Day 242 of The 365 Day Experiment. Purge-A-Palooza

We are moving our headquarters office next week in Boston.  All week each of us has been taking some of our free time to pack up our belongings for transport to our new space.  More importantly, it’s offered us a time to recycle and purge.

I love having the chance to rid myself of the past.  I am the anti-pack rat.  Unlike my children, who like to hang on to their shopping bags and receipts items they purchased three months ago, I will storm through my house on a fairly regular basis looking for reasons to get rid of things.  In fact, I just scheduled my annual date with 800 GOT JUNK to come and haul away a bunch of crap.  It is remarkable how much lighter I feel when they pull out of my driveway.  I’ve never had a colonic, but if I had, I’d imagine this is what a home version of one feels like.

This office clean out has been rather bittersweet for me, however. Having been here for over three years, it’s remarkable how much stuff one accumulates.  Not files per se.  Most of those are now in electronic form and easy to manage without the abundance of paper like in the olden days.  But I have drawers full of badges from attended events.  I have birthdays saved that made me smile.  Enough spare change to take half the sales floor to lunch.  Interesting articles that were read; or not read. Most significantly though, were the family pictures that were tucked away a year and a half ago.

Of course the pictures of my daughters still remained on my windowsill.  But the pictures of the four of us had been carefully tucked away.  Upside down so I wouldn’t have to look at them when I open those drawers in search of a highlighter or binder clip.  And now, being forced to empty out those drawers, I had to face emptying out those frames.

And I did.  The frames are making the move to the new space, hopefully to be filled with new memories and experiences.  The pictures from my past have been placed in an envelope on its way back home.  A yellowing reminder of a lifetime ago.

Just when you think you’ve moved on, reality likes to keep you on your toes and slap you across the face.  I swear I thought I found this note in my top filing cabinet drawer.

"Dear Christina,

You think you’ve this, girlie?  Smarten up.  You aren’t as tough as you think.  I am here to keep you humble.  So shed a f’ing tear now and again, and realize it’s okay to admit your “new life” is really, really hard to balance.  And, please, for the love of god, remain true to who you are.  Never compromise.  That will lead to your undoing.

Love, 

Reality”

PS - I’m proud of you.  You have been doing a pretty good job so far.  But get off your lazy a** and start exercising.  You will feel better and no one wants to see a 46 year old chick in a bikini unless she looks like Demi Moore.  So get to work. 

Of course, it was an illusion.  If it had been real, it might have been one of the only things from that drawer I would have kept.  The rest got tossed.

I love a good fresh start. 

Day 241 of The 365 Day Experiment. Pride With A Little Prejudice

My older daughter came home from school today filled with a sense of pride.  

She has been a part of her middle school's Academic Bowl team, and they've been performing well against their competition.  She's a pretty humble kid in general.  However, to be asked to join other "smart kids" representing her school has done wonders for her self esteem. I am grateful to her school for allowing her the opportunity to gain confidence by challenging herself under a little pressure, among her peers.  And for a family that is pretty low key about our accomplishments, I'm glad she has a sense of pride about what's doing with this.  Then again, I'm a little prejudiced - I'm her mom.  And I am filled with pride for her.

Pride is a funny thing for me.  It's one of those completely personal emotions that has two completely different connotations depending on which lens you chose to view it through.  

I typically defer to the negative side if I'm thinking of personal pride.  I usually equate it with a person's inflated sense of self, their personal accomplishments, or their status.  It's probably why I am more draw to people like the generally more reserved guitar players than I am to more extroverted lead singers when I think about bands I respect. It's all about the showiness and implied inflated sense of self that comes with an inflated sense of pride.  In my world, humility is far more appealing.

Which is stupid.  

It is stupid because you can turn pride around and look at it from a very positive angle as well.  It can be associated with a sense of satisfaction and fulfilment about one's own choice's or actions.  Like Chiara's pride regarding her decision to step out of her comfort zone and join the Academic Bowl; and then aid them in competing well.  In no way is she bragging or lacking humility.  She challenged herself to do something new that is pushing her intelligence to a new level.  She has every right to be proud of that.  There is no hubris.  If there was, it would not be tolerated here.

And then of course there is the pride that I have never seemed to struggle with.  That pride felt by a group of people; the one that brings a sense of belonging, or fulfills a sense of actions accomplished together.

It is that group and team pride that I feel zero conflict with. Maybe because it has to do with team or group as opposed to an individual?  I'm not sure.  I just know I feel it often.  

I felt it today, as I ate lunch with a part of my team and we shared silly stories over our ridiculous chocolate filled meals.  It made me realize how grateful I am to work with people I genuinely enjoy spending my time with.  And to know we are all focused on building a great experience for the people of our company just makes it that much better. And that makes me proud to be leading such an fantastic team of smart, committed and passionate people.

I feel it every night I drive home from work, as I cross the Boston Marathon FINISH LINE, on Boylston St.  There is not one time I do not cross that yellow line without thinking the words "Boston Strong."  And it makes me proud to be from this city, with the strength, courage and sense of community people feel about being from here. 

I feel it when I am watching tv, the movies or even strolling through town, and I see Italians who make the rest of us look bad.  Sorry Snooki and JWow. I take a lot of pride in my heritage, and I would way rather be associated with Michelangelo, Da Vinci and even Sophia Loren than what you all are putting out there.  I've got some serious Tuscan pride. 

And mostly, I feel it for my children.  I try very hard not to brag about my my children.  Mostly, because no one outside of their grandparents ever truly wants to hear about what your kids are really up to.  But I am proud of them for doing things that are building pride in themselves.  And as young women, I am all for anything that will support them building a strong self of self worth and self esteem.  

