On taking stock of life....

Thanksgiving, much like the dreaded Valentines Day, is a day when the retail industry seems to prey on our overly-consumerist brains. We spend tons of cash on food, to say the very least, and Black Friday...well, let's not even go there.

People tend to rag on Valentines Day quite a bit for being a consumer driven man-made holiday designed to guilt us into buying expensive chocolates, flowers, and jewelry to prove to that we love someone. I, for one, used to be adamantly opposed to Valentines Day. Unfortunately, I did not have a good reason. I just was. But then, after finding someone who could make me like Valentines Day for all the traditional hullabaloo (yes, I get flowers every year), I began to think differently about the day.

We all lead very busy lives. None of us seem to have enough time in the day to manage all the things we need to do and people we need to see. I have three calendars for three different parts of my life and I still can't seem to keep everything straight (though I do manage to keep a good portion of it under control). So isn't it kind of nice to have that automatic reminder every year on February 14th to tell the people in our lives that we love them?

Sure, sure. We should tell people we love them every day. But honestly, the only person who gets a daily "I love you" from me is my husband. That leaves a substantial portion of the people in my life to whom I definitely do not say that to often enough. While Valentines Day has taken a romantic tone, there's no reason that we shouldn't be reminded to say "I love you" to everyone that day.

The same is true of Thanksgiving. A holiday that's riddled with tradition, at least in my family, is also a good excuse to take stock of the things for which we are thankful. I was challenged by a friend to try to find something to be thankful for each day this month. Some days were easier than others, that's for certain. But I have a hard time believing that any of us could go a single day without finding something to be thankful for. Even on the hardest, darkest days of this year, there has been a glimmer of thankfulness (even if it was hard to find and I really had to hunt it down).

We should be thankful for many things every single day. Thanksgiving is just a good reminder of that...even if you spend the entire day drugged up on tryptophan, watching football (which is what I usually end up doing).

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On being SAD....

I have Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD). Winter is, without question, the worst time of year for me. This is not surprising or new information for anyone who knows me. I survive the first half of winter through the knowledge that Christmas is coming which means baking and parties and music and general excitement are well on their way. I survive the latter half of the season through the knowledge that spring and summer are mere weeks away.

When I first found out I had SAD, I muddled my way through it by going to a tanning salon every day at lunch for a few minutes of my ever-needed UV rays. For many years of my life, I was a bronzed goddess not in the dead heat of July, but in the blizzards of January. The humor in that is another thing that helped me get through the winter season.

For a long time, I never told anyone why I was a) so damn depressed for four to five months out of the year or b) why I was so incredibly tan (thereby leaving myself open to the scrutiny of vanity). Anytime someone asked how I was doing, I would typically respond with, "I'm okay...just ready for winter to be over." The reaction was (and remains, to this day), "What?! I love winter! Winter is great! How can you hate winter? You're from Colorado!"

I hated that reaction. I hated it because no one knew why I hated winter so much and I really had no interest in telling anyone WHY I hated winter. I still hate that reaction. The first big snow of the season is rough on me. The time change makes it worse (though, mercifully, this year both happened pretty close to each other so it's been a little easier).

About five years ago, I finally started telling people why I was so depressed during the winter and why I hate the season so much. All my friends know that I live for Christmas, so I'm sure it was a bit of a relief to finally understand why I was so schizophrenic about winter. I'll never forget where I was or who I was with the first time I really opened up about what is "wrong" with me. See, all of my friends (my husband included) really love winter, cold, snow, all that jazz. I'm pretty much the only one that would rather have it be 85F and blazing hot than have to deal with layers of clothing and scraping my car, blah blah blah.

I remember getting a card from some of my girl friends shortly after letting everyone in on my SAD secret, reminding me that they'd be on my case to get me out of the house and that it was going to be their mission to make me enjoy winter (one friend actually got me to enjoy small-ish roadtrips recently so I have faith that she can work the winter idea).

Winter is still torture for me. I still hate it. Looking out my window right now, there's nothing but hazy fog and cold. And wind. Gross.

But winter is becoming a warmer and warmer time of year for me, thanks to the community I've surrounded myself with and engaged in. It's what I love so much about being in community. It's the place where we can lean on each other at our weakest and celebrate at our strongest. Contrary to what Simon & Garfunkel would have me believe, I am not a rock. I am not an island. None of us are, if we're completely honest with ourselves. I have always believed that we, humans, are designed to be in community. It wasn't up until very recently, however, that I really started believing that for myself. The beauty (and often, the challenge) of being in community is being able to admit when we need help. In it's purest and most basic form, community is the place where we all have needs and we all have something to offer. We don't trade bread for meat anymore, or clothing for milk. Rather, we trade jokes for laughter and dinners for togetherness. I can buy just about any physical "thing" I want. What I can't buy, and what I desperately need my little community for, is those very intangible and very necessary "things": laughter, comfort, peace, understanding, conversation.

