Day 183 of The 365 Day Experiment. Ciao, 2013.

I realized yesterday that I must be coming close to the halfway point of this Experiment, so I did the math.  Twice, because I couldn’t believe it.  Because 365 is an odd number, 182.5 marks the official middle.  Let’s round that to today, Day 183.  The end of a notable year.  Odd, right?

I’m not typically all “oooohhhhh” about stuff like that, but that coincidence certainly made me pause.  It strikes me as amazing that I’ve reached an interesting milestone in both my writing and my life.  It’s time to shut the door on 2013, and look forward. 

I believe we work our tails off for everything that is truly important to us in life.  Nothing should be handed to us.  And when and if we finally earn it, we should really appreciate it.  But a little luck sprinkled in doesn’t hurt.  Neither does someone in your corner cheering you on.  

The biggest lesson I’ve learned in 2013 is that no matter how strong you think you might be, you can’t go it alone.  We all need people in our cheering section.  Mentors, coaches, teammates, life mates, friends, and even children.  We are evolving into a tech-heavy world in which people connect more virtually.  However nothing - nothing - replaces human interaction though.  The moments that stand out the most to me as the most significant and meaningful this year have been the ones where I was unplugged and engaged.  Sharing stories with my brother.  Playing games with my daughters.  Crying with my girlfriends.  Solving problems and getting creative with my co-workers.  Kissing someone special.  Cheering at a ballgame.  

Jony Ive might be brilliant, but he can never design an i-device for Apple that will ever be able to replace those moments.

So I look ahead, and close the door on 2013 and look forward to the open doors that are in front of me in this upcoming year.  I am no psychic, but I know it’s going to be a life-changing, epic year.  I am reverberating in my chair as I write this because I know I have big decisions to make in my life in just about every aspect.  And I love that. 

Later 2013.  Glad you are over.  

2014, bring it.  You and me are going to do amazing things.

Day 182 of The 365 Day Experiment. Skiing Under The Lift.

I’m sitting in the window of the ski lodge this morning, feeling very much like a mom this morning. We awoke early, four kids and three parents rushing to jam their clothes on and hit the slopes. 

Except I’m not skiing. I’m sitting in the lodge drinking hot cocoa and writing, while I gaze up longingly at the mountain every so often. I’m sick. 

To sit here and watch these skiers is to be confronted with a thousand memories of my childhood. These trails were my playground, these lifts the resting place from burning legs and joke time with my brother. But the chairlifts represented something more meaningful too, that didn’t become apparent until I was much older. 

My brother and I always had favorite trails we liked to ski. Of course, as siblings we would always argue about which one we would go down. He would always choose the super mogul filled ones, where I would go for the ones that were more well groomed and would allow me to turn as many times as possible. My absolute favorite, however, was skiing under the “big lift.” 

At the time, I assumed it was because it started out as an expert trail, and ended as an intermediate. It allowed for both challenge and grace, and was always one of the least icy runs on the mountain. If you are an east coast skier, you know that’s important. However, as I got older, I realized there was a far deeper meaning to that run for me. “Skiing under the liftwas really about holding myself accountable.

When you sit on a chairlift, there isn’t much to do except chat with the person you are sitting with and watching the other skiers go down the mountain. And if you are skiing under the lift, you know all eyes are on you. Wipeout, and you are subject to cheers and jeers from the people dangling above. I loved that pressure.

Somehow, that weird burden I put on myself has carried into adulthood. That odd balance of wanting to be private, and yet putting myself on a public stage. I will ski under a lift to challenge myself not to fall. To ski the very best I can because I know people are watching and judging. And yet, I could remain anonymous and just do my thing specifically for the love of challenging myself and bettering my game. And here I am again, skiing under the lift by writing. Only this time my face is obstructed by a faceless blog, not goggles and the puffiness of my ski clothes. And maybe now that I am an adult, I’m far less concerned about whether or not I fall like I did when I was 12. I just care about the holding myself accountable to do the best job I can part. I think that explains why I went public with this writing as opposed to just writing in a plain old private journal. At first glance, it seemed like such a completely non-me thing to do. And yet, if I compare it to my behaviors of the past, like skiing under the lift, it makes far more sense to me. It’s all about holding myself responsible to do something to the best of my ability - even if I risk looking like an ass doing it. 

Day 181 of The 365 Day Experiment. I Love New Hampshire.

Today my kids and I are heading up to spend a few days in the vacation destination of my youth; Bartlett, New Hampshire.  Land of the icy mountains and epic Red Parka Pub.  I’ve been going there for over thirty years now, and it never gets old.

My parents bought a place mountainside at Attitash for insanely small money back in the seventies.  The guy they bought the place from was a young real estate developer thinking big.  At the time, he drove a BMW motorcycle and wore amazing fuzzy after ski boots.  My brother and I thought he was the coolest.  He’s done incredibly well for himself up there. 

We spent our winter weekends up there, bringing friends - both family and individually - whenever we could.  Our house was three stories and narrow and was notable for its metal circular staircase.  It was perfect for sliding all the way from the top floor all the way to the bottom. You always needed to “touch wood,” before touching that railing or you would get a shock.  And of course, in retrospect, that “touching wood” expression we created sounds really bad.

We had a stuffed moose - a friendly fake one - named “Mighty Moose,” that hung above our mantle for 20 years.  He was surrounded by other accessories of the time, like a ssswwweeetttt macramé wall hanging and our pre-Atari pong game.  That thing got much use given we only got one television channel in that before-cable-came-to-New-Hampshire-era.

My parents sold that place - damn them! - after I got married.  We still went up to ski there every winter, and taught our kids to ski there.   We introduced our closest friends to the place, who in turn bought their own place. They've made their own family magic up there. And it's still an amazing piece of my life. My kids look forward to heading up there several times a year, whether it's to stay with our "second family" or to just hang out for a weekend. They've learned to ski on these hills, and they've learned to kick back afterwards at the Red Parka, just like my brother and I did. 

Today I'm back in my old woodsy hood, having just had a great dinner of teriyaki steak, the same thing I've been ordering at the Red Parka for all these years.  My kids stuffed their face on popcorn from the bar as I used to.  And now I'm snuggled in my flannel in front of my friends' wood stove with them, ready to begin our evening as we watch the beautiful snow fall. 

Great friends, great kids, great place.  Just great. :)

Day 180 of The 365 Day Experiment. Confessions of a Change Junkie.

Several years ago, a friend of mine and I were working on a change management project for work.  We were trying to drive the point home; that this evolution was a necessary part of the company's growth strategy.  We conceived of making hats with the simple slogan "change or die."

We decided that was probably a little over the top.

Though dramatic, it's accurate.  We all need to adapt to the things that change around us, or eventually, things just move on and leave us in their wake.   Simple, goofy example.   Ever walk into a mall, or a theme park, and see a person with a decades old hairstyle?  It might have looked phenomenal on them in 1982.  34 years later, however, it just looks dated and only serves to make them look like they have no idea how to move forward.

So what drives that characteristic in me?  

I used to fear that I was afraid to commit to things.  To a job, or to marriage, or to children, because they were all so "permanent." And yet I've embraced my career, and being a mother with every bit of gusto I can muster.  I guess I've found a way to make it "my own," so that it doesn't feel at all smothering or life-ending like all "permanent decisions" always strike me.  Maybe that's because the career that I've chosen allows me the opportunity to start and finish something, so I can chart my success - but it always allows me an opportunity to get out and do it again.  There's always a fresh start.  And my kids are getting older.  There is always a new stage in their development; something new to conquer together.  Without a doubt, they are the one bit of permanency I have never questioned.  

It's an odd juxtaposition; being a responsible person who craves change.  I like finishing what I start.  I like completion and results.  This Experiment for example.  I stopped about Day 90, and couldn't live with myself…I went back to it after a month because I had angst over not finishing what I started.  And yet, that same person gets restless and distracted so easily.

I've learned a few things over the years though, about this peculiar behavior of mine.

For one, most people aren't as comfortable with change as I am.  It suits my choice of career and the environment I work in for certain.  And while I attempt to hire like minded people, it's hard to find a plethora of "change friendly" people.  So while change is inevitable in hyper growth companies, I do my best to make it more clear and easy for those people.  I've learned that if people know what to expect and anticipate, it creates far less anxiety.

I've also found that I need to find happiness within myself, not within change itself.  I believe that for most of my adulthood, I've looked to the changes I've made as the solutions to what was making me unhappy in that moment.  I would say to myself, "If I change this job", or "if I tackle this issue with my marriage."   Those are important things to address if they are broken.  At the end of the day, however, they won't solve the real problem though, they are just temporary solutions.  

Change for change sake isn't healthy.  I am now focusing on finding my happiness from within.  As a result, I'm learning I don't need the constant rush of change in my life to keep me excited.  I'm excited about my life wherever and whatever I'm doing.    That said, that probably also has a lot to do with the fact that I literally have no idea what my life will look like five years from now.  I feel like that scene from Ferris Bueller, when Ferris and his friends are standing against the glass at the top of the Sears Tower, noses pressed against the glass, looking straight down.  There is that feeling of free falling at any moment.  I f'ing love that feeling.

"If you don't like something, change it.  If you can't change it, change your attitude."  Maya Angelou.

Day 179 of The 365 Day Experiment. Overindulgence.

It’s the season when everyone seems to be overindulging a little.  In all the holiday treats, in the libations, even in their spending when the sales look too good to be true.  I hate that bloated, gluttonous feeling.  And yet, it occurred to me that there are sometimes when a little overindulgence is ok.

Like it’s ok to overindulge in hugging your kids tight and letting them know how much they mean to you every chance you get, because they won’t let you do that forever.

It’s ok to read too much and full your mind with knowledge.  Or fantasy.  Or humor.  Or horror. Or just a quiet escape when you have those few moments to yourself.

It’s ok to overindulge by letting the people in your life know how much they mean to you at every opportunity, because you never know if that time you see them might be the last.

It’s ok to overindulge by watching a movie marathon.  Maybe even if it’s naked in bed with a bucket of popcorn.  Preferably not alone.

It’s ok to overindulge by surrounding yourself with the sights, sounds, smells and tastes of your favorite place on Earth.  

It’s ok to overindulge in by sitting back on your couch, closing your eyes, and taking a deep breath.  Every single day.

And it’s ok to overindulge by just saying NO.  To everyone and everything.  You don’t get the chance to do that often, but sometimes, it’s all just too much.  So you get to play that card.  So do it when you need to…and enjoy it.

Day 178 of The 365 Day Experiment. A Very Merry Christmas.

It's been very merry indeed. 

And a drastically different one from last years holiday.  Just one short year ago, my life was in complete upheaval.  Recently separated, and doing my very best to provide a happy day for my children when it was obviously so different from all of the other Christmases of years past.  I did the best I could, but you can't slap ribbons and wrapping paper on it and make it better.  Taylor Swift tickets may make it a little rosier, but they don't mask the reality of the what's going on. Last year marked the worst Christmas of my life.  

In just one short year, I went from worst to best.  I am in a different head space for certain.  And while I still am trying to prove to my kids that mom is WAY better than Santa Claus (hey, they've got a direct line to the source now that they "know"…you've got to play it off somehow, right?), my daughters have grown up a lot over the past year too.  I realized today that as much as I have been taking care of them over the past year, they have been taking care of me.  Or rather, we've been taking care of each other.  I saw and felt evidence of that today.

They woke this morning, early as usual, to grab their stockings and unwrap them in my bed.  And when they returned from downstairs, they were carrying three stockings.  They had secretly filled one for me.  They had taken their money, and bought some of my favorite goodies.  It was so incredibly thoughtful of them.

And yet, it got better.  Every year for the past several years, I've asked for just one thing on my birthday, Mother's Day, and Christmas from my kids.  I have a blank journal.  I ask them to do something in it; anything.  Write me a letter, draw a picture, create a poem.  I don't want material things from them.  I want to be an old lady and be able to look back at a book full of incredible memories they've documented.  As they've aged, the submissions to the book have become decidedly more thoughtful and touching. Like they were today.

And then they outdid themselves.  On top of the book, they each created their very own special gifts.  Exceptional thoughtful, and well conceived.  If I have ever doubted I was loved, I didn't today. My daughters, at age 13 and 10, made me feel like they were Santa, and I was a child experiencing the wonder of Christmas.

And it got better.  

We shared phone calls with family that were too far away to spend the day with.  We baked red velvet cupcakes with Gia's new baking tools.  And then we spent the afternoon with our surrogate family who had a gaggle of people over; not dissimilar to the land of the Misfit Toys.  And they made each of us feel exceptionally loved and welcome.  They made a wonderful Christmas even more special.

Now here I sit, my kids off to their father's house to celebrate their second Christmas.  And I'm finishing up my amazing day thinking about some special people who got me here over the past year.  

Clearly, my kids have done so in a way I never thought possible.  While I have tried to be the strength for them, they have provided me with a renewed sense of purpose and love.  They mean everything to me.

My mom, dad and brother, who have been incredibly supportive and "there," even though there hasn't been anything for them to do.  I appreciate how hard that must be, when you know your child/sister is in pain and you don't know how to help because there isn't really anything you can do.  But just knowing they were there and being supportive of my choices was more than enough.  

And my friends, who have given me the gift of sisterhood all year long.  They have provided me with strength and courage when I had none, and allowed me a safe place to try and be brave.  I am forever indebted to them.

My best guy friend, who is one of the best friends a girl could have.  We've both been through so much this year, both personally and professionally.  It's nice when it's not all about you, and you can be there for someone else. I know I'm incredibly fortunate to have him in my life.  I hope he feels the same.

My two virtual buddies, long ago friends, who I have reconnected with through my "Experiment,"  They have provided me with perspective, humor, ideas, and just sheer entertainment value.  For people I don't get to see, I absolutely adore them both.

Speaking of virtual, all the people who have been following this crazy Experiment I am grateful to. I'm floored when I look at my stats to find people are reading this in Serbia and Israel.  I have no idea who those people are, but it's pretty humbling.  As a formally private person, the only way I get through this each day is to convince myself that no one is reading it.  I try to write as honestly and authentically as I can, just for myself.  And then I take the feedback as it comes, after the fact.  It hasn't always been pretty.  More often than not, however, I'll get an offline note from someone saying something incredibly kind.  And that powers me on.  So I am incredibly grateful to everyone who has taken the time to read me.

And finally, I am thankful for the unexpected gift I received this CHRIStmas.  I didn't ask for it, and I wasn't looking for it.  It's really special, nonetheless though.  And sometimes, those are the very best gifts indeed.

Day 177 of The 365 Day Experiment. Missing Gregg at Christmas.

My brother is one of those incredibly special people in my life.  I was heartbroken when he moved out west for school and never returned.  Whenever we speak, which is never often enough, we are always able to pick up exactly where we left off.  And there is always, always, a reference to our childhood thrown into every conversation.  

Christmas was always a really special time in our house growing up.  Similar to how I attempt to do it, we spent the entire month celebrating.  It was pretty much impossible to be in a lousy mood - or misbehave - during the month of December.  Of course we  argued about the stupid things like who got to open which door on the advent calendar, and who got to hang which of the goofy 70's troll ornaments on the tree.  (There was a set my mom had of these cork size troll guys, all who had different colored hats and wire framed glasses. They shrunk in number over the years, but they were always my favorite to hang.  No idea why, except that maybe because they were my brother's too, and it gave us something to fight over.)

Several years back, my brother and I decided that rather than buy each other gifts, we'd just buy for the kids…and make each other ornaments.  Sounds like we let each other off the hook, right?  Wrong.  Massive challenge.  

My brother might be the most naturally gifted person I know.  He is a product designer by trade.  That means he has the design sense of an artist with the mind of an engineer.  It also means I was doomed from the outset.  I learned long ago not to compete with Gregg, or have any sense of sibling rivalry with him at all, or my self-esteem would be right in the toilet.  I may have some stuff going for me, but next to my brother, I look decidedly untalented. 

Each year, Gregg's ornament arrives.  Each year, I unwrap it, and am immediately taken back to the 70's and 80's. As I sit on a chair in my living room to type this, I am looking at my tree to view up at a few of my favorites.  I wonder how he fashioned a tiny pair of turquoise blue leopard skin pants that hang on a tiny hanger - my favorite piece of rebellious clothing from freshman year in high school.  And a tiny doll house bed, with miniature versions of he and I jumping up and down on it, created with photos and tiny springs.  There is a 45 RPM record of "Hot Line," our classic hit from our childhood band "The Levi Kids."  And my all time favorite one, that actually can't hang because it's too heavy.  

It's a Seneca apple juice can.  It was a popular brand when we were children.  I've never actually tried the juice, but the two of us sang the theme song to the Seneca commercial every single time we went up the chairlift when we went skiing as kids.  I have no idea why; it's just one of those stupid things you do with your sibling to entertain yourselves.  We had a routine to it though.  We pulled our ski goggles down, and got in each others faces.  Alternated our faces back and forth.  It was ridiculous and hysterical at the same time.  And somehow, thirty years later, my brother managed to find a can.  And then he found a way to record himself singing the song, and bury it inside that can.  There is a button to press, and then BAM…instant transport back to 1978.

Merry Christmas Gregg, to you, Samantha, and Sophia.  I miss spending the holidays with you, and all the incredible times we shared growing up.  And I cherish the times that we still do, rare as they are.

Day 176 of The 365 Day Experiment. Regrets. Yep, I've Got Some.

"Regrets" has been a word suggested to me by several people.  I don’t think I’ve put off writing about it intentionally.  I just couldn’t think of any that came to mind readily that was worth writing about. I mean, if I wrote about every stupid decision I’ve made in my lifetime, I’d have a 1,000+ page volume on my hands.  

Over the years, I’ve tried to separate “regrets” from “bad choices.”   Perhaps that it’s denial, or maybe I just think every mistake I’ve made is just part of my life journey.  And while I am quite far from perfect, I’ve lived a life I am quite happy with.  I’m pleased with the fact I don’t have too many regrets, and I am kind enough to myself to forgive the bad decisions I’ve made.  That old adage that goes, “with age comes wisdom”…it should be “with many mistakes over the years comes hard earned wisdom.”

So I’ll focus on the two regrets that have lingered the longest in the back of my mind.

The first is an action that has followed me since graduation from college.  I wanted to move to Montana and work/live for a year.  Nope, I had never been there.  I’m certain in retrospect that the driver for this impulse was rooted in the notion of freedom.  Freedom from my parents, from the postponement of getting a “real job,” from overall reality I suppose. And yet my father convinced me not to go.

Perhaps he wanted to see the efforts of my education put to quick use. Perhaps he assumed I would be miserable heading to a state where I knew no one, or nothing.  It doesn’t matter.  The point is, I wanted to go on an adventure, and I was convinced otherwise.  So it’s regret coupled with a bit of resentment.

