Becoming Write-Handed

Home, Owner

Before dawn on Tuesday, I crept out of bed and packed for my business trip. Of course, you can't really creep anywhere in our 86-year-old house because the floorboards give you away in a heartbeat. And you can't escape your neighbors' attention when you have no coverings on the majestic windows and little covering on yourself when you are walking out of the shower.

Finally, at 5:30, I zoomed out of our driveway and wondered what the new, very friendly and half-nosey neighbor would think as the new homeowner left town just 48 hours after arriving in the yellow house of dreams.

I flew to Boston. I navigated our team from the mall entrance to the business entrance of the Prudential Tower. I recognized where we were that night at dinner, since it was blocks from where I stayed on my last business jaunt to Boston.

The next day, I got myself onto an airport shuttle, tracked down a quiet terminal at Logan International Airport to take a conference call, and then flew to Detroit, where I rented a green Pontiac G6 and drove almost an hour to my next hotel. I followed a caravan to the agency where I spoke the following morning, then Mapquested my way back to Detroit Metro Airport, took the 8-mile rental car return detour, barely made the flight, and landed in Columbus in time to zig-zag through airport construction on the way to the office for a conference call.

For 3 days, I was a whirlwind of travel with no glitches. I was like Hertz's NeverLost. Accurate. On-time.

And then, leaving work Thursday night, I forgot how to get to our new house from my office. I drove out of the parking garage and sat blinking in the streetlights like I had never seen Columbus before. Our little yellow house of dreams loomed in my mind, but I could hear my dad's favorite saying, "You can't get there from here" echoing in the car. I called Steve, who laughed when I asked for directions and then guided me home.

Home. What a nice place to (finally) be.

SOLD!

Thursday

I interviewed a Catholic priest today without any underwear on.  I'm sure he had underwear on, but due to a mixup with moving hotel rooms yesterday, I don't have any underwear today. What a bizarre experience.

Now this was no ordinary Catholic priest. He rides a Harley and sings in a band - you should see his MySpace page! Within 5 minutes, he mentioned a Bible verse to me.

From everyone who has been given much, much will be expected. - Luke 12:48

My Catholic friend was referring to the verse in response to a question I posed about corporate responsibility. But it took my breath away to hear that verse, which I used to think about and quote all the time. I confess (see, I'm getting the hang of being Catholic already) that I haven't thought of that verse in quite a while.

I have been locked in a very sad and ugly state of "Poor Me" mind games. Poor Me, I hate my job. Poor Me, I work for a company that has changed its stripes. Poor Me, we have had a tough time closing on our first house. Poor Me, I am traveling the country when I'd rather be home. Poor Me, I don't know what to do with myself.

Ugh. Poor Steve, Poor Everyone Else Who Has Had To Listen To That Crap.

I get in these swirls, these hopeless spiritual quagmires where I think there's no right answer. I can't possibly enjoy the blessings and treasures and treats I've been given, because in China and Myanmar, people are starving and drowning and grieving. On the other hand, I can't quit my job and live in a box because what good will that do anybody? On and on this vortex goes, interrupting my sleep and overshadowing my conversations and paralyzing my decision-making abilities.

And then, mercifully, God always "unsticks" me. He sends a Harley-riding, Johnny-Cash-singing priest to knock me off dead center and remind me that not only is it okay to have been so blessed, but I must, must, must treasure those incredible blessings. I must love my family harder. I must laugh more with my amazing friends. I must add value at my job. I must watch and re-watch every wedding picture. I must squeeze every last drop of enjoyment and pleasure and sacred joy about of my life, because it is a gift. And it would be a crime to wish these blessings away because not everyone is as lucky as I to have such a great family or work in such a cool place, or because I get frustrated or feel guilty.

And then, I must put on my big girl panties (if I ever find them) and help the world. Get a volunteer gig. Donate more time, money and energy to those people who don't (can't) have the things I do. And along the way, in every encounter and in every elevator and in every conversation, I must show people that I see the divinity in them. I must pray, as my fearless Grandpa used to pray each morning, "God, help me be a blessing today to someone." I must remember that I am not Poor Me at all; I am Lucky Me, Rich Me, Blessed Me. And because of that, I am called to quit complaining, get off my sorry butt, and do more good stuff.

I got an email "forward" today. Another key part of God "unsticking" me. Check this out:

Life is a series of problems. Either you are in one now, you're just coming out of one, or you're just getting ready to go into another one. The reason for this is that God is more interested in your character than your comfort. God is more interested in making your life holy than making your life happy. - Rick Warren

I feel like the universe, the Divine Spirit is talking directly to me today. The stars are aligning and I am aware, I am noticing, I am listening to the voice with all my might.

I wonder if there's even some sort of message behind forgetting my underwear. ;-)  
   
 

Wednesday

By my Columbus clock, it is 1:17 in the morning. I am in a corner hotel room on the 6th floor of a fancy, overpriced Chicago hotel. I traded a room on the 20th floor for this, a few precious minutes of wireless internet connection in which to blog, connect via email, and bask in quiet personal solitude in the magic that is our wedding pictures.

Last night, I spent 20 minutes on hold with tech support, trying to get online in my 20th-floor room. At one point, I was on the floor, with a flashlight, looking at what I thought was the modem box conveniently hung behind the desk, the phone to my ear, with horrible static on the line, just absolutely sweating the fact that I couldn't see my precious pictures.

Now, I realize that this is not an actual crisis. I realize that, with the death toll climbing around the world from disasters beyond my imagination, internet access is a decidedly low priority. And yet, I couldn't help but feel that it is the wedding pictures, the birthday cakes, the emails and blog comments from loved ones, the funeral songs, the well-intentioned should-haves that truly make up family life. These are the important things because these are the artifacts we have of one another.

I spent 13 hours today interviewing consumers who meet certain criteria, on behalf of a certain global brand, and I realized something incredible. I realized that we are all, each one of us, part of God. And God is part of us. And listening to people, well, that's perhaps my one greatest skill.

My second-to-last interview of the evening was with a young woman who speaks Gaelic, of all things. And one of my favorite novel series, Outlander, uses Gaelic terms. So after our interview on the corporation that is my client, I picked her brain on Gaelic pronunciation. What a treat! I also heard from her some great sources for non-profit jobs in the country, so I will look that up ASAP. My last interview, the 12th in a long line of interviews, was with a gentleman who interviews subjects on behalf of a columnist at the Chicago Tribune.

I know my research is not personal. It can't be, with cameras rolling and clients behind the glass. And yet, a stone's throw away from Oprah's studio, I can't help but think that there's something to this whole interviewing business. I love hearing people talk. I love thinking about their lives, about my own life. I always, inevitably, turn the research into a personal discovery or awareness or lesson of some kind. I can't help it. Tonight, I felt humbled by my Gaelic-speaking, non-profit working respondent. And then humbled again by the gentleman (there is absolutely no other word for him; his speech was so low and unassuming that I doubt the camera even picked up his voice) who interviews prison guards and police officers and Asian shop owners so his columnist can publish a great piece. I felt humbled by the people who work harder than I every day, for less money. I felt humbled by their totally unsuspecting views of corporations for whom I have the privelege of working and yet fight with the ethics of representing.

And so, the wedding pictures. It is now 1:32 a.m. in Ohio. And I am going to shamelessly spend the next hour watching a vain, gluttonous slideshow of those lavish images - those tender, precious reminders of what love looked and sounded and smelled like on one October evening last year.

Monday/Tuesday

This week is National Bike to Work Week. So what am I doing? Driving and flying all over the place!

I spent 4 hours in the car yesterday doing a round-trip to Cincinnati to meet with potential new clients and then attend research sessions for another client. I like driving. I miss it. With gas prices the way they are, and the planet dying more every day, I have given up the pleasure driving I used to do. So, yesterday was quite nice actually - I heard NPR twice in one day! I cried as I listened to the reports from the Chinese earthquake devastation and finally had to turn the radio off. The resulting quiet was good time for me to just breathe (with my eyes open of course).

Today is our 7-month wedding anniversary and boy did we get a gift! Our photographer will release our wedding pics sometime today. There are 1350 - the usual amount for 2 weddings. He said he really believes it's one of the best-photographed weddings of all time! We will start the sorting process so the shots are organized for family and friends to share - give us a few days to get this done. I'm sure by the time we are through 1350, we will understand why it took him so long!

In a few hours I jump on a plane to Chicago to do some research for yet a 3rd client. I am working from home this morning so I can finish laundry and pack amid the million emails I must send. Of course, I am hoping that those pictures get released before I have to go to the airport!!

Sunday

So, tomorrow starts my marathon month of travel, during which time I will visit 4 cities in 3 states and close on and move into our first house, as well as attend a retreat for writers and help with my company's client symposium, iCitizen, all while wearing high heels and dancing backward.

Tonight is the requisite wardrobe double-check, laundry finale, manicure and pedicure process, and list surrender. Steve's upstairs packing pictures, so now the walls are bare. What sadness to see them all naked. But what fun to imagine the pictures hanging in our new place, our very own yellow house!

I went to the office at 8:00 a.m. for a few hours to put the final touches on 2 presentations, set my "Out of Office Assistant", feed my fish, leave cards for co-workers, and damn, I knew I forgot something - water my plant.

Then I got to spend the afternoon with family, celebrating mothers and holding Hayleigh, who took a 20-minute nap on my shoulder, to my utter delight.

Had we closed and moved Friday, like we intended under Plan B of the house chapter, we'd have had a much less relaxing weekend.

Now, under Plan C  (or is it D?) we will close this Friday and move over Memorial Day. We spied on our new place yesterday and noticed that the seller did indeed have moving truck and industrial dumpster in the front drive and yard, so we're making progress!

It's the Half-Packed House

**To the tune of "It's the Hard-Knock Life" from Annie**

It's the half-packed house for us!
It's the half-packed house for us!

'Steada closing
We get stuck

'Steada packing
We get drunk

It's the half-packed house!

Got no contract, far's we know
It's the cardboard chaos show!

Tape and markers
'Steada tools

Empty boxes
'Steada full

It's the half-packed house!

Don't it feel like the seller's always winning?
Don't it seem like nothing's gone our way?
Once a day, don't you feel like fucking quitting?
It's easier where rent's already paid

No one's there when your nightmares leave ya homeless
No one cares if you walk ... or if you close
No one calls when your nerves get short and frayed
From the darkness you'd think this place's a cave

Ohhhhhh!  ohhhh!!

Empty cardboard life
Dumb chaotic life
Stacks of rubbish life
What a grumpy life

No one really gives a crap
When you're in a house, half-packed

It's the half-packed house!

"You'll stay up ...
until this room...
Fits in these boxes!!"

It's the half-packed house!
It's the half-packed house!
No one really gives a crap
When you're in a house, half-packed
It's the half-packed house!
It's the half-packed house!

Cardboard Castles

We're moving to our first house in 5 days.

For one awful week (that felt more like a year) we thought we weren't going to get our house.

In shock, we stopped packing.

When the deal came "back on" Friday night, and we realized we had a week to pack up our lives, we kicked into high gear. Cancelled plans with friends. Skipped church. Bought boxes. And began the process of putting our lives into cardboard.

I personally hate packing, especially at the beginning. But somewhere near the middle of the process (which we hope to reach today) there suddenly comes a feeling of freedom. As if to say, I don't need all those things anyway, and now they are out of my way and I can just be.

And, "just being" is something I'm working on this week. I met with my minister Thursday to discuss troubles I've been having at work and how I really, really don't know what to do. And he just asked me if it's okay not to know. Okay to just sit with that uncertainty and not try to do anything about it. Okay to just accept what is and try to live in the moment, even when it's uncomfortable.

And so I'm trying to live in this moment, this complete chaos, and just be okay with the feelings of frustration and anxiety that arise over the sight of all this mess and the knowledge of what this week (and month) will be asking from us.

Book Idea

Steve and I were talking last night and realized we're both a bit, shall we say, less-than-svelte after 6 months of newlywed bliss and luscious meals. It was a delicious winter of stews and wine and woodburning fires. But now it's spring, and none of my fair-weather clothes fit the same way they did last year.

We were also, ahem, talking our way out of a fight. A fight that started as a paper cut on Saturday and felt more like an amputation by Tuesday night. Believe it or not, we are getting better at understanding this strange escalation and that, my friends, is the first step toward preventing it.

This morning I started thinking of these lessons we've been learning, and in casual conversation with a co-worker, I mentioned The Newlywed Ten, referring to my extra pounds since the wedding. Suddenly the 2 thoughts collided in my head, and I envisioned a new book.

The Newlywed Ten: Wedded Weight Gain and Other Lessons from Our First Year of Marriage
by Steve and Marti Post

Chapter One: Wedded Bliss, Size 8
Chapter Two: Waffles for Breakfast on October 14
Chapter Three: Honeymoon Hunger
Chapter Four: The "Salad Days" of Anything But
Chapter Five: Does this Wedding Ring Make My Butt Look Big?
Chapter Six: Nothing Fits, Some Days Not Even Us
Chapter Seven: Working It Off (and Working It Out)

My Sister's Daughter

Little Hayleigh is my little sister Rachel all over again

But this time I am Auntie, instead of the dreaded "Big Sister"

So I am free to be what a "Big Sister" should

Now - cuddler, burper, babysitter, lullaby-singer

Soon - playmate, pattycake-baker, hide-and-go-seek-her

Someday - confidant, friend, advocate, coach

Always - besotted by love for this tiny perfect girl