise and grown-up as I pretend to be, I would probably draw some inspirational conclusion from the passing of the day. Something about every experience making me a stronger and better person, or about examining the mistakes in my past to guarantee I don't repeat them, or maybe even some cliché involving a door and a window. I'd like to wrap up that way, but mainly I'm just sad, and far too introspective. I'm worried that I will never be free of this baggage, that I'll never work up the courage to take the plunge again, that I'll never trust myself again with the word "forever." I'm worried.
To mark the occasion, I spent the morning at the zoo, and the afternoon weeping. Tomorrow it will be over, and I'll move on to another milestone: it's the Army Brat's birthday, all the way across the ocean in the Netherlands. I'm looking forward to the year that August 26 comes around and I realize I have completely passed my noniversary by without remembering.
And in case you're wondering, I share a birthday with Aunt Bossy, my hairdresser, and 2 coloratura sopranos (that I know of). Plus, approximately 40% of my friends' birthdays are within a 2-week radius of mine. What can I say, we Libras love the arts.
I don't have nearly her total recall when it comes to dates, but I do have a tendency to keep track of milestones (as you may have noticed), particularly in relationships. First date, first kiss, first everything. I even like to acknowledge them, not just yearly, but monthly, too: luniversaries.
Unfortunately, I have yet to figure out a way to turn off this habit when it comes to past relationships, and so today I am stuck remembering that this would have been my wedding anniversary. Starting this year, it's my noniversary. If I were as wise and grown-up as I pretend to be, I would probably draw some inspirational conclusion from the passing of the day. Something about every experience making me a stronger and better person, or about examining the mistakes in my past to guarantee I don't repeat them, or maybe even some cliché involving a door and a window. I'd like to wrap up that way, but mainly I'm just sad, and far too introspective. I'm worried that I will never be free of this baggage, that I'll never work up the courage to take the plunge again, that I'll never trust myself again with the word "forever." I'm worried.
To mark the occasion, I spent the morning at the zoo, and the afternoon weeping. Tomorrow it will be over, and I'll move on to another milestone: it's the Army Brat's birthday, all the way across the ocean in the Netherlands. I'm looking forward to the year that August 26 comes around and I realize I have completely passed my noniversary by without remembering.
And in case you're wondering, I share a birthday with Aunt Bossy, my hairdresser, and 2 coloratura sopranos (that I know of). Plus, approximately 40% of my friends' birthdays are within a 2-week radius of mine. What can I say, we Libras love the arts.
Tick…tick…
The technological world of Little Ms. Bossy seems to be experiencing some kind of universal system crash, sending the emotional world of Little Ms. Bossy into near-meltdown status. The Sanity Threat Level was already pretty high, probably about orange ("elevated"), based on a seemingly unending period of unemployment summer vacation and general malaise stemming from a lack of purpose. The latest spate of crises, which when considered together can only be interpreted as signs of the Bossypocalypse, just might edge it up to red.
It started out with the BossiBook, which I suspect may have been engineered to fail exactly 3 years from the date of purchase, rendering me 100% liable when I throw it across the room and sheepishly attempt to exchange it at the Apple Store. Saying that the computer is "slow" doesn't really do the situation justice. It calls out for a clichéd metaphor like "slow as molasses," or "snail's pace," or "slow enough to drive Little Ms. Bossy to drink." I've tried everything I can think of. I bought an external hard drive and transferred all my music and photos, freeing up about 12GB of space on my computer. Papa Bossy ran some top-secret code on the Terminal utility. Even begging "pretty please with a cherry on top" didn't make any difference. Every once in a while we have a good day and I gain back my optimism, only to have my hopes dashed the very next day when it won't let me do something simple, like…I don't know…USE THE KEYBOARD. The Bossy Camera, which miraculously seems to be unharmed, has been working overtime taking lots of pretty pictures. I would love to show them to you, but I can't. The BossiBook won't let me.
Good thing I have my trusty BossiPhone, right? WRONG. The Maps feature of my phone crashes every time I open it, and Safari is having some crashing issues as well. Even the phone feature has been exhibiting some quirky behavior, vibrating at random and forgetting to ring when someone calls.