And I also am fairly confident they will never get too big for their britches.  They have a mom who is pretty good at keeping egos in check.

Day 240 of The 365 Day Experiment. Forcing A Habit.

A countless number of studies have been done about how long it takes to create a habit.  21 days.  66 hours.  In the case of this Experiment, exactly 1 post.  Once I committed, I was going to be damned if I let myself quit.  Makes me wish I had chosen The 365 Day Exercise Experiment.  I'd be looking smoking hot by now - and I wouldn't have had to share my inner thoughts with the world.  Of course, that would have defeated the entire purpose.

We are introducing a Wellness program at my office, and it was introduced today.  As part of its kickoff, we were asked to participate in a survey asking us some basic questions about what motivates us from a health and wellness standpoint.  In many of the questions, I realized I answered "I need to find time to make exercise a priority."

And then I realized how stupid I was being.

I had the same number of hours in the day 240 days ago.  And somehow, I've managed to carve out 30 - 60 minutes a day to write.  30-60 minutes I never would have thought I would ever find in my insanely tight schedule.  Most nights I put my kids to bed and then open my computer and write as my last act of the day.  When I get home late at night, I force myself to do it before I go to sleep.  I am disciplined, and I am relentless.  Writing has become a habit.

So no more excuses.  I need to be healthier, and I need to get more exercise than I am getting.  So it's time to stop thinking I have no time in the day, and commit to my body like I have committed to my mind.  I need to make exercise my new habit.

Look out summer.  I'm coming for you.  

Day 239 of The 365 Day Experiment. If I Were To Go.

My kids are getting ready for bed, and I'm eagerly awaiting the opportunity to kiss them goodnight so I can plunk my butt down on the couch and call my girlfriend.  After a brief set of texts back and forth moments ago coordinating when we could speak tomorrow, I learned she's off to a funeral of one of her friends tomorrow.  So sad.  And it got me thinking. 

Death has been on my mind all afternoon.  An old high school friend who lost his wife several months back shared a photo montage earlier today of his beautiful wife.  He posted "This almost gutted me."  And to watch it, though I did not know her, it almost gutted me as well.  To see a life cut short - especially one of a young mother of two girls - breaks my heart in a thousand pieces.  That could be me. 

That could be any of us.   While I am healthy, I could be hit by a bus tomorrow crossing Boylston Street.  It is why I am vigilant about letting my children know how much I love them.  It is why I have notes stored away for them in my tiny safe along with a small piece of jewelry for each, just in case.  They will always have the love of their father.  But if I go, they will be losing a core part of who they are becoming. 

So unlike helicopter parents who involve themselves in every detail of their children's lives, I am trying to strike a delicate balance.  I am attempting to fill my daughters' lives with memories and direction, and of guidance and soul.  

In addition to teaching them right and wrong, I'm teaching them it's okay to fail, and to learn from those mistakes.  I've been attempting to teach them about love and loss.  And being brave, and taking risks.  About being there for one another, and being reliant on one's self, too.  They need to problem solve for themselves, and think through decisions before asking for help.  Most of all, I want them to know they can always count on me, but they need to learn to become independent as well.  

Of course, I have no clue if I am doing any of this right.  Like all parents, we do the best we can do, and we all make it up as we go along.  One thing is for sure, however. My daughters have no doubt that they are loved and cherished.  And I am here for them in every way in their most formative years.  However, if something should happen to me, I'd like to think I've set them up survive - and thrive - pretty well.  

I even let them know how to find me in those notes.

Day 238 of The 365 Day Experiment. A Lesson From Row 29.

I sat jam packed on my flight home from San Francisco yesterday.  There were no upgrades to be had, no business perks to be taken advantage of.  I was in the back with everyone else.  Where all the interesting people are.

And I was seated next to an amazing elderly couple.  They were among the last to board, and appeared to have no concern with the fact that the flight attendants wanted to scurry them along.  They took their sweet time settling in, but accepted the offer of help when I offered it.

And as we chatted before takeoff, I feel in love with this dynamic duo.  I learned that they were on their way home from Hawaii; their twenty second trip there.  They had been married for just as long, and been there on their honeymoon.  They have returned every year since.  I love that they found love in their seventies, and still found the romance to visit their favorite place together every winter.

He is now 93 years old, and has Parkinson’s.  He is finding it harder to move, and she is clearly at his ready.  And as she whipped out her flip phone and address book to call their car service to inform them of their changed flight plans, I thought to myself, “I love this couple.”

I sat through the flight watching him read his Kindle with the largest possible font.  I watched her play Solitare on her iPad mini and mumble "s*it" every time she made a bad move.  They snacked on peanut M&Ms and Oreos, because as she confided in me, “I don’t worry about what I look like in a bathing suit now!”  She appeared to have a magic bag under her seat from which she kept producing goodies to entertain them, or to comfort him.  His health is clearly failing.

I didn’t ask, but I assume they had both been married before.  Somehow, they found each other in their seventies.  As they enter the final stages of their lives, they are every bit each other’s companions.  And somehow, well into there 90’s, they have managed to keep the romance and adventure alive in their lives.

Age is inevitable.  I have begun to embrace the grey hair and wrinkles that now stare me back in the mirror as signs of a life well lived; not that I’m just getting old.  And when I see videos of older women dancing, or sit next to a couple like this still traveling and enjoying their lives together until the end, it makes me smile.  

My youth is behind me, but I have to believe my best years are still in front of me.  And I will take a lesson from my elderly friends in Row 29.  You just need to make the most of it for as long as you possibly can.