I need my friends and my community every day of every year. But when I need them the MOST, they are ever present, ever ready. They know that I just need a little nudge (and a cute pair of winter boots) to get me out the door, into the cold to be with them when they are at their best and I, at my absolute worst.

That is the essence, I believe, of true community and true friendship. Knowing that where one of us ends, another can pick us up and keep us going...it's a perfectly lovely way to live life. We fill in each others gaps. We are wonderfully broken individuals for whom togetherness has provided a safe place to be put back together, in whatever tiny ways we can do that.






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On preparing for parenthood....

I have recently discovered there is nothing my dogs won't eat.

When my husband and I first adopted them nearly 3 years ago, they came to us with instructions to feed them only the highest quality (and most expensive) organic dog food imaginable.

Then we learned that they'd been eating bacon double cheeseburgers while in foster care. Imagine our surprise when finding this out (from the same foster care giver that had "suggested" we feed them the pricy organic food)! The pups immediately went on a strict diet of affordable puppy chow twice a day and walks around the neighborhood before each meal...they lost weight FAST! Even their new vet was shocked when they first came in weighing 22-pounds and just a few months later, a svelte 17-pounds each. "If people think your dogs looks too skinny," she told us, "it means they're healthy. Most people overfeed their animals and think 'fat' looks 'healthy.' It's not."

So with Leo and Suki down to a normal, healthy weight and looking sleek and happy, the madness began.

First, they ate all our candy we brought back from Mexico. I have no idea how they even got to it considering it was on a table top. Then, they broke into a bag of tortilla chips and went to town while we were at work. That's when we started puppy proofing the house with locks on every cabinet that contained food. It worked for a while.

Then we moved to a third floor apartment.

That's when Leo ate the house clean of chocolate. I know, I know...chocolate could kill a dog. NOT THESE ONES! I came home one day to discover that all the chocolate in the candy dishes was gone. Sigh. Then, while I was in the shower one Saturday morning and Todd was out of the house, I walked into the living room to find Suki chowing down on graham crackers and marshmallows that were supposed to be taken to a friends house for fondue that night. She had the most pathetic "I'm not guilty" look on her face...it was hard to be mad, except that I had to re-purchase the fondue fixin's.

Another time, Todd took Leo out with him and I left to go to the gym, so Suki was locked in the kitchen by herself. Suki busted out of the kitchen and found Halloween candy and ate herself stupid on candy corn. I honestly have no idea what possesses my dogs to do what they do. While we were living at the apartment, the dogs discovered that trash was their favorite thing to eat in all the world. Too many times, they got into the trash and again ate themselves stupid (er than they already apparently are). So we child-locked the trash.

Then they discovered the tupperware cabinet. Fortunately, they only chewed up one or two dishes so it wasn't that big of a deal.

May of this year, Todd and I bought our first house in the bustling metropolis of Arvada. The dogs always seem to get really anxious when we pack up the house to move and this would be their second move with us...but I was so excited for them! They'd have a nice big house with a giant back yard and tons of room to run and play! They love the yard, almost as much as Todd and I do (though Todd might like it a little less than me since he's the one that does all the yard work *grimace*)!

We all know how moving into a new place goes. There are boxes and bags all over the place, half of them unmarked or have unknown contents. One such bag existed during our move and was left in the kitchen where Leo and Suki get locked up when we're not at home. We hadn't yet lived in the house for three days when Leo discovered one of those giant chocolate orange things in the bag and decided to eat it...all of it. Suki helped too...and the ensuing mess was almost unimaginable. Then they managed to break into the garage (which at the time was full of things to give away, donate, recycle, whatever) and found a box of Hershey's Kisses....and ate almost all of them, foil and all.

Up until this point, at least they were eating actual food, whether it was for doggies or not. Food it was.

Then they broke into the Tupperware cabinet and chewed up almost ALL of my Tupperware (fortunately, for them, it's still usable, but c'mon). Child-locked that cabinet.

Then they broke into the pantry (which I was convinced had a door too big and heavy for them to open) and chewed through a package of cookies that had a CD-ROM in it...and ate the CD. Yes, a compact disc! Child-locked that cabinet.

Then they broke into my baking cabinet. It has pie plates, mixing bowls, Pyrex measuring cups, all that good stuff. It also holds my deep fryer, that I keep filled with oil most of the time. It's been in that cabinet, at that height, the entire time we've lived in the house and never once have they gotten into that cabinet. I was sure the cabinet was safe. Until I got the following phone call from my husband:

Todd: The dogs got into your baking cabinet. They dumped out the deep fryer and ate all the oil.
Me: WHAT THE %#@^&%^@!!!!!!!!!!!

The rest of the conversation was a bit of repetition of that. Leo and Suki puked their guts out all night and generally looked miserable. Plus, they weren't allowed to have dinner that night or breakfast the next morning (not out of punishment - we're not that mean - but for safety reasons). It was a pretty horrible night for all of us (I'm a giant worry-wart and didn't sleep much that night for fear that my dogs would die in their sleep). But they ended up being just fine and no worse for the wear except that their fur is extra soft and shiny and they reek of vegetable oil (which is a nice change for Suki as she generally has a stench of tortilla chips and pee).

So we emptied out what remained of the oil in the fryer, cleaned it with soap and water and put it back, none the wiser.

Not three days later, I came home to find that they'd gotten back into the baking cabinet and had this time pulled out my antique marble rolling pin, gnawed down one of the handles and scratched the hell out of the marble. MARBLE! My dogs ate MARBLE! So Todd child-locked that cabinet.

The only remaining cabinet in our house that does not have a lock on it is the one containing our cookware and my KitchenAid stand mixer, which is worth more than Leo and Suki combined.

Suffice it to say, our house is 100% prepared to be inhabited by children someday...but based on what our dogs have done in the last three years, I'm a little concerned about the shenanigans a tiny human could get into...

On cooking up a human...

I was recently required to write a poem that had to do with something "work" related, but also had to be something entirely different. For the assignment, I needed to find the etymology of the topic I chose (baking, which should come as no surprise) and various words related to the topic. Here is what I came up with:

It’s a dry heat required for this technique.

Brewing up perfection

Layer upon layer, a masterpiece I create.

Every morsel, every crumb, every sacrificial taste

Transforms with each kneading twist of my hand,

Preparing for the final moments of searing heat.

Baubles of many colors, decorations abound.

I am a confectioner of incredible feats!

She is my soufflé of epic flavor;

Leavened and soft, sweet to the mouth, comfort to touch

Icing covers her as she rises from the fire.

My work of art, a delicious success.

__________________________________________

Todd came up with the idea to use baking as a "human factory"...he posted his version over on his blog. It's substantially more creepy than mine, but that should also come as no surprise

On wishing away the time....

I just looked at my desk calendar and realized that 2010 is much closer to ending than I thought. Frankly, I'm looking forward to it ending. The universe can have this year back, for all I care.

2010 has been a year of unimaginable pain, heartache, stress, and general disappointment. It's also been a year of strength, joy, and celebration. Neither outweighs the other; all of the emotions I've experienced this year come and go. I'm a veritable karate kid of emotion...they all wax on and wax off from time to time.

I've put myself and been put through an extraordinary amount of insanity in the last 10 months. The next three are almost guaranteed to be the least stressful months I've had in recent history. 2010 has increased the amount of snark that comes out of me. It's also made me more aware of the person that I am, the behaviors I exhibit, the people I allow in my life. As a general rule, I'm just more aware of my life and myself. It would be silly if I had gone through all of this year without learning at least something from all of it. What a waste that would have been.

The last time there was this much stress in my life, I was surrounded on all sides by my very best friends. I had a community of people that loved me, believed in me, and wanted the best for me. I came to a breaking point and just sort of fell apart and fell on my friends. I was strengthened by their passions and visions in their own lives. It was a surreal, sort of "Let go and let God" kind of experience.

This time around, I still have the same friends, but our sense of community is much different than it was five years ago. We have all gone slightly different directions; we don't even live all that close to each other anymore (thought, mercifully, we're all still in the same city). Three of us got married (which means that our little group got a brand new member in the form of someone's wife...and she is, well, a perfect fit in every way) and that changed the dynamic drastically. Some of our concerns remain ever the same and some are quite different.

Because of all of that, and because of my own insecurities, I fell apart not on my friends, but into myself. I nearly refused to talk about my life because I hate sounding whiny and I hate not being in control of myself and my life. Thus, I found myself raging internally, never really letting any of my friends see just how deeply hurt I was. Some of my friends knew, just because of how well they know me. Some were even expecting me to go all Mount Vesuvius on them... and they were ready and willing to be there when I did. I just never ended up doing that.

But maybe because of, or in spite of, my stubbornness, I learned that I am capable of much more than I'd ever thought. I can manage my stress in ways I've never been able to before. I can plan the hell out of events, vacations, my calendar. I can think and wish the most hateful things. I think it's in some of those moments that I'm able to (sort of) come to a comfortable place of letting go, knowing that karma can be a real bitch. I desperately hope that it is. I also know that I can't control that and that the only things I can control are my reactions.

So 2010, thanks for all the fun times, exciting moments, and exotic vacations, but if you could hurry through the next 90 days and get the hell out of my life, I'd greatly appreciate it.

On not being the best....

At some point in every life, there is a moment of inferiority. Whether it's real or not is beside the point. Every person, at one time or another (or multiple times for some), will feel inferior to someone or something.

I struggle with my own inferiority complex on a fairly regular basis. We're talking nearly daily. I'm not as thin as that person, not as athletic as another, not as smart at this person, not as successful as that one, not as valued (professionally) as that person, not as talented as the next one.

And in fairness, I'm thinner, smarter, and more successful than someone else out there in the world. So what's the point of feeling inferior?

Sometimes, I think it's okay, even healthy, to have an inferiority complex. It gives me something to push toward, another goal to achieve. It certainly has pushed me to do some things with my life that I probably wouldn't have done otherwise. I also think that we all need to feel inferior at some point in order to maintain a sense of humility.

From time to time, it's okay to get a simple reminder that I'm not as amazing as I might think I am. Don't get me wrong. I think it's fine to be proud of one's accomplishments. It's more than okay to toot your own horn every now and again. We all need to feel like we're great at SOMETHING. In fact, I firmly believe that all of us are really great at at least one thing. In our own circle of friends and peers, there's probably at least one thing that we really, truly are better at than anyone else.

From personal experience, I can assure you that failure is not the worst thing that will ever happen. Feeling like a loser is not going to end your world. I failed an entire college course once. It was a horribly sinking feeling...mostly because I knew I'd have to take the class again and paying for it (again) was going to be no easy task (this was before I started taking out loans en masse and was paying out of pocket). I don't like to lose and I don't like to fail. But learning that I can bounce back from a pretty spectacular tumble was one of the more important lessons I've ever learned. I sulked and licked my educational wounds for a while. I felt stunned when I saw that failing grade on my transcript. I never really told anyone about failing that class.

Failure is embarrassing, there's no questioning that. Copping to it, admitting your own inferiority, is never easy. It is, however, necessary. I feel like, the sooner you fail, the sooner you can learn to deal with it, move on, and learn how not to fail the next time.

So here's my way of encouraging you to cop to your failures, however hard it may be. And as another tiny bit of encouragement, remember that while there will always be someone out there who is better than me at something, anything, I likely guaranteed to be better at something, anything, than someone else...same goes for you.

On coming to terms with fear....

I have yet to meet someone who doesn't have a fear of at least one thing. Most people seem to have fear of heights or spiders or snakes or something like that. My list of fears is pretty strange, to say the least. I'm afraid of wet paper, depths, and mushrooms.

Wet paper makes my gag reflex kick in immediately and with a vengeance.
Depths stems from an incident in South Carolina when I was 15. I haven't felt the same about the ocean since. Watching Finding Nemo even makes me have minor anxiety attacks.
Mushrooms, well, they're just weird and gross. Why would someone eat a fungus? I don't get it.

But the other night, a new fear was introduced to me. The fear of completion.

I have a few friends who are writers, two of whom (one being my husband) who are actually, legitimately published. Todd has a contract with a small publishing house in Colorado and Ben recently won a pretty BFD award for Writer's Digest. Both have been pursuing writing for a looooooong time and I know absolutely for certain that Todd would like his writing career to be his ONLY career.

So when he completed his first novel, he immediately began sending the manuscript to agents, publishers, anyone who might want to take a look at it. Because if you're going to work that hard to complete a novel, the intention (probably) is to get it out into the world.

Ben brought up this whole fear of completion as it relates to writers. He suggested that a lot of writers simply don't finish a piece because once they've completed it, one of two things generally happens:
1. There's nothing left to work on; and/or
2. They have to DO something with the piece.

I don't understand #1, just because there's always something else that I want to write (granted, I write more article-style and not novels, though my husband is trying to pursuade me to write one). The second fear, however, I kind of get.

See, in my dream world, I'm a contributor to Vanity Fair. I love reading that magazine, I respect the talent of many of the writers (even if I don't always agree with their POV), and I want to be part of something bigger than me, professionally. I figure, the only way that I'll ever get to be a contributor is to actually submit a piece for review. I always seem to say, "Someday, I'll be brave enough to submit to Vanity Fair. Someday." Why not today?

I don't know what my senior writing project will entail, if it's a solo or group project, if it's supposed to be a singular piece or a compilation. No idea. But I think I'd like to create something that's worth submission to some credible magazines. But I do worry about the day that I actually complete a piece like that. I worry about holding the paper or staring at my computