Shower the People You Love with Love

Attended a baby shower for my sweet friend Amy today. Luckily a shower during the weekend of Easter means there were all sorts of goodies in the stores to create a fun Spring-themed gift.

Meet Me in Chicago

Today I made travel arrangements for my upcoming trip to Chicago. I was emailing with a friend who I'm going to stay with after I'm done working. This friend is my sweet Annie. As we were emailing back and forth I realized that we have only interacted face to face during two trips. The more I thought about our relationship, the more I realized how much our romance resembles that of An Affair to Remember.

When describing it on paper it really does seem like a torrid love affair:
The first night we spent together was in a grotto-style hot tub in Orlando. We soaked ourselves in the steam and chlorine while talking for hours about our families, our lives back home, our hurts, our pains, our joys, and our dreams. We would not reunite until a year later in the snow covered mountains of Colorado. We shared a week together holed up in a lodge seeking protection from the storm. We stayed up late talking by the fire. We laughed together and our love for one another grew even deeper. And we spent hours in the hot tub again. The steam rose into the brisk mountain air as we gazed at the stars, hoping against hope to see a shooting star which would grant all of our deepest wishes. After our fated week we parted ways and returned home to our suburban realities with no reunion date in place.

At last the reunion approaches.

We will meet once again in her hometown, The Windy City. But alas it has been a long year apart and I am unsure if her feelings for me still remain. Has she carried a torch for me these past 14 months as I have for her? So we will meet atop the Willis Tower. (I suggested the Sears Tower, but she informed me that it no longer exists. She corrected me to call it by its updated name to spare me the embarrassment. What kindness she showed me. I can picture myself running through the streets of Chicago asking for directions to the Sears Tower to no avail.) If she still feels the same, she will wait for me on the observation deck. It will look something like this:


But if she doesn't arrive and meet me on the appointed day I will be left to assume that her heart belongs to another. Or she might have gotten hit by a car on her way to the Willis Tower. But at least I will know where she stands. I will be heartbroken...and left without a place to stay and a ride to the airport. That would suck. (At least give someone the courtesy to show up if someone else is counting on you for a ride to the airport.)

Annie, if you're reading this just know that I don't plan on murdering you and then wearing your skin around the house. The photoshopped pictures might be a little over the edge and stalkerish, but I just really needed a blogpost for the day. I promise I'm not crazy. Promise. And at least I let you be Deborah Kerr in the pictures and I made myself Cary Grant. You got to be the girl so you really don't have anything to complain about.

Aack! I'm Becoming One of Those Women.

Oh God it's happened. I've become one of those women who relate to the "Cathy" comic strip. Egad.


I logged on tonight to talk about the perils of being an emotional eater since I've fallen off the wagon this past week and then it hit me. Aack! Brownies! Saddlebags! Egad! I'm a "Cathy"! Really? Is this what I've become? Three months of daily posts and I'm resorting to posts about overeating. That's all I can come up with? That's worth talking about? This blog has, as my husband would say, derailed.

Oh Cathy and her perils. First it's having to listen to that annoying co-worker while you work away in your shoulder padded blazer. Then it's complaining about your lack of a man or what's lacking in the man you do have. Then the shopping and blowing your loot on those shoes you had to have. You might as well seek some solace in some pie, Cath. What a life you crazy lady, you.

That's not me. I don't own any clothes with shoulder pads and I don't technically even have any co-workers. (Though I do joke that since I work from home, I have two less than par administrative assistants, Toby and Penny. I think opposable thumbs would really increase their job performance.) I have a man and he doesn't wear sweaters with the collar poking outside like her animated man does, so I don't have much to complain about there. I don't feel guilty about shopping and I doubt the sensible work pumps she blew her loot on are anything I would ever buy. But drowning your sorrows in strawberry rhubarb...aack! Got me!

I've already embarrassed myself enough in one post by not only writing about Cathy, but by also comparing myself to her. In a few years I'll probably be remarking on the hilarity of "Maxine" t-shirts and coffee mugs. I might even put that year's Maxine desk calendar from Hallmark on my Christmas list. Egad. Not even thirty yet and already resigning to the caricatures at Hallmark for my amusement.

Oh Maxine.

So I will spare you the story of my most recent falling off the wagon. INSTEAD I'll tell you a story about my friend Branden's sleep eating! We've been friends since high school, but it wasn't until this fall that I first learned of his after dark binge sessions. I don't think he even became aware of them until after getting married. His wife would wake up on his return to bed and ask what he'd been doing. He had no answer for her because he was still in a sleepy and confused stupor. She would find the jar of peanuts laying on the counter and cupboard doors open. Though his sleep eating incidents usually seem to involve peanuts, if I'm not mistaken (or just wanting this to be true) I believe there was a morning where he awoke with some chocolate mysteriously smudged around his mouth. (I could be fabricating this part of the story unknowingly. My memory just loves this picture of him awakening to a chocolate stained pillow.) When he met her parents for the first time and spent the night at their home, he happened to have an episode (is episode the correct medical term for this "condition"?). Her mom said there were all these wrappers laying next to the candy dish. Apparently Branden had raided the dish containing the miniature candy bars in the middle of the night. But what's even better is that he picked out just his favorite kind! Rather than indiscriminately grabbing at any of the offered varieties, he actually was able to select and pick out only the type he preferred. Isn't the brain fascinating? This story makes me want to become a neurologist. This story makes Branden a cheater on his P90X diet. I think it's his body craving all the deliciousness he's being denied and revolting against him. Asleep or not, it will not be denied it's peanuts.

When searching for a good pic of Cathy to post I came across Tina Fey, as Liz Lemon, doing her Cathy impression.


I really hope I'm not becoming like Liz either. She's funny to watch, but the audience is always laughing at her...not with her. Her flaws are not endearing, but rather ammunition with which to make fun of her. I do not want to be a Cathy OR a Liz.

Here's Andy Samberg doing an even better impression of Cathy.

"Give Me 6 More Months."

So March is coming to a close and I'm reflecting. There have been 89 days in 2010, thus 89 days of this project, but only 88 posts since I forgot to post one day (which is pretty fitting for a blog about imperfection).

I'm surprised at how much I've changed over the past 3 months. My anxiety hasn't decreased, in fact it's actually intensified in the midst of transitioning out of my job. I am still battling it most days, and losing that battle frequently. But I am living in spite of it. And because of the blog project, I think living bolder and more bravely. I'm dreaming again. I'm excited about my life. I not so afraid of trying new things. My sense of humor is growing as I'm able to laugh at myself more than ever before.

Yesterday I worked on my resume. I've never had to compile one before other than for a college English class. I didn't need one as I was hired by Young Life directly out of college. I never thought I'd leave Young Life staff (except for maternity leave and retirement). 3 months ago I never thought I'd be preparing to quit my job, the only job I ever thought I'd have. 3 months ago I never thought I'd be considering new careers, and with each an entirely new identity.

3 months from now (June 30th), I will be preparing for my last trip to Young Life camp as a leader on staff. This week at Crooked Creek in Colorado will be my last hurrah. We return on July 11th and my time on staff will conclude shortly thereafter. What a way to finish spending a week in the mountains with kids doing crazy things and talking about God and life. God is really sweet allowing me to finish my time at every Young-Lifers favorite place: camp, our mecca, heaven on Earth.

Mid January was when I began praying through and processing the prospect of leaving staff. On January 17th during a prayer day I felt like God asked me to give him 6 more months. I'm just about at the halfway point, 3 months down, only 3 more left. Very bittersweet and strange.

When I started this project January 1st I never imagined this turn of events. But God already knew what was coming. I felt him urging me to do this project and I have to believe that he's using it as part of this transition. If I hadn't been blogging and experiencing the freedom this project has brought, I can't imagine what my reaction would have been to feeling called to leave Young Life. I think I would have fought it and tried to stay where it's safe and comfortable. But like I said, I'm brave now. So I'm grateful for these past 3 months. I'm sad when thinking about the next 3. But I'm really, really excited and eager for what comes after July. Who knows where I could be after these next 3 months? I'm learning that I shouldn't pretend to know what's ahead when God and his surprising plans are involved.

Have Dental Anxiety?

I hate the dentist. Well let me be specific, I don't hate the actual dentist. In fact I really like my dentist. He is the same one I've gone to since a kid and lives down the street from my parents. He's very laid back and funny and even plows the street for all the neighbors when there's a heavy snow. What a guy! I don't even mind the hygienists or the office clerks. Kay at the front desk is a family friend and remembers me by name after all these years. Despite these friendly faces, I loathe going to the dentist.

Before a month ago I had not been to the dentist in many, many years. I am so ashamed of how long it had been that I will not tell you exactly how long. Think multiple years and then multiply that. It became one of those fears that perpetuates itself the longer you avoid it. The more time passed the worse my situation became as I feared the number of cavities and tartar I was accumulating.

I have a bad front tooth that came in with a crack down the front of it. Since this permanent tooth made its appearance, it has undergone multiple repairs and fillings until I was old enough for a more long term solution. By the time I was old enough, I was no longer a regular at the dentist office, and no longer on my parent's payroll. The most recent filling was discolored and I was starting to notice it in pictures. Still no visit to that fated electric chair. (Seriously, doesn't anyone else see the alarming coincidence that the chairs there are electric? Really? Too busy being lulled to sleep by the easy listening music station? Not me! I'm fully aware of the torture about to ensue.) A few years back, the filling chipped. You guessed it, still no visit.

Well something got into me, maybe it was the thought of entering the work force wanting to put my best foot/tooth/smile forward in job interviews. Maybe it was divine intervention. Who knows where the courage to make the appointment came from, but the important thing is I made it. I called 30 minutes before the office closed ready to schedule a visit in the coming weeks. I thought that's how it worked, always booked solid right? Wrong. "How's tomorrow morning for you?" Gulp. "Sure." I had planned on preparing over the next two weeks through visualization, meditation, and rational thinking. But I figured instead of letting myself get worked up (because that is what would really happen during my preparation time), I decided to just get it over with.

Over the past month and a half I have visited the dentist 4 times and have one final appointment in two weeks. I guess these 5 appointments will make up for all the years I skipped out on my oral hygiene. My first appointment was tense. He asked why I had been away so long and I poured out my sometimes too honest heart to him. He must have dealt with this before because he went into therapist mode validating my anxiety, trying to pinpoint the source of my fear, and asking me what he could do to make it easier on me. Something must have been written in my file at that point because every following appointment began with the hygienist walking me through the day's procedures and being extra sensitive when inquiring about how I was feeling.

The second appointment was the worst. Two fillings and a whole lot of drilling. That sound, oh that horrid sound. It literally makes my palms sweat just hearing the buzzing going on a few chairs down from me. I was still having sensitivity during some of the "mining" and so they shot me up again trying to numb me to oblivion. (The extra numbing was a request I had made when asked what could be done to ease my fear. I don't mind the shots at all.)

The third appointment was just as terrifying as the second, but not painful. This was the big one. To repair my bad front tooth we decided on a veneer and one for the neighboring tooth in order to ensure the teeth match one another. This process involved sanding away my two front teeth to mere stubs in order to make room for the veneers to fit over. I promised myself I wouldn't look at them in the mirror and tried to avoid exploring the damage with my tongue. I got curious though and felt around. Feeling a huge gap between my front teeth was horrifying. They installed a temporary piece while creating my permanent fixtures in the lab. After the appointment I had Daniel feel how I had soaked through the back of my shirt from sweating in the chair. I forgot to take anxiety pills before the visit, not that it would have made a difference since they seemed to have no effect on the suffering during appointment #2.

Appointment #4- today, painless. The new teeth look great and I'm almost done with my dental marathon. I will return in two weeks to pick up my night guard to protect my teeth from all the grinding I do in my sleep. (Yet another by-product of anxiety: teeth clenching and grinding. I even have to use Sensodyne toothpaste because of constant tooth aches from the wear and tear. Just add it to the list with IBS. Wait for my entry on stress related acne coming in a few weeks as I visit the dermatologist. Exciting stuff! Ground breaking journalism.)

So thank you to the staff at my friendly neighborhood dentist.

BEFORE

AFTER

Mediocre is a dirty word

I was reading through my journal today and the first entry was from December 2009 P.B. (Pre-Blog Era). At that point I was still thinking through whether or not to begin blogging for a year or not. I had a very strong desire to start but was feeling really insecure about it. I had been exploring other blogs, some with readerships of over 1,000 and some much smaller ones written by friends and friends of friends. I was (and still am to a degree) really intimidated by the quality and success of other people's sites. I wasn't looking for a huge audience or blogging fame and fortune, but felt inadequate to be able to post anything worthwhile. Reading this you would think I'm terribly insecure and have low self-esteem. Either this is true or I am actually arrogant instead. You see as recorded in my journal, my biggest blogging fear was not that of failing but of mediocrity.

In my mind I have these grand ideas of who I am. I may not be super accomplished but I was always telling myself that I would probably be good at everything but I just haven't tried yet. I've always had issues with the mantra, "Tis better to have tried and failed than to never have tried at all." Actually if I never tried and then subsequently failed, I could still maintain feelings of self-importance. As long as I avoided the task, there was always the possibility that I could be good at it. No one could say that I'm not talented at said task. Trying and failing would only give them a list of things that I cannot claim as talents.

Attempting to maintain my self imposed status up on my pedestal has meant avoiding a lot of opportunities over the years, especially ones where there was a high risk of failure. But this has backfired terribly. I may still be standing tall and proud on my pedestal, but I'm bored...and lonely. And guess what? No one else sees me up there; it's all been my own self-preservation. Over these past three months I have come a long way in overcoming my fear of failure. The evidence was right there in my old journal entries I read today. But my next and maybe bigger battle is that against the fear of mediocrity. Failure is kind of funny. Me playing basketball, me cooking, me being organized...those are funny pictures. Just as you can be known by your successes, you can be known by your failures. "Oh Hattie is hilarious when trying to play basketball." "Oh Hattie is always forgetting things and buried under a pile of papers." But what about when you don't all-out fail; instead you're just kind of okay at something. Average. I fear being an amateur trying to have a legitimate career doing something creative, but always falling just a little short of creative.

In Young Life I'm a pro. Since becoming a leader in college, I was always good at it. I feel comfortable in the stands at games conversing with kids. I am like an expert on high school. Over the years I've taught classes (literally) on how to hang out with kids. And now I'm leaving all that and entering the work force made up of people beyond the ages of 14-18. I'm not an expert at anything out here. I'm not afraid to try out new jobs only to find out I suck at them and then move on. But I don't want to find myself in a job that is good...not great. Where I'm doing enough to keep my job, but not really doing anything that life giving.

It's certainly time for me to come down from my pedestal and explore life in the places where I'm not the expert. But I'm terrified of drowning in a sea of mediocrity.

You Know You Work for Young Life When...

You know you work for Young Life when rollerskating counts as work.

Last night we kicked it at the roller rink y'all! High school kids love the novelty of rollerskating and are not too cool like some adults are to actually do it. I probably skate at least once or twice a year for Young Life. It should be in my job description; ooh which means I can put it on my resume. I think future employers will definitely be interested in that skill set.

I have rollerskated as much as a Young Life leader as I did as an elementary school kid. This statistic does not factor in all the rollerskating that was done in my garage as a kid though. On occasion my parents were kind enough to park their cars in the driveway and let us kids have the smooth paved garage floor all to ourselves. I remember many skating exploits that included my white skates with hot pink wheels and matching laces and a graphic unicorn on the side. We got to bring our boombox with us and play our cassette of The Little Mermaid soundtrack. The poles between car stalls were perfect for graceful spins in order to perform our improvised routines. Oh blessed childhood.

I was free from falls last night, but did wake up with a very tight calf muscle in my right leg. Rollerskating at age 28 may mean I need to start stretching before and after hitting the rink.

That boy in the Larry Johnson jersey was NOT with our group if that gives you any indication of the unruly mob that we shared the rink with.