And then there's the Bossy Beetle (Frankie). Her check engine light lit up right before I left for Denver, so I didn't have time to bring her in until yesterday. Turns out, lots of things are wrong with her, the details of which I have only a very shaky grasp. I shelled out about $1000 today to get her ship-shape. And that's not including the $600 of repairs I decided to hold off on, including the part of my car that is currently held together with string (truly). Spending that kind of money on anything always leaves me feeling slightly sick to my stomach, and the timing on this one could not have been worse. I'm doing the responsible adult thing (it doesn't come naturally) and canceling my trip to LA to see Woody's first opera, as well as putting plans for my very own apartment on hold.
All of this has put me in a very crabby mood. Thank goodness the refrigerator still works. It's not too early for beer, is it?
It started out with the BossiBook, which I suspect may have been engineered to fail exactly 3 years from the date of purchase, rendering me 100% liable when I throw it across the room and sheepishly attempt to exchange it at the Apple Store. Saying that the computer is "slow" doesn't really do the situation justice. It calls out for a clichéd metaphor like "slow as molasses," or "snail's pace," or "slow enough to drive Little Ms. Bossy to drink." I've tried everything I can think of. I bought an external hard drive and transferred all my music and photos, freeing up about 12GB of space on my computer. Papa Bossy ran some top-secret code on the Terminal utility. Even begging "pretty please with a cherry on top" didn't make any difference. Every once in a while we have a good day and I gain back my optimism, only to have my hopes dashed the very next day when it won't let me do something simple, like…I don't know…USE THE KEYBOARD. The Bossy Camera, which miraculously seems to be unharmed, has been working overtime taking lots of pretty pictures. I would love to show them to you, but I can't. The BossiBook won't let me.
Good thing I have my trusty BossiPhone, right? WRONG. The Maps feature of my phone crashes every time I open it, and Safari is having some crashing issues as well. Even the phone feature has been exhibiting some quirky behavior, vibrating at random and forgetting to ring when someone calls.
And then there's the Bossy Beetle (Frankie). Her check engine light lit up right before I left for Denver, so I didn't have time to bring her in until yesterday. Turns out, lots of things are wrong with her, the details of which I have only a very shaky grasp. I shelled out about $1000 today to get her ship-shape. And that's not including the $600 of repairs I decided to hold off on, including the part of my car that is currently held together with string (truly). Spending that kind of money on anything always leaves me feeling slightly sick to my stomach, and the timing on this one could not have been worse. I'm doing the responsible adult thing (it doesn't come naturally) and canceling my trip to LA to see Woody's first opera, as well as putting plans for my very own apartment on hold.
All of this has put me in a very crabby mood. Thank goodness the refrigerator still works. It's not too early for beer, is it?
Virtues
loyalty.
willingness to eat anything wrapped in bacon.
bossiness.
tendency to belt shout tunes in the car.
bootyliciousness.
sarcasm for any occasion.
compassion.
naturally wavy hair.
impeccable taste.
perfect "that's what she said" timing.
easy laughter.
mad tap dancing skills.
respectable alcohol tolerance.
cuddliness.
perfect 20/20 vision.
See, it's not all bad.
willingness to eat anything wrapped in bacon.
bossiness.
tendency to belt shout tunes in the car.
bootyliciousness.
sarcasm for any occasion.
compassion.
naturally wavy hair.
impeccable taste.
perfect "that's what she said" timing.
easy laughter.
mad tap dancing skills.
respectable alcohol tolerance.
cuddliness.
perfect 20/20 vision.
See, it's not all bad.
Vices
fondness for juicy gossip.
willingness to eat anything wrapped in bacon.
propensity for daydreaming.
moodiness.
lack of willpower.
inclination to swear at other drivers.
laziness.
addiction to iTunes.
weakness for sweet talk.
xenophilia.
tendency to overspend.
impatience.
habit of shouting out answers during game shows.
readiness to cry at the drop of a hat.
susceptibility to all things pretty.
willingness to eat anything wrapped in bacon.
propensity for daydreaming.
moodiness.
lack of willpower.
inclination to swear at other drivers.
laziness.
addiction to iTunes.
weakness for sweet talk.
xenophilia.
tendency to overspend.
impatience.
habit of shouting out answers during game shows.
readiness to cry at the drop of a hat.
susceptibility to all things pretty.
C'est fini
People talk a lot about closure: how to get it, why it's important, the impossibility of moving on without it. I've never really understood it, the need for something external to give you internal peace, the desire to bookend a relationship, a friendship, a job. It's rare that I have longed for one last conversation, one last letter, one last meeting. For better or for worse, I've always had an uncanny ability to simply not think about things that are bothering me. At this point all of you who have been/are in therapy are rolling your eyes, and I get why. No, it might not be the healthiest approach, but the truth is that if you don't think about something for long enough, it often ceases to be important to you. For me, at least. Out of sight, out of mind, or something like that. And it helps that I've led a pretty charmed life, with very few catastrophic events marring my view of kittens and rainbows and ice cream cones.
Tuesday morning at family court in downtown Houston I got some of the most definitive closure there is (if you're not in an Elizabeth Taylor-Richard Burton kind of situation, that is). I stood alone in a hallway full of tear-stained faces, sullen children, and couples not speaking to each other. I sat in court and watched as a boy who hadn't had any contact with his mother for the last 9 years was adopted by his stepmother into what was obviously a warm loving family. I waited patiently for my turn. I stood up in front of a judge and read aloud from a piece of paper provided by the court. No simple "I do" or "I will" here; I had to say things like "The marriage has become insupportable because of discord and conflict," and "There is no hope of reconciliation." A simple signature on a piece of paper, and I was done.
And then I walked out of the building, got in my car, and drove home. And I could feel it. Through the frustration and sadness and disappointment, it was there. I was still sorting through my feelings. I was still mourning the loss of the man and the marriage. But there was something else there, something new.
Closure.
Closure is a freedom. It's an ending, of a relationship, of a marriage, of the life I thought I would have, but it's more than that. It's a beginning, too. It's an opening of possibilities. It's an endless horizon. It's a deceptive cadence.
And I think I finally get it.
Tuesday morning at family court in downtown Houston I got some of the most definitive closure there is (if you're not in an Elizabeth Taylor-Richard Burton kind of situation, that is). I stood alone in a hallway full of tear-stained faces, sullen children, and couples not speaking to each other. I sat in court and watched as a boy who hadn't had any contact with his mother for the last 9 years was adopted by his stepmother into what was obviously a warm loving family. I waited patiently for my turn. I stood up in front of a judge and read aloud from a piece of paper provided by the court. No simple "I do" or "I will" here; I had to say things like "The marriage has become insupportable because of discord and conflict," and "There is no hope of reconciliation." A simple signature on a piece of paper, and I was done.
And then I walked out of the building, got in my car, and drove home. And I could feel it. Through the frustration and sadness and disappointment, it was there. I was still sorting through my feelings. I was still mourning the loss of the man and the marriage. But there was something else there, something new.
Closure.
Closure is a freedom. It's an ending, of a relationship, of a marriage, of the life I thought I would have, but it's more than that. It's a beginning, too. It's an opening of possibilities. It's an endless horizon. It's a deceptive cadence.
And I think I finally get it.
My new Zen attitude
The most difficult part of my job isn't the long hours, or the intensity of productions, or the uncertainty of the future, or the challenge of dealing with big personalities (read: divas). No, the most difficult part for me is the time in between productions (read: right now).
On the face of it, a vacation is a glorious thing. Sleeping in, no responsibilities, time with friends and family, the opportunity to read and exercise and all those other things I never do. I am certainly a person who relishes my free time, and the time between shows has an abundance of that. But (and there's always a but) I can really only handle it for very short periods. I love a free day during a crazy tech week. I love an unexpected full 2-day weekend in the middle of a production. I do not love 3 whole weeks away from work.
I know it's irrational, but after just a few days I start to feel useless and without direction. I question my purpose and wonder what I'm doing with my life. Never mind that I'm really content with the way my life is going (read: happy). Never mind that I've quite recently gotten a pretty exciting job offer that I'll share details of as soon as I have the contract in my hot little hands. When I'm not working, I forget all of that in favor of long ruminations about the utter lameness of my existence.
Last night, when I should have been blogging, I was in the midst of an epiphany, or a catharsis, or some other kind of multi-syllabic moment of note. Grandma Bossy took me to a play last night, and while it wasn't my favorite night of all time at the theatre, I did hear its message loud and clear. Mostly because I was hit over the head with it by a 2" x 4" (read: excessive repetition). The message was essentially, "Live in the moment." Not incredibly profound and definitely not the first time I've heard it, but it was just what I needed to snap me out of my mid-vacay funk.
I'm an ambitious person. I want to live an extraordinary life, and in everything I do I am building toward that goal. In a lot of ways this is a good thing. I've moved forward in my career quickly and easily due in large part to my drive and ambition. The flip side, of course, is that I'm never completely happy with where I am, especially when I don't feel like I'm doing anything to directly move forward.
So, back to the catharsis (or whatever it was). Are you ready?
I realized yesterday that maybe I"m already living an extraordinary life.
Huge, right? I'm not saying that the funk is completely gone. I'm still feeling somewhat despondent, but at least the rational side of my mind is aware that things aren't so bad.
Even right now, at this very minute, even though I'm not at work. I'm sitting in front of the fireplace with a cat curled up at my feet, taking advantage of the lovely hospitality (read: wine and wi-fi) of Uncle and Aunt Bossy. And I'm feeling better by the minute.
On the face of it, a vacation is a glorious thing. Sleeping in, no responsibilities, time with friends and family, the opportunity to read and exercise and all those other things I never do. I am certainly a person who relishes my free time, and the time between shows has an abundance of that. But (and there's always a but) I can really only handle it for very short periods. I love a free day during a crazy tech week. I love an unexpected full 2-day weekend in the middle of a production. I do not love 3 whole weeks away from work.
I know it's irrational, but after just a few days I start to feel useless and without direction. I question my purpose and wonder what I'm doing with my life. Never mind that I'm really content with the way my life is going (read: happy). Never mind that I've quite recently gotten a pretty exciting job offer that I'll share details of as soon as I have the contract in my hot little hands. When I'm not working, I forget all of that in favor of long ruminations about the utter lameness of my existence.
Last night, when I should have been blogging, I was in the midst of an epiphany, or a catharsis, or some other kind of multi-syllabic moment of note. Grandma Bossy took me to a play last night, and while it wasn't my favorite night of all time at the theatre, I did hear its message loud and clear. Mostly because I was hit over the head with it by a 2" x 4" (read: excessive repetition). The message was essentially, "Live in the moment." Not incredibly profound and definitely not the first time I've heard it, but it was just what I needed to snap me out of my mid-vacay funk.
I'm an ambitious person. I want to live an extraordinary life, and in everything I do I am building toward that goal. In a lot of ways this is a good thing. I've moved forward in my career quickly and easily due in large part to my drive and ambition. The flip side, of course, is that I'm never completely happy with where I am, especially when I don't feel like I'm doing anything to directly move forward.
So, back to the catharsis (or whatever it was). Are you ready?
I realized yesterday that maybe I"m already living an extraordinary life.
Huge, right? I'm not saying that the funk is completely gone. I'm still feeling somewhat despondent, but at least the rational side of my mind is aware that things aren't so bad.
Even right now, at this very minute, even though I'm not at work. I'm sitting in front of the fireplace with a cat curled up at my feet, taking advantage of the lovely hospitality (read: wine and wi-fi) of Uncle and Aunt Bossy. And I'm feeling better by the minute.
Little Ms. Bossy (The Soundtrack)
In my regular non-vacay life, there is constant music. At home from the Sounddock, in the car from my iPod, at work from the real live singers I work with, at the bar from the jukebox. I am so rarely without music that the few minutes I'm forbidden to use my iPod on the plane before we reach cruising altitude seem like an eternity.
I have plenty of music on my iPod (drastic understatement), so I can pick the music I listen to based on the mood I'm in at any given moment. Currently it's:
I've been enjoying all the aforementioned artists, yes, but mostly what I've been listening to for the last week is La Bohème. Endlessly. I have 6 full recordings of the opera on my iPod, and I've been cycling through them, act by act. I listen to it while I'm studying, I listen to it while I'm napping, I even listened to it while doing crunches at the gym today. The only way I know to truly learn an opera is to listen to it about a gazillion times. You can wait until you're in rehearsal, where you're forced to hear it that much, or you can do it yourself before the rehearsals start. I prefer the latter approach.
The result of all this Bohème immersion is that I seem to be more emotional than usual, more quick to tears, more prone to unprovoked sappiness. The beauty of Puccini's music is enough to soften the hardest of hearts, and it seems to be a balm to my broken one. My response to the music is emotional, physical, visceral, and at times exhausting. And it's not just the music. I finished translating the libretto today (don't be too impressed—by translating I just mean writing Nico Castel's translation in my score), and there are so many poignant moments in the text alone that just thinking about some of them makes me tear up.
I generally think of myself as a pretty rational, intellectual person, and I think I've got the Puccini-inspired hysterics mostly under control.
For now, that is. I still have 10 weeks of Bohème to go.
Uh-oh.
I have plenty of music on my iPod (drastic understatement), so I can pick the music I listen to based on the mood I'm in at any given moment. Currently it's:
- Jack Johnson and Joshua Radin to relax
- Kate Nash and Lily Allen to primp
- Vampire Weekend and Regina Spektor to smile
- Ingrid Michaelson to feel at home
- Elgar's Cello Concerto and William Fitzsimmons to cry
- Astor Piazzolla and Carla Bruni to feel sexy
- Lauren Kennedy to sing
I've been enjoying all the aforementioned artists, yes, but mostly what I've been listening to for the last week is La Bohème. Endlessly. I have 6 full recordings of the opera on my iPod, and I've been cycling through them, act by act. I listen to it while I'm studying, I listen to it while I'm napping, I even listened to it while doing crunches at the gym today. The only way I know to truly learn an opera is to listen to it about a gazillion times. You can wait until you're in rehearsal, where you're forced to hear it that much, or you can do it yourself before the rehearsals start. I prefer the latter approach.
The result of all this Bohème immersion is that I seem to be more emotional than usual, more quick to tears, more prone to unprovoked sappiness. The beauty of Puccini's music is enough to soften the hardest of hearts, and it seems to be a balm to my broken one. My response to the music is emotional, physical, visceral, and at times exhausting. And it's not just the music. I finished translating the libretto today (don't be too impressed—by translating I just mean writing Nico Castel's translation in my score), and there are so many poignant moments in the text alone that just thinking about some of them makes me tear up.
I generally think of myself as a pretty rational, intellectual person, and I think I've got the Puccini-inspired hysterics mostly under control.
For now, that is. I still have 10 weeks of Bohème to go.
Uh-oh.
I have goals, you know
Tonight's my last night in H-town. Tomorrow evening I'm off on a 16-day trip to Chicago and Southern California (a nightmare of a trip to pack for if there ever was one). I had a Bon Voyage get-together of sorts with some friends. Margaritas were guzzled, chips with various dips were devoured, and other generally carousing went on. It was great to party, but I have to remember that although the next couple weeks are a vacation, I can't completely slack off. I have goals, you know.
For example:
Or is that too much? Maybe I need to forget all the goals and just focus on enjoying my totally klutch vacation.
Yeah, right. I might as well list completely change personality as a goal.
Until next time, when I blog by candlelight from a freezing cold garret, wearing those awesome fingerless gloves and stickin' it to the man. Too bad I'm all digital; otherwise I could burn my blog posts to keep warm.
For example:
- Not freeze my a** off while in Chi-town. The Best Friend said to me on the phone today, "You're lucky. When you get here it'll be in the 20's." I have a feeling I won't be feeling so lucky come tomorrow evening.
- Catch up with friends. I talk to the Best Friend a couple times a week on the phone, but nothing helps best friend bonding like hanging out on the couch while watching reruns of Law & Order.
- Learn La Bohème. I did some translation work this afternoon, and there are surprisingly few strippers with HIV in it. And I thought I knew this show.
- Go to a convention of Little Ms. Bossy fans. Otherwise known as Grandma's house.
- Rest. Wait, what have I been doing for the past 2 weeks? Never mind.
- Spend some time outside. I'm hoping the majority of this will take place during the Cali part of my trip. Have I mentioned how cold I will be in Chicago?
- Be healthy. Again, I'll have better luck with this in California.
- Take a lot of pictures. I've been neglectful of my camera lately, mainly because I'm too busy drooling over CameraMan's DSLR. I need to get over it and learn to use the camera I have.
- Meditate until an amazing summer job magically drops in my lap. And what better place for meditation than Southern California? Seriously.
- Write. On my Europe trip I did a lot of creative writing outside of my blog, and I really enjoyed it. I've been neglecting it since getting back, but on vacation I have no excuse.
Or is that too much? Maybe I need to forget all the goals and just focus on enjoying my totally klutch vacation.
Yeah, right. I might as well list completely change personality as a goal.
Until next time, when I blog by candlelight from a freezing cold garret, wearing those awesome fingerless gloves and stickin' it to the man. Too bad I'm all digital; otherwise I could burn my blog posts to keep warm.
I'm on Fatkins
I ate vegetables today. In salad form.
This is noteworthy (and I'm playing fast and loose with the term noteworthy here) only because my eating habits have completely deteriorated in the past month. They weren't all that great before, either, but I definitely reached an all-time low on Tuesday, when I ate a brownie for breakfast, Taco Bell for lunch, and mozzarella sticks for dinner. Oh, and some candy during the show. Yikes.
I'm not sure what my problem is. It's partly my complete unwillingness/inability to cook for myself, partly my busy schedule at work (although I really can't use that one this week or last), and partly my love of eating fried things at the Front Porch after midnight. Mostly, though, I think I have a hard time eating well when I'm exercising. Usually for the first week of a new workout regimen I am inspired to munch on healthy things, but that falls by the wayside pretty quickly. Apparently I can either eat well or exercise, but not both. At the moment I'm choosing exercise. The Wise Soprano tells me that this means I'll look really hot when I keel over from a heart attack. And you wonder how she earned her nickname.
This would be the part where I vow to turn over a new (lettuce) leaf, say no to all things fried, and stock up on lots of foods containing antioxidants, right? Nope. Sorry. Wrong blog. I'm not planning to do anything to change my ways; I'm just filling you in on another detail of my life. Fascinating, I know.
And bragging about my healthy choice for lunch today. Mmmm, salad, you taste so good. Especially when you are topped with bacon, cheese, egg, chicken, and ranch dressing.
By the way, you may have noticed an appreciable boost in the quantity of Little Ms. Bossy posts, along with an alarming decline in the quality. That's because my 30-day project this month is to blog every day! Some days you might want to just skim. Like, say, on days that I try to milk an entire post from one lunch choice. Ahem.
This is noteworthy (and I'm playing fast and loose with the term noteworthy here) only because my eating habits have completely deteriorated in the past month. They weren't all that great before, either, but I definitely reached an all-time low on Tuesday, when I ate a brownie for breakfast, Taco Bell for lunch, and mozzarella sticks for dinner. Oh, and some candy during the show. Yikes.
I'm not sure what my problem is. It's partly my complete unwillingness/inability to cook for myself, partly my busy schedule at work (although I really can't use that one this week or last), and partly my love of eating fried things at the Front Porch after midnight. Mostly, though, I think I have a hard time eating well when I'm exercising. Usually for the first week of a new workout regimen I am inspired to munch on healthy things, but that falls by the wayside pretty quickly. Apparently I can either eat well or exercise, but not both. At the moment I'm choosing exercise. The Wise Soprano tells me that this means I'll look really hot when I keel over from a heart attack. And you wonder how she earned her nickname.
This would be the part where I vow to turn over a new (lettuce) leaf, say no to all things fried, and stock up on lots of foods containing antioxidants, right? Nope. Sorry. Wrong blog. I'm not planning to do anything to change my ways; I'm just filling you in on another detail of my life. Fascinating, I know.
And bragging about my healthy choice for lunch today. Mmmm, salad, you taste so good. Especially when you are topped with bacon, cheese, egg, chicken, and ranch dressing.
By the way, you may have noticed an appreciable boost in the quantity of Little Ms. Bossy posts, along with an alarming decline in the quality. That's because my 30-day project this month is to blog every day! Some days you might want to just skim. Like, say, on days that I try to milk an entire post from one lunch choice. Ahem.
Burying the hatchet
I made amends with an old friend today.
I've known her for as long as I can remember, but our relationship has always been complex, and we've been on the outs for quite a while now.
We used to have so much fun together, but like many childhood friends, we gradually grew apart. I always felt that I grew up faster than she did, and she complained that I had unrealistic expectations of her and of our friendship. I depended on her in some ways, but she always needed more attention and nurturing from me than I wanted to give. She was exciting, and adventurous, and she could be fun when she was in the right mood, but I couldn't rely on her. She was a flaky friend, and I have very little patience for flaky friends.
Our personalities became too intertwined, so much so that when someone would criticize her, I felt personally attacked. Our time together, which had once made me so happy, came to feel like a burden, and I started seeing her less and less. I couldn't figure out how to extricate myself from the relationship gracefully, so I made a clean break, about 2 1/2 years ago. It was easier than I expected.
And I've been fine. I moved on. I thought I would miss her a lot, but I really haven't. I've made other friends, dependable friends who support and encourage me, who never make me cry or feel bad about myself. I'm happy.
I don't know what brought it on, but about a week ago, I started thinking I might want to check on her, just to see how she's doing. It took until today for me to work up the courage to give it a try.
It was pretty great to see her. I went in with no expectations, planning only to make small talk, but after a few minutes' hesitation, it was as if we'd never been apart. I didn't feel frustrated or upset. I felt comfortable, and nostalgic, and energized, and happy.
I don't know how often we'll see each other. It's been a long time, after all, and I'm not sure how much energy I want to put into rebuilding.
But for that one hour this afternoon in a practice room, it felt like my voice and I might just be able to be friends again.
I've known her for as long as I can remember, but our relationship has always been complex, and we've been on the outs for quite a while now.
We used to have so much fun together, but like many childhood friends, we gradually grew apart. I always felt that I grew up faster than she did, and she complained that I had unrealistic expectations of her and of our friendship. I depended on her in some ways, but she always needed more attention and nurturing from me than I wanted to give. She was exciting, and adventurous, and she could be fun when she was in the right mood, but I couldn't rely on her. She was a flaky friend, and I have very little patience for flaky friends.
Our personalities became too intertwined, so much so that when someone would criticize her, I felt personally attacked. Our time together, which had once made me so happy, came to feel like a burden, and I started seeing her less and less. I couldn't figure out how to extricate myself from the relationship gracefully, so I made a clean break, about 2 1/2 years ago. It was easier than I expected.
And I've been fine. I moved on. I thought I would miss her a lot, but I really haven't. I've made other friends, dependable friends who support and encourage me, who never make me cry or feel bad about myself. I'm happy.
I don't know what brought it on, but about a week ago, I started thinking I might want to check on her, just to see how she's doing. It took until today for me to work up the courage to give it a try.
It was pretty great to see her. I went in with no expectations, planning only to make small talk, but after a few minutes' hesitation, it was as if we'd never been apart. I didn't feel frustrated or upset. I felt comfortable, and nostalgic, and energized, and happy.
I don't know how often we'll see each other. It's been a long time, after all, and I'm not sure how much energy I want to put into rebuilding.
But for that one hour this afternoon in a practice room, it felt like my voice and I might just be able to be friends again.
A whole new world
2007 is so over, and I for one am not sorry to see it go. Oh, there was the occasional red-letter day (including that glorious day that I decided to start a blog), but overall, 2007...well, it pretty much sucked. However, in the interest of the eternal optimism I possessed before 2007 came and kicked my a**, I'm trying to look at it in that "every cloud has a silver lining, whatever doesn't kill me makes me stronger, when God closes a door He opens a window" kind of way.
New Year's resolutions aren't really my thing, mainly because I don't like to set myself up for certain failure. I know I should be looking toward the future and all that 2008 has in store for me, but just for fun, I'll take a moment to reflect on the train wreck that was the last year. Was it worth it? Maybe the whole year was like a totally lame elementary school field trip: it wasn't fun, you didn't love it, but it was a learning experience. And if so, what did I learn?
I learned just how important my friends are to me. I need them to make me laugh, hold my hand, and keep me afloat, and I am so incredibly lucky to have amazing people in my life who do all that and so much more.
I learned that the only way to get what you want is to ask for it. Out loud. It's astounding how often that's all it takes.
I learned that no matter how much you want something or how articulately you ask for it, sometimes you just can't have it. This doesn't apply only to Prada dresses.
I learned that nothing is perfect. Nobody, either.
I learned that a job offer doesn't mean anything until you see a contract. I wish I didn't have to re-learn this one every year.
I learned that I can speak German. That was a red-letter day.
I learned that your life can turn out completely differently than you planned. I don't think this means you should necessarily stop planning, though.
And a few lessons learned just in time for the new year:
I learned that personal tragedies and heartbreaks don't take the day off for holidays. Too many people that I care about are going through major life events, and I'm sending them all my love and my thoughts.
I learned that everybody has a story to tell, and that sometimes telling your own helps them share it.
I learned that if you watch The Big Lebowski and take a drink (even just a sip) every time someone says "Dude," you will become quite intoxicated. Bonus points if you get it done before the party starts.
2008 had a somewhat inauspicious beginning, but the optimist in me is apparently still alive and kicking.
After all, it couldn't be any worse than 2007. Right?
New Year's resolutions aren't really my thing, mainly because I don't like to set myself up for certain failure. I know I should be looking toward the future and all that 2008 has in store for me, but just for fun, I'll take a moment to reflect on the train wreck that was the last year. Was it worth it? Maybe the whole year was like a totally lame elementary school field trip: it wasn't fun, you didn't love it, but it was a learning experience. And if so, what did I learn?
I learned just how important my friends are to me. I need them to make me laugh, hold my hand, and keep me afloat, and I am so incredibly lucky to have amazing people in my life who do all that and so much more.
I learned that the only way to get what you want is to ask for it. Out loud. It's astounding how often that's all it takes.
I learned that no matter how much you want something or how articulately you ask for it, sometimes you just can't have it. This doesn't apply only to Prada dresses.
I learned that nothing is perfect. Nobody, either.
I learned that a job offer doesn't mean anything until you see a contract. I wish I didn't have to re-learn this one every year.
I learned that I can speak German. That was a red-letter day.
I learned that your life can turn out completely differently than you planned. I don't think this means you should necessarily stop planning, though.
And a few lessons learned just in time for the new year:
I learned that personal tragedies and heartbreaks don't take the day off for holidays. Too many people that I care about are going through major life events, and I'm sending them all my love and my thoughts.
I learned that everybody has a story to tell, and that sometimes telling your own helps them share it.
I learned that if you watch The Big Lebowski and take a drink (even just a sip) every time someone says "Dude," you will become quite intoxicated. Bonus points if you get it done before the party starts.
2008 had a somewhat inauspicious beginning, but the optimist in me is apparently still alive and kicking.
After all, it couldn't be any worse than 2007. Right?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
LinkWithin
Posts