Day 237 of The 365 Day Experiment. The Maddening Balance of A Day and A High Bar.

I suffer from too much future thinking. 

It is nearly impossible for me to not think several steps ahead.  While I learned early on in my life there is no black and white plan that can ever be constructed (or at least one that can be lived out that way), it has served me well to be forward thinking.  If I can anticipate what potentially what might be faced ahead, good or bad, you can create solutions and contingency plans to supplement.  And while that works really well at work, it doesn’t always translate well to living in the moment in my personal life.

I dance this carefully choreographed dance between attempting to make smart choices for my future and trying to suck the life out of each day and appreciate it for what it is.  

I try to some way to ensure each day comes with an experience and some joy; even the mundane days.  I never miss a chance to let those people in my life know that I truly love them, because you never know if it might be the last time.  I aim to put my head to the pillow each night and think to myself, “I made this day count.” 

And yet, when I am left alone to consider these days I am living, and add up the experiences I am having, I cannot help but wonder if my bar is raised high enough.  And this, I frequently consider, might be my downfall.

Who the hell am I to have such a high bar?  I have created such a high one for myself that I understand why I often feel alone in the world.   I am living a life that appears unsustainable to others, and yet I’ve been pulling it off for over twenty years and I make it work for me.  The person I was once married to suggested I would never be truly happy.  And oddly, though I find myself happy every single day, am concerned perhaps he was right.  Happy might not be the right word though.  “Satisfied” might be more appropriate.

It’s because of the balancing act.  I have created this life for myself, which is filled with people I care about, a career that I love, and the freedom I needed that manifests itself in a host of different ways.  And yet when it comes down to it, I feel like there is always that internal pressure I put on myself that I can always make each individual day better.  Make those experiences better.  Make my life ever better than it already is.  Which I understand sounds crazy because my life is already pretty great.

To have this discussion with people is to further alienate myself.  I know of only one person who understands this internal dilemma, and I am grateful I am not alone in that dialogue.   But I ask no one else to understand.  I realize that in thinking this way, I may sabotage some of the very best things that are in the moment.  But there are some things we just can’t change about ourselves.

So I will continue to work hard on the balance.  I will continue to focus on being in the moment, and at least in my personal life not try too hard to think about my future.  I’ve got a lot of life left to live.  And perhaps if I can truly make every day count, the future will just take care of itself.

Day 236 of The 365 Day Experiment. Space.

I asked for a word today.  I got sunburn.  And then I got space.  Being that I don't really burn, space resonated more.  

There are about a thousand different places my mind jumped to when I heard this word.  My first thought was Richard Branson and Virgin Galactic.  My second, which I will focus on, was, "sharing."

I feel like for the last two decades my life has been all about learning how to share my space.  I grew up in a home where I had my own bedroom.  I was able to decorate the way I chose, and I took great pride in the way I arranged my stuffed animals and posters of Jim Morrison and the B-52's just so.  And then I went to college.

It was the first time in my life I ever had to really share my space.  And it was a tough transition.  Privacy for phone calls, homework, or even an intimate smooch with a boyfriend were out.  Care packages sent from home became community property, and clothes became shared items.  I did not love this.  So much so that I went out on my own for the next two years before regrouping with three roommates again for my senior year.  I learned that if you are going to share your space, you better be thoughtful about who you choose to share it with.

And then I never lived alone again.  I had a slew of girlfriends I roomed with after college, and then I got married.  And then I had kids.  My spaces have become larger in size, but feel somehow smaller in other ways.  Somehow my girls and I thrive in just a few favorite rooms.  My kitchen, the most shared room in my house, is where I try to make everyone who enters my home feel the love.  It is where the wine is poured, the food is made, and the conversation flows.  This shared space is where our biggest memories are being made.

I share my space at work as well.  I share my office with our CEO, at first by necessity (we were short on space) and ultimately out of collaboration and true partnership.  While many think we are crazy, it has worked well for us.  We bring out the best in each other, and challenge each other's thoughts.  And in two weeks when we move offices, we are separating.  We will only be down the hall from one another, but I can't help but think a bit of my groove is going to go out the window.  That shared space helped me get in the zone.

And then there is my personal space.  I don't have much of it.  My bag?  My desk?  My bedroom?  My car?  Ultimately, they all get shared.  I think the only place I can truly claim as my own space these days is my mind.  I own what goes on in there, for better or worse.  I get to chose what gets shared when, and with whom.  Clearly, I've been sharing much more than I ever did before.  There is still so much left though.  And that's ok.  A girl has got to have her space.

Day 235 of The 365 Day Experiment. Reconstructed Wedding Vows.

San Francisco is such a great city.  I have been able to enjoy it for pleasure for a few days this week, rather than business.  I spent many weeks here at one point in my career and have such fond memories.  It’s such a treat to return without the pressure and stress of merging companies and people to worry about, and enjoy the buzz and beauty of the city without feeling like I need to contribute anything to it.  I'm just here to absorb life.

This marks the first time I’ve taken a few days off, just for myself, away from my children, ever.  Candidly, if they weren’t away on vacation with their dad, I would likely not be doing this.  However, given that they won’t be back until Sunday, I needed the distraction, and I have someone fun to hang out with, I can’t think of a better thing to do for myself.

And as I’m here, it’s left me with a lot of time to think.  Good thoughts, not like those dark ones I was having in my London hotel room.  Random thoughts also, though.   As much as these few days are about getting away and having fun, they are about my need to step away from my everyday.  I’ve already two books this week.  I needed that.  When I feel my world getting smaller from too many meetings or redundant routine, I feel like I suffer from brain claustrophobia.  I will do anything to open the windows to my mind to learn or experience something new.

My mom thinks I am slightly insane for traveling to Europe and then hopping on a flight to the West coast in the same week.  I thrive on this chaos.  It represents adventure to me; a departure from my normal.  It just plain makes me happy.   And so the random thoughts just flow.

And one such thought today was about wedding vows.  I saw something here about gay marriage and it started me thinking.  While I have been fairly definitive in my desire to never feel like I needed to be married again, I started daydreaming about if I actually did, what I would do differently.

I certainly have a host of things I would do differently in marriage itself.  But the wedding?  That I think I actually did right.  I loved that I was married in Italy, in my favorite city on earth.  I loved that I got married with eleven people surrounding us, with my grandfather translating the vows.  The one thing I might be inclined to change, if I were to ever do it again however, is the actual vows.

I don’t even remember what I signed up for.  We didn’t write our own vows, we just went with the basic civil ceremony.   I just remember checking before we started to make sure the word “obey” wasn’t part of them.  I felt like I could sign up for anything team related, and I was taking it all very seriously.  Just don’t ask me to obey.   Not that I was overly concerned about my future husband was trying to boss me around, but I knew myself well enough to know I didn’t want to commit to something I knew I would never live up to on Day 1.

So what would I say now?  Here is my pass at my reconstructed wedding vows.  I suppose they would apply to a long-term relationship too.

• I promise to communicate.  When something is on my mind, I will let you know.  I won’t make you guess, and I won’t play games.  I will be direct, honest, and transparent.  I will also attempt to be mindful of your feelings and point of view when I have a difficult topic.  I understand communication is a two-way street, and if we don’t have this as a core value in our relationship, we’ve got nothing.

• I promise to honor and respect you. If I am with you, I am yours.  I will never to anything to make you question if I am with just you.   I will never bad mouth you or mock you behind your back.  If I think you’ve done something stupid, I’ll tell you, but not my friends.  Harmless teasing is one thing; disrespecting the person you love is quite another.

• I promise not to bait and switch. What exists today as the physical package of myself is what will exist in the future give or take a few pounds and some amount of flexibility.  Of course it will wrinkle and slow down as I age, but so will you.  And it will be up to both of us to keep the romance alive.

• I promise not to become a crazy chick.  As history can attest, through my biggest challenges, I have remained emotionally mature and positive.  Though I may hit other rough patches in my life, I will always promise to approach them with the same tenacity and spirit.

• I promise to balance our relationship with my other priorities.  Yes, we all have goals and priorities and life.  My children and career are really important to me.  If we’ve gotten to this stage in our relationship, than this needs to take on significant importance as well.  I will ensure I make the time to always nurture and attend to our relationship, just as I do with the other important areas of my life, and never take it for granted.

• I promise to remain myself. What you see is what you get with me.  If you have signed up to spend your life with me, you know a good deal about what you are getting yourself into. The good, the bad, and the ugly.  I am the girl who will try to cram as much into her life as she can for as long as she can.  I am stubborn and don’t easily ask for help, and you’ll need to push me.  I’m not going to ever try to change the core being of who you are as a person, but I may push you to help you be your best self.  I am funny and irreverent, and smart and stupid all rolled into one.  There are no surprises with me, and yet hopefully so many yet to come.

And I promise to love you for as long as we work together to make this love grow*

*because forever is a really, really long time and I’m not sure if I believe in forever as a concept anymore.  If marriage could be renewed every five years like a driver’s license, I might be inclined to sign up again without a second thought.  And I take this s*it seriously.

And there marks my randomest of thoughts for the day. :)

Day 234 of The 365 Day Experiment. This is An Odd Threesome.

Freshly back from London last night, I decided to put my body through the time zone challenge and take advantage of my kids being away through Sunday.  I’m took a flight to San Francisco this morning to enjoy a few days of fun and distraction before we are reunited this weekend.

The flight was not full, so I made fast friends with a lead developer from the Google Glass project sitting across the aisle from me,  and our chatty, witty, flight attendant.  What started as her gently teasing him about the “odd thing he’s wearing on his face,” quickly spiraled into discussions about implantable devices of the future, how to lead his team of four new graduates and the odd people you meet on planes.  We covered a lot of ground in a short time.

He’s pleasant and trying hard to be humble about his project, but he speaks with the arrogance that many of the uber bright technical guys I know share.  It’s clear he relies on his brain to connect with people.   When it comes to deeper relationships however, there is a far more limited capability.  He's all confidence while talking about his amazing glasses.  And then he passed out with an eye mask on.  It was on OVER his Glass.  I want to tell him I don’t care how smart he is, that look is never going to get him laid.    And maybe he doesn’t care.  I imagine he does though .  We all care at some level. 

I loved this random conversation though.  Here are three completely different people. We’ve got a 53 year old (she told us) flight attendant from Maine, married with older children.  She flies a few times a month to keep some semblance of adventure in her life.  Then there’s a mid-30’s (I’m guessing) tech lead for one of the most storied companies of our generation.  He’s working on one of the hottest products out there and judging by the conversation, one of the sharpest people I’ve spoken to in a long time.  And then there’s me.

The thing I love about conversations like these are the challenge of finding the points of connection.  The teenage me would have probably taken one look at this guy and written him off as a total nerd.  The adult me was able to partner with the flight attendant to humanize him.  We were able to get him to talk about his work in a user-friendly way (a challenge for him at the outset) by teasing him and by ultimately mocking ourselves.  All three of us were able to share our own stories about our first forays into technology and the impact it’s had on our lives.  What started as a flight attendant killing time with an innocent question turned into a highly engaging conversation I think we all took something away from. 

This is what I love about open doors.  You literally never know what you will find on the other side of them.  Today,  I chose to opt into a conversation rather than tune out like I normally do on a plane, and I became the richer for it.  Nothing grandiose happened.  Just left with a feeling that I met two more interesting people in the world.  And no matter how different we may look on the outside, there are ways to connect with just about anyone if you just start talking.

Day 233 of The 365 Day Experiment. Lying In Bed. Alone.

Lying in bed last night, jet lag barring me from my normal ability to pass out minutes from my head hitting the pillow.  

I had forced myself into the sheets, knowing my alarm would ring in five hours time for an early morning meeting.  And yet the sleep will not come. I am riddled with brain churn, swirling at a pace that will not allow me peace.  

My days are like are generally like this.  I delight in the hyper speed of my random thoughts, and enjoy the challenge of connecting the dots between their meaning.  I am good at this in a work context.  I am getting better at doing this on a personal level.  But when I am free of distractions, and I am in bed in the dark alone with no one to bounce my thoughts off of or have access to my bedroom whiteboard to sketch them out on, I am lost.

When I have that time alone during the day to think, I am productive.  I am creative.  Something happens to me when the lights go down.  Those thoughts can turn dark with the room, and the general enthusiasm that fills my everyday life is replaced with doubt and odd thoughts that make no rational sense.  I beg sleep to come so I can stop them from visiting.

I am grateful these thoughts don't come often.  I am grateful I typically have a thought partner or a vehicle for working or talking them out.  I am grateful that I typically have a positive outlook and can generally find the opportunity in the chaos.  

I am not fond of being alone in bed, when no sleep comes to me.  For a whole host of reasons.

Day 232 of The 365 Day Experiment. Lost In Translation.

There is something about being out in the world on your own that is both terrifying and awe inspiring at the same time.

I’m only in London…it’s not like I’m fending for myself in a third world country. But this morning trying to figure out how to get myself from the hotel to the office with no cash and a corporate Amex card with no “chip” proved a challenge. What is a no brainer on my home turf suddenly takes attention and focus. Neither trait is in my wheelhouse.

And as I sit on the train alone this morning and stare out at the grey sky, my first thought was, “Hey…I’m actually making this crazy life I’m trying to pull off work. My kids are at Disney, and I am able to travel abroad for work without the stress of having to worry about coverage for them this week. They are having fun, and I’m having a bit of a work adventure while they are gone.” And then a super creepy guy got on the train and sat across from me. I immediately went from my positive thoughts to “holy crap…if something happened to me here no one would know.”

Of course that’s a total exaggeration. If I didn’t show up in the office here I’m sure people would question my whereabouts. I hope.

And as I head into the office this morning on this train with the creepy man, I am grateful for my full life. While it didn’t turn out the way I expected, in some ways it has turned out so much better. I doubt I would have grown or learned or pushed myself over the past year and a half nearly as hard if my personal life hadn’t taken a sharp detour.

For some reason, I’m able to appreciate everything just a little bit more now. I take nothing for granted anymore. I sat in a London theatre last night watching Billy Elliott thinking “Wow! I’m at a London theatre!” It’s something I’ve done before, but it just felt a little more special this time. I’m not entirely sure why. Perhaps this is what gratitude means. Maybe I’m just grateful I’m happy, healthy, and my life is in a good place.

I know that should be enough. It's not.  It just lets me know it’s safe to up my game again. #feelinginvincible

Day 231 of The 365 Day Experiment. The Key to My Heart.

Being single, one gets the opportunity to reset her bar of her wish list in a potential new mate. When I started this process I had a different list than the one I currently have right now.

To be specific, I started with an actual list. Not an actual list, per se, but I did have a few items that I knew were must haves and would immediately disqualify someone if they didn’t have them. It was a really short list.

But as I’ve been out in the single world as an adult, I’ve learned what is important to me has really morphed over time. Yes, it’s still important to me that whoever I end up with has kids of his own and has a career he’s proud of and energized by.  However, I’ve learned that it is equally as important how he interacts with me. One of the single biggest understandings I’ve come to realize about myself occurred just a few days ago.  I need to feel loved.

Yes, that sounds certifiably simplistic.  Everyone wants to feel loved, no?  I mean in at a deeper level though.  I have always known it was important to me to have people in my life that care about me.  I have always known it was important that it that I felt supported, and that someone had my back.  What I never actually realized, however, is how that love and support itself is expressed is also really important to me. What I learned, ultimately, is that I am a romantic.

I have never identified with that term.  My vision of a woman who was “romantic” was one who expected to be swept off her feet with flowers and grand gestures.  It was the stuff of movies and unsustainable relationships.  Like Jack and Rose in Titantic, and Robert and Francesca in Bridges of Madison County.  Incredibly intense for a few short days…and then the people or the relationships die.  See, clearly, I am not romantic.  But am I?

What I realized over the weekend is that I am romantic in a way that makes sense to me.  It doesn’t need to be about grandiose gestures.  It’s about knowing the person you are with, and finding a way to express how you care about them.  That seems to come really easily for me.  What I didn’t realize is that I needed it back in some form.

I suppose it comes from a place of wanting the people closest to me to know they matter.  For example, the day my kids started going to day care, I started putting notes in their lunch.  Yes, even before they could read.  I put them in little notebooks, and each note contained a sticker, and was signed with “I love you, Mommy” and a smily face.  I still do it every day for them, and I have kept every notebook.  One of my corner cabinets is littered with the years of those lunchtime memories.

I have been known to buy my friends or someone I love small treats, or leave random cards, or even just a stupid pinecone, just because.  To me, it’s not about price, or showiness.  In my mind, it’s just a way to say “I was thinking about you.”

We are all driven by different things.  Some women needs jewels to feel loved (don’t get me wrong…this girl loves her some bling too - but it’s sure not what drives me).  Some women need to be wined and dined, and squired around the town.  I like to think I’m pretty low maintenance, but perhaps I’m not.  When it comes down to it, I need to feel like the person I love loves me back. And that takes a little effort on both our parts.  You can’t just tell me, you need to show me. And it doesn’t take much.  But that, it turns out, is the key to my heart.

I find it utterly fascinating how much I continue to learn about myself this late in life.  Better late than to never understand, I suppose.  

Day 230 of The 365 Day Experiment. Mind The Gap.

Last night I sat on my floor packing two different bags for two different trips I am taking this week.  I sat among my clothes and personal items, trying to figure out how to fit as many things as I could into a tiny carry-on for the first leg of the trip to London.  As I congratulated myself on having mastered the art of packing light, I can’t wait to open my bag tonight to figure out what three essential things I completely forgot to pack in my zeal to conserve space.

I am one of those travelers who used to think traveling for business was glamorous…until I took my third business trip.  All it takes is a couple of seriously long delays, or flights being cancelled and not being able to get home, to make you want to avoid airports altogether. And airport security just plain stresses me out.  I hate having to get dressed on flight days with airport security in mind.  Knowing I’m going to be half naked by the time I actually chuck my bag on the belt to be screened with half my wardrobe on the belt alongside it is frustrating.  Spending time scrambling to get redressed and fetch everything as it spills onto the end of the belt is more frustrating; especially as other travelers are fighting you to get to their items. 

However, it is trips like today's that make me realize I’ve still got a little bit of wonderment like a kid left in me about business travel.  And rather than become the weary road warrior, it's incumbent on me to turn each trip into an adventure if I want to make it not suck.  It's all about about how you look at the glass, right?

I had an early flight to London this morning.  Not exactly how one wants to start their Sunday.  And yet as I boarded the flight and was told my seat was “upstairs” on the British Airways 747, I got excited.  I’ve never been to the upstairs of a plane before.  So I did what my kids would do.  I texted them, and sent them a picture.  They thought it was just as cool as I did.  

I put my phone away and quickly passed out in my seat.  I awoke feeling refreshed...only to learn we still hadn’t left the ground yet. Clearly, a sure sign you aren’t getting enough sleep is when a five minute snooze at the gate is your bar for feeling good.

I worked the majority of the flight, and arrived at Heathrow.  The last childlike surprise awaiting me came at the end of my train ride to Paddington Station.  My hotel, it turns out, was actually attached to the train station itself.  And as I passed through the entrance, I smiled at all the Paddington bears in the lobby.  They were a childhood favorite of mine, and it was somewhat oddly welcoming to find them greeting me as I arrived.  

And now here I am, ready to hit the sack after this day of travel.  I’ve got three long days ahead of meetings and visits with our team here, and I’ll do my best to manage to find some adventure while I’m here as well.  I travel plenty for business, and that in and of itself just isn't that fun.  But when I set the goal of ensuring every trip has to involve at least one memorable moment or story, it becomes far more tolerable.  So far, I have managed to walk two miles to find a really good Lebanese restaurant for dinner with my friend tonight, but I know we can do so much better than that.  And I refuse to have the highlight of my trip be sitting upstairs in a double decker plane; even if I secretly think that was cool.

And while I figure out what it’s going to be over the next few days, I’ll try to remember to look right and "mind the gap".

Day 229 of The 365 Day Experiment. Ah, So THIS Is What It Really Means To Be On Your Own...

I’ve been a single parent for over a year now.  I thought I had mastered the art of independence.  I mean, hell, that was one of the problems in my relationship to start with.  I was too independent, and I needed to work on being a better team player.  Today, however, I realized just how “single” I have really become.

My children just left for vacation to Disney with their dad and his new fiancé.  I am so happy they are escaping the cold, and are getting to enjoy some sunshine and fun for a week. And yet I would be lying if I didn’t admit that it puts a dagger through my heart to think about them taking a family vacation without me as part of that family. 

So I distracted myself with as many activities as I possibly could today.  I got my haircut, which was about three months overdue.  And then I sucked up my courage and did something I’ve never had to do on my own before.  I went and bought a new car.

That may sound stupid, to be intimidated by such a thing.  While I have no fear of negotiating, I have a big fear of numbers, and of making smart long term decisions about financial matters.  For two decades I was married to a financial advisor who got to do that for us.  A major benefit is now gone from my life, and I need to supplement it with a skill set that is just not my strong suit. 

So I faced my fear and I dealt.  Thankfully, I was dealing with a fantastic sales guy.  He was incredibly helpful and patient, and answered all my stupid questions, which he pretended were not stupid.  He made me not feel like an idiot, and I am truly grateful for that.  In fact, he turned an experience I was dreading into a relatively painless one.  

I drove out of there proud, but also with a realization.  ”Oh…” I thought.  ”This is what it feels like to really be on your own.”  I have been been playing all the roles within and around my home for the last year, but buying a car really made me realize how single I have become.  And then I pulled into my driveway.

With the snow coming down hard, my eye was drawn to an insanely large chunk of icicle on the corner of my house.  They were about two feet wide, and four or five feet long.  And they were pointed inward.  I thought if these things all fall at once, they are going to go through my dining room window.

So I did approached the problem like a novice at first.  I took the end of a broom and I started whacking at them.  That just broke off the ends.  They were literally sealed to my roof about six inches thick.  I could not break them free. It was time for some creativity.

So I went to the garage and found a garden hoe.  At least I think that’s what it is.  And then I crawled out of my second floor window, and started praying.  Hanging on to the window sill with one hand, so I wouldn’t drop to the ground, I chopped at those bloody icicles for about 15 minutes until BAM!  They finally crashed to the ground.  

I crawled back through the window, suddenly incredibly proud of what I had just done.  It sounds so dumb, to be excited about chopping at ice.  And yet, for the first time in a very long time, I felt like I could do literally anything at that moment.  

So I can check that off the list.  It’s nice to know I really can fend for myself.  I don’t need someone to take care of me.  But here’s the thing.  I also realize, I really hate this much independence.  It would have been nice to have someone else out on the roof today, or at least someone to helping me, making sure I didn’t break my neck in the process.  Or someone there to say, “I know it’s not a 911, honey.   If it is that big a deal to you, someday, you’ll get another one.  Suck it up and be responsible.  You’ve made a smart choice,” rather than me having to have that internal dialogue with myself.

I might be a bit of an introvert, but I need my people.  I need my kids, and I need my “person.”  A little time alone every once in while is great to be able to reflect, think, create, etc.  But I don’t like being alone too much.  I thrive around people I care about.  

Good lesson learned today.  It’s nice to know what you do and don’t need vs. what you do and don’t want. 

Day 228 of The 365 Day Experiment. Valentine's Day.

I thought I’d celebrate this, the most commercial of all holidays, by recounting some of the highlights of my twenty dates over the past year.  Yep, that’s twenty different guys.  I don’t know if that’s a lot, or a little.  

When I was ready to get myself back out on the dating scene, I cast a wide net.  I thought I knew what I was looking for, but tried to be really open minded about how it was packaged.  In other words, while I tried hard not to be shallow about “I need to date a business leader who has long dark hair, is artistic, and plays by his own rules…”  I ultimately ended up gravitating towards looking for the male version of myself.  Which was really stupid in retrospect.

So on my quest, I have been on first dates with some really interesting characters.  I point out first dates, because if we look at this as a numbers game, out of the 20 people, only 4 guys made it to a second date.  Rule one of those out because he was my high school buddy/friend with benefits who eased me back into the scene.  That leaves 3.  

I’ll start with the highlights of the 17 who remain.  The majority are so unremarkable I won’t even comment.  And I will suggest they probably left the dates feeling the same about me. 

#4 Was an entrepreneur who spent an hour and a half talking about himself over pizza and wine.  He was nice but very arrogant, and absolutely not for me.  We parted ways pleasantly enough, but when I got a text from him the next day asking me out again, I was surprised.  Being new to dating in the age of texting, I made the assumption if someone asks you out on text, you can decline on text.  So I sent what I thought was a very polite “thank you for asking but I’m not interested,” text back.  And I got the rudest note back minutes later, suggesting that “I must be back with my husband, and I’m certainly not out of his league…” Ummm, dodged a bullet on that one.

#11 Was really nice.  We met for coffee one morning.  And it was going well for the first three minutes until we played the name game and realized he was good friends with my high school buddy/friend with benefits.  Awkward!  Game over.

#9 Paul Newman look alike, who owned his own business.  My mom would have loved him.  We had a great night hanging at the Bristol Lounge at the Four Seasons.  I thought we totally connected over our four hour date. We parted ways we a great good night kiss.  He never called me back.  

#14 Was an MIT professor.  He didn’t look like one.  But he acted like one.  Lunch was painful,  for both of us I am sure.

#16 Owns a large chunk of Boston real estate.  He spent dinner telling me how he lives half the month on his yacht in Miami and trying to impress me with his wealth.  When he said, “Guess what kind of motorcycle I drive?” I wish I had the quick wit to say “A Vespa?”  I couldn’t get out of the restaurant fast enough.  It confirmed to me I am not a gold digger.

and then there was…

#19 He spent the few days leading up to our date reconfirming time and place.  We met for lunch at a BBQ joint.  After he was 20 minutes late, I was getting my coat on to leave.  As I was almost out the door, he texted saying he was almost there.  I waited another 10 minutes before he showed.  We ordered out food at 12:30, and sat at the low-key counter to chat.  At 12:37, he said, “You can tell by looking at me I am not well.  I am fighting a horrible stomach bug.  I’ve been on the toilet all morning.  I’m sorry for TMI, but I need to reschedule with you.  I am SOOOOO sorry.”  I felt horrible for him.  I told him of course I understood, please go, please feel better.

I woke up the next morning to a text telling me he was actually seeing someone and he didn’t know how to cancel the date.  

Here’s a thought, a**hole.  Don’t make me wait for a 1/2 hour in a lousy neighborhood for you, only to ditch me 7 minutes into it claiming you have diarrhea. Next time, man up and say, “I am so sorry, I need to cancel.  I wish you the best in your search.”  Or anything else.  Now you are just “#19, the guy with the fake diarrhea” to me.

The other three got to a second date +.  Two didn’t get much farther than that.  One did.  :)

 

 Reblog

Day 227 of The 365 Day Experiment. Crime, Couches and Characters.

What is about gangsters and the mafia that draws us in?  

From the time I stayed home sick when I was a kid and read my father's dog-eared copy of The Godfather, I was intrigued by the mafia.  Only the ones portrayed in stories though.  The real life guys,  I want nothing to do with, and I don't want to glamorize them.  

Perhaps it has to do with the incredible contrast in behaviors.  These guys live by a strict moral code, but also clearly play by their own rules. They are incredibly loyal to each other - until they aren't.  And when that happens, someone dies.  And we learned with shows such as The Sopranos, that morally corrupt characters like head-of-the-family Tony, are guys that have families, and hearts, and their own deep rooted issues too.  Kind of like us.  In some ways, while we have nothing in common with them, we can still relate to them on some level.

Of course some of the best mob movies and tv shows of the past fifty years (The Godfather, Goodfellas, Casino, Sopranos, etc.) come with exceptional writing, directors, and actors.  I mean really, Brando, DeNiro, and Pacino all in the same movie? It's bound to be fantastic. But the dynamics of family, betrayal, power and crime?  That's hard not to draw you in.  Throw a little sex, drugs and a good soundtrack in there, and you've got one hell of a movie.  Or tv show.  

I think The Sopranos was one of the best shows on television, ever.  If Seinfeld was the show about nothing, The Sopranos might have been the show about everything.  It covered literally every topic during its run on HBO.  No topic ever seemed taboo, which is what made it so incredibly intriguing. 

And to have its lead character, a man who was so clearly in charge and respected in one scene - be so riddled with depression and panic attacks in another - made him human.  And relatable.  Watching him  interact with his therapist every week as the consigliere who strips him of his bulls*it and ultimately becomes the one woman who he truly respects is fascinating. And such exceptional acting by the two of them. 

I miss this show and its made up mobsters, and will stop and find myself stopping to watch it when I am flipping channels.  It's the depth to the characters along with their quirks that make them truly watchable.  Partner that observing people living out the American dream by their very twisted definitions, and you've got some very clever, very dark and very great entertainment.  

Fuggedaboudit…

Day 226 of The 365 Experiment. Pasta Palooza.

I don’t miss my teenage years at all, nor do I miss my twenties. But sometimes I miss being 10. 

Tonight, I sped home home to make the second dinner seating of Pasta Palooza.  It’s the annual tradition at my daughter’s elementary school, where the children run a faux Italian restaurant for the evening.  Every child has a role to play, from coat checkers, to selling flowers, to waitstaff. They even serenade us while we eat.  The kids are completely adorable, and so engaged in what they are doing.  

I love their youthful enthusiasm.  They each take their assigned task so seriously, and worked incredibly well together as a team.  Of course, there were over thirty mom volunteers helping to coach and organize them, but the kids did the work, and their pride was shining.  

It’s the kind of night you go into thinking, “Ugh…am I seriously going to eat a plate of overcooked pasta with “red sauce” on a foam plate at 5:30 for dinner?” as you drive home from work exhausted.  And then as you enter through the doors and see the smiling faces of the children who worked so hard to pull this together, you known you’d eat that Olive Garden-wannabe meal every night if it meant seeing your kid this proud.  

Pasta Palooza is more than just a dinner.  This is the beginning of the fifth grade class getting ready to spread their wings and show us they’ve got their s*it together enough to head to middle school in the fall.  They’ve got the social skills to interact with adults.  They’ve got the team skills to work with each other in a large group.  They’ve got the presence to sing in front of an entire cafeteria of dining guests.  And they had fun the entire time.

10 is such an awesome age.  The opposite sex is only slightly yukky, the girls haven’t really become mean yet, and the boys have not yet begun to douse themselves in Axe bodyspray.  They don’t have hours of homework yet, or the pressure of pimples.  They just get to revel in their newly forming independence, and bask in the glow of being pre-teens with Instagram accounts.

With no disrespect to the cafeteria staff, I’m Italian.  My bar for a pasta dinner might be a little higher than the norm, but I think we’d probably all agree no one showed up tonight for the food. We showed up to support our kids.  And it was completely worth it.  

Day 225 of The 365 Day Experiment. If Vomit Were Blood…

...my house would have looked like a crime scene last night.

I should have read the clues. When was in fifth grade, I too had little interest in doing the extra few problems to ensure I was prepared for my math test the next day. But Gianna complained about her stomach to Ferris Bueller-level proportions during that half hour. And then she refused dinner. And then all hell broke loose into the wee hours of the morning.

The poor kid purged everything at hour intervals for the next six hours. It is so painful to be a parent when you can do so little to help your child who is clearly in pain. And yet all I felt I had to offer her was a bucket, a cool towel for her head, and my hand to hold when she passed out in between those hours.

And just as she was beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel, her sister called out from down the hall. She too decided to join in the fun. We need to work on her aim. No one needs to be scrubbing carpets at 3 am.   Oh wait...within minutes it was my turn. 3,2,1...bzzzz. This crew was down for the count. 

It's been a rough day.  It is hard to be a patient when you need to play nurse too.  The three of us have made a new home on our couch today, watching way too much Disney channel.  I do not get to control the remote on a day like today.  We've all slept on and off, with me attempting to keep up with email and project work when I'm awake and not taking care of their needs.  I can't believe how little I've moved over the past fourteen hours.

We're now 24 hours into it, and it looks like we may finally be nearing the end.  We are all showered and in fresh warm pajamas, and the girls are once again asleep on the couch.   No food has been eaten, and we are weak.  And yet even in illness, I smile knowing we are in this together.  

When they grow up, we will remember this as the day we all stayed home from school/work, sick with exactly the same thing, at exactly the same time.  And all the silly arguing, and fighting about who gets to watch what when on tv was gone for the day.  Today was all about making each other feel better, when we needed each other to be there. 

I really hate seeing my kids sick. I really hate being sick.  But I really, really love knowing we are here for each other when it counts.  And today, once again, I got to see our bond in action again.  

Sucks that buckets were involved and I have the energy of a sloth, but my heart sure feels good tonight.