I have no idea what my life would have been like had I gone.  I am so grateful for the career I have had, and the life I have carved out for myself.     Had I gone to Montana, I may not have experienced any of that.  However, I will never have that opportunity in my life again.  That absolute freedom, when you aren’t responsible for anyone or anything other than yourself.  No mortgage, no big bills, no children, no “other.”  I regret I let that opportunity of freedom pass me by.  

The other regret is far more emotional.  It involves my relationship with my parents.

I grew up with an idyllic childhood.  My brother and I were exposed to much, and had ample opportunities.  Our home was filled with love.  It is not lost on me how incredibly fortunate I was to grow up in such an amazing environment.  It’s set largely set the tone for how I try to raise my own children.

And yet the older I got, the more I pulled away.  My parents hadn’t changed; I had.  They raised me to be independent, and it backfired.  Somehow over the years, I decided that the lectures and lessons I grew up with - all delivered with the best of intentions and love - were no longer needed.  I disregarded them not because of what the messages contained, but because of who they came from.  Clearly, there was far too much baggage from my earlier years clouded in the communication.  Supportive advice was interpreted as “a lecture.”  And while they were the ones who moved South, I was the one who ultimately moved away emotionally. 

I regret this distance now because you only have one set of parents.  I know there is true love on both sides.  My parents have been incredibly supportive of me over the past year, even if they haven’t completely understood the hows or whys of the end of my marriage.  I believe they are proud of me, even if they don’t completely “get” me or the choices I have made in my life.  And I’m okay with that now.  For years, I was frustrated by this.  At this point, I realize you can’t change people.  I can’t change them, and they can’t change me.  We are all pretty different people, but we are family.  So we all need to embrace each other for who we are, and respect that.  Or not.  I’d rather try.  Life is to short not to.  

I’m sure I have other regrets, but these two have lingered for decades.  I think tonight I’ve decided to get over Montana.  My life has been full of adventure, and while I never got the freedom I was looking for at 22, I’ve now got it in a different manifestation 23 years later.  I’m good with that.  As for my parents, it’s never too late.  It’s a work in progress.  And if the visit I had with my dad two weeks ago is any indication, there’s a regret I’ll be able to put behind me as well.

Day 175 of The 365 Day Experiment. Foggy.

Another day, another word presented to me to write about.  Yesterday's "naked" came easily to me.  I have been pondering "foggy" since it was suggested this morning.  Nothing has come really come to me readily. I realized I'm foggy on the word foggy.  

To me, the word defines a lack of clarity.  Like when you have the inability to find the right word, or make the right decision for yourself.  That doesn't happen to me often.  I am usually pretty decisive and I don't tend to second guess myself often.  

So I'll apply the word to others.  

It is hard for me to see others in a state of fog. I seem to want to play the role of a human fog light. When I see people struggle with what to do in their lives, or with a problem they just can't seem to solve, it troubles me.  And it's really challenging for me to remain a passive bystander.  I want to help.  I want to clear the fog out of the way.  And it is hard for me, because it is not my fog to clear.  I have friends in miserable relationships who complain constantly.  They are spending their lives walking through a fog because they don't know what to do to better their situation.   I have a friends who are miserable in their jobs , but aren't actively doing anything to get out or remedy the situation.  And unless someone says "help me" or  "share your perspective," it's not my place.  And that is hard for me.  It like to fix things. And I like to see people not be foggy with their lives.

It is easier for me at work.  I am allowed to add solutions to problems; some big and some small.  It is ok for me to play the role of the fog light. In my personal life it is far more difficult.  it's challenging for me to keep my mouth shut when I see others struggling.  

In a year when I should have been worrying about myself, I have had pretty decent clarity.  I've been able to move forward in my life with focus: ensure that I do the best by my daughters, and do the best I can at work.  On top of that, I need to do the best by me.  My happiness no longer remains coupled with another's definition of it. There is something incredibly freeing in that realization.  The choices I make that determine my future are mine alone to make, and that feels great.  

And as we enter into a new year, my wish is for all of us to have some clarity in our lives.  I know that's a challenge for some of us to get to.  No matter how you get there, strive for it.  It feels good to have a clear path; even if that means you have zero clue what lies ahead.

Day 174 of The 365 Day Experiment. Naked.

"Naked" is the word of the day, provided to me by someone who’s seen me this way.  And I’m not suggesting devoid of clothes.  I mean naked and raw on the inside. 

As I started thinking about this word and what it means to me, two things became apparent.  It’s become a challenge for me to be naked on the outside and the inside at the same time.  

To me, naked on the outside has become far easier the older I get.  Seems ludicrous, given my body is no longer the twenty five year old pre-baby, pre-C section, version it once was.  And yet, I’m far less worried about it.  Physical perfection is the stuff of youth.  Or photoshop.  At this point in my life, I’m comfortable in my own skin.  As long as I’m healthy, fit, and can fit my butt into my skinny jeans, I’m ok with my naked self.  And, as I’ve learned in the last decade or so, being naked has nothing to do with sexiness or eroticism.  That all comes with the confidence and swagger that is driven from our inside.

But then there is the internal naked.   From that vantage point, I feel like  I have never been as naked as I have in the last 174 days.  Publicly, I’ve forced myself to write what’s existing in my head and heart.  I get through it because I have convinced myself it’s just for me, and I don’t care about being judged or critiqued for what I put out there should anyone happen to read it.  And yet each time someone mocks me for it, or rips apart my words, I am forced to realize how naked I have become.  And some days it makes me want to retreat and quit. But rather than throw on a robe over my soul, I will continue.  Because ultimately, I care far more about living my life authentically then I do about letting a hurtful comment impale me.  

The other element to my internal naked is just plain raw.  Perhaps the equivalent to a sunburn.  When you are standing naked, the sunburn doesn’t bother you.  However, if you begin to touch it, you realize how sensitive it is.  As much I would love to have a San Tropez tan right now, I need to embrace the fact that I am still a little sunburned.  Fortunately, over the past year it is fading.   But every so often, I expose myself a little bit more.  I have done that a few times in recent weeks.  Sharing things I’ve bottled up and haven’t wanted to share with anyone.  But I have, because honesty is important.  And sometimes, with a little aloe and some time to heal, you realize you are ready to expose that tender skin again.

If someone had ever told me that at age 45 I’d be more comfortable physically naked than I would be baring my soul, I’d have thought them insane.  And yet, I never thought the 45 year old version of me would be this fearless, or have sunburned at all with my Italian skin.  So I power ahead, with Coppertone in hand.  It’s just a low SPF though.  What the hell is the point of getting back out in the sun if you can’t get a bit of color?  I’m feeling brave - and I know I look good with a tan.

Day 173 of The 365 Day Experiment. Holiday Spirit in The Office.

I’m writing quickly, during my one break this afternoon.  I wanted to capture my joy while it was still fresh.

We have an incredibly fun team.  Earlier this week, we launched this video.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zyo12rQ1D3U

Today, we had our annual ugly Christmas sweater contest at work.  It was partnered with a chili cook off, and was finished off with karaoke.  And people came to play.

It’s been a great reminder for all of us why this is such a special place to work.  I always disliked the old adage “work hard, play hard,” but it’s fitting here.  People have really crushed it this year.  And they aren’t done yet…many are working next week to ensure we make sure we make every 2013 goal we can.  But when it’s time to take a break and play, we play.

That’s a great thing about working at a company with people who like each other.  While everyday isn’t a party, when we get together, we know how to enjoy each other.  I’m learned that’s a rare thing in companies.  Just not in the ones I’ve been fortunate enough to be a part of.

So today, I will enjoy the rest of my day by cracking up when I pass an ugly sweater, and I will look forward to the dinner about 20 of us are having later this evening.   And I will be thankful for this early gift:  a reminder of just how fortunate I am to work with these people.

Day 172 of The 365 Day Experiment. Mushrooms…and Other Foods I Won't Eat.

I was out with friends recently and we were talking about food because I ordered a “naked hamburger.”  That meant a hamburger, well done, with nothing on it.  Just a bun.  And then I’ll throw some ketchup on it.   I don’t eat them often; less than ten a year.  Yet, I am super picky about them.  McDonalds?  No way.  If I’m going to eat one, it’s got to be from a good restaurant.  But hold the cheese.  And everything else.

The “naked hamburger was apparently not the part that was considered really odd.  My truly appalling offense was worse.  I admitted I had never had a cheeseburger before.  GASP.  I will admit about a decade ago I tried a bite, but it just confirmed what I already knew.  Melted cheese on meat just doesn’t do it for me.

There are other super normal everyday foods I won’t go near.  I would rather eat a bug than a mushroom.  There is something about their spongy texture that just absolutely makes me gag.

And then there is anything made with mayonnaise.  I have ordered dry turkey sandwiches my entire life.  Those I will add lettuce too.  But absolutely, positively no mayo.  So that means I’ve never eaten potato salad, cole slaw, or pasta salad - at least the versions made with that yukky white spackle.

Probably my oddest food turnoff is lobster and crabs.  I love shrimp, and I can eat crab meat if it’s not in the shell.  Lobster, however, I can’t go near.  It’s the cracking something out of its “house” to eat it just absolutely doesn’t work for me.  So much so if I am sitting with someone who orders one, I’ll spend the majority time looking any where but at them.  I am too easily distracted by the cracking of the shell, the pulling meat out with the fork, etc.  Yes, I’m sure I’m missing out.  But this is kind of a big deal to me. 

I am sure I have others.  But hey, we all have our issues.  At least this one typically affects only me.  

Day 171 of The 365 Day Experiment. Recurring Nightmares.

In my adulthood, I’ve had two recurring nightmares.  Freud likely would have had a field day with me.

He believed that you analyze dreams in order to understand aspects of personality as they relate to pathology.  He also believed that nothing you do occurs by chance; every action and thought is motivated by your unconscious at some level. In order to live in a civilized society, we have a tendency to hold back our urges and repress our impulses. However, these urges and impulses must be released in some way; they have a way of coming to the surface in disguised forms. 

One way these urges and impulses are released is through your dreams. Or in my case, nightmares.  I don’t typically dream, or at least any that I remember.  I pass out at night, and am typically so exhausted I’m not sure I ever fully engage in REM sleep.  This isn’t good, and something I’ve been actively been working on over the past several months.  While I used to wear my 5-6 hours of sleep at night as a badge of honor, I now wear it on my face.  I look tired, and it shows by mid-afternoon as I drag my butt through the office.   I feel like I’ve been supplementing my energy level through the Wonderbra version of powering myself up means over the past several years. No longer will I boost myself up with these false methods!  I now try to limit my coffee intake to a max of two cups a day and 5 Energy no longer sits on my desk as a paperweight.  I am trying to decrease the exhaustion through healthy living and more sleep.  Amazing how that works.

And perhaps because I have been sleeping better over the last several months, I have noticed that two recurring nightmares I’ve had for multiple decades are now gone.  

 The first started when I was in elementary school.  I was on a field trip to the JFK Museum, and a teacher had brought a glass jug of apple cider as a treat.  A boy in my class was teasing me, and he pushed me…right into the glass bottle.  My front tooth chipped in half, exposing the nerve.  It was painful.  There was blood.  And because at the time I was a bit of a tomboy and the movie Rocky was popular, bleeding out of my mouth was cooler than the pain I was in.  This happened on a Friday afternoon and the dentist’s office was closed for the weekend upon our return to school.

I convinced my parents I was fine, and could wait until Monday to be seen.  They accepted that until they realized I wouldn’t eat dinner.  And then breakfast the next morning.  And what I perceived as medieval torture at the time, my father wisely forced me to take a bite into an English muffin to prove I was in pain.  Those pesky little nooks and crannies gave me away.  An emergency trip to the dentist was in order, and my ordeal with dental care for the next three decades has followed. 

The recurring nightmare that resulted is falling on my face and knocking my tooth out.  It didn’t happen often, but often enough that each time I had it I was certain it was truly occurring. It would never happen in the same manner.  Sometimes I would fall down stairs, sometimes I would trip on a railroad tie (that actually did happen, resulting in several stiches in my lip as a kid), sometimes it was some other random fall.  No matter how it happened, it always resulted in me waking up fearing I had a broken smile.  And while the nightmare has been on hiatus for awhile, anytime I fall, my hands will instinctively go to cover my mouth rather than in front of me to block my fall. 

While the first one is easily understood from a childhood accident, the second one has far deeper psychological reach.  This recurring nightmare has me sitting in Italian class in college, failing my final. Seems simple, right?

I dissected this one for a long time, because while I did take Italian for a semester in college, I actually did pretty well in the class.  So why would this haunt me, in a recurring fashion, for so many years? Ah yes…fear of failure.  Okay, but I realized more complex than that.  It took place in Italian class.  Who at that point in my life was I most concerned about perceiving me fail?  My father.  Bam.  Once I figured that out, it was a pretty incredible realization. 

My parents have pointed out on numerous occasions that I don’t particularly care what anyone thinks of me, let alone them.  My mother’s favorite word of the last decade to describe me has been “renegade.”  And yet, I don’t know that that assessment is all together accurate.  I actually do value people’s opinion of me – especially those people I love and respect.  And as much as I have become my own independent thinker and “do-er” as an adult, I don’t know that I’ve ever truly outgrown wanting to make my parents proud. 

The biggest difference over the past decade or so has come with my own self-acceptance.  I’ve learned that I will fail in life – a lot.  And that’s ok.  It’s all part of that continuous learning thing I love so much.  And at this point in my life, I’m not doing anything for my parents – or anyone’s – approval anymore.  Just mine.  Even at work.  I’ve gotten to the place in my life where if I can look in the mirror at the end of everyday and honestly say I’ve given it my best shot, I’m all good.  And if I haven’t, I course correct.   I wouldn’t call that a renegade.  I’d call that “how to find happiness within yourself without relying on others praise or acceptance.”  May not work for everyone, but it’s working for me.

So maybe after all that, it has nothing to do with getting a better night’s sleep.  Maybe I’m just growing up and realizing I’m really comfortable in my own skin.  That, and a realization that if I ever break my tooth again, I’ve got pretty good dental coverage.

Day 170 of The 365 Day Experiment. Airports Make For Great People Watching.

My favorite place to kick back and kill an hour is in Piazza Della Signoria in Florence. Pick any cafe, provide me with a cup of espresso or glass of wine and I will make up stories in my head about the passers by. But usually I’m with someone and this is much more fun when you have a buddy to share these ridiculous hypotheses with.

When I’m alone, airports are my go to place for people watching. Right now, I’m sitting at Gate 42 in the Jet Blue area awaiting my take off to Austin. And I’m surrounded by some great people to watch.

I made a beeline for a seat that had power, so I could charge my phone while waiting to board. It also has me centrally located which offers me prime viewing of other passengers. Who needs extra leg room when I’ve got this perk?

The kid sitting directly to my right is classic. He’s literally three inches away from me so I can readily observe his surfing of the “knowyourmeme.com” website since he sat down. He is apparently quite taken with cats. He’s got the pallor of a kid who has spent way too much time in front of his computer, but I am guessing he can code like a freak. Which means I might be sitting next to tomorrow’s newest billionaire. Hhhhhheeeeeeyyyyy. (Okay…that was a joke. We’ve learned that a huge wallet alone doesn’t do it for me; but neither do the super soft hands found on many a developer. My dad once pointed this trait out to me in a guy I liked, and it has never escaped my brain.  I could write for hours on this topic alone, but I digress…)

To my left there are two chatty college age girls. Pierced faces and elfin haircuts. They are dressed similarly and I am convinced they are a couple until their conversation shocks me otherwise. They have formed a fast friendship, and are comparing notes on their crappy freshman dorm situations. Their conversation is awkward as all get out, but it’s cool to see totally random people connecting like this.

And then in walks the Asian version of me ten years ago. This woman has a baby strapped to her front, a toddler attached to her leg and a coffee in hand. Her husband trails behind them by 20 paces, chatting happily on his cell phone. She looks wiped out already, and dreading the flight ahead. They have been seated in the waiting area for five minutes and there is a mosaic pattern of Cheerios on the floor the baby is grabbing for because they have spilled. She looks up and offers me a weak smile. I immediately identify and empathize with this woman.

Zoom ahead…I am now sitting across the aisle on the plane from the little family. There goes the quick nap I was hoping for. But I got to play with two adorable kids and help out a mom who took what was likely her first trip to the bathroom by herself in ages. (Not trying to bag on men here, but you can guess what the husband was doing right? Yep, dude was catching my hard earned snooze.  I wanted to smack him in the head for her. And me.)

It was a great moment to remember back to when my kids were that small and I prayed they would behave on flights. So glad I’m past that stage. Can’t wait to head back to the airport tomorrow to see what’s in store for me. I wondered what stories the bored people there will be making up about me?!

Day 169 of The 365 Day Experiment. Better to Give Than Receive?

Recently a "virtual" friend posted a need to help families during the holidays.  I jumped at the opportunity.  I have always participated in toy drives, and the random mitten drive, but I felt like this year I needed to up the ante.  Oddly, I felt like because I had powered through so much this year and landed on my two feet, I wanted to ensure that I could aid someone in feeling that way too.  Even if it's just by playing elf for a day. Doing it with an anonymous family was the perfect vehicle for that.

I was provided with little information.  A woman's name, her phone number and address.  And I knew she had two daughters.  Holy s*it I thought…I could be her.  So instead of just gathering a bunch of stuff and guessing, I called her.  To suggest she was not expecting that call would be an understatement.  She explained her situation, and how she was just hoping to have a thing or two under the tree for her daughters.  So I asked what they wished for.  And then I asked what she wished for.  We had a lovely exchange, she thanked me profusely, and I hung up telling her to expect a box before Christmas.

My youngest daughter had a doctor's appointment last week, so before she went in mid-morning, we went shopping.  And we went to town.  We took that wish list, and we made sure every wish was filled, because there were so few of them.  And then we added in a few of our own ideas, because her girls are close in age to mine, and I'm hoping some of the girlie stuff transcends town lines.  And I bought the mom a special necklace representing moms and daughters.  I'll be honest.  It was a little out of my price range at that point - but I did it willingly for two reasons.  For one, my daughter picked it out.  And secondly, given this mom's situation, I imagine it has been a very long time since someone gave her a piece of jewelry.  And every girl, no matter who she is, deserves that sometimes.  Especially a single mom working hard trying to provide for her two daughters.  So I bought it with a smile for her.

When I was done, I reached out to my wonderfully generous friends and asked if they wanted to contribute too.  And while I was a little late to the party with my request - many have already stepped up to help other families this holiday season - some are pitching in too.  They have such good hearts.

And tonight, my daughters and I played elves to this family, so similar - and not so similar - to ours.  We stood at our kitchen table, assembly line style, wrapping gifts, attaching tags, and ensuring everyone was equally cared for.  The attention and energy my daughters gave to this to this effort made me so incredibly proud I wanted to cry.  In my mind, this is what Christmas is all about.

I am heading off to for a few days of work travel, and when I return these gifts will be shipped.  Inside will be a note to this special family, letting them know that their three elves from Andover - and some of their special friends - are having a very Merry Christmas, knowing that they are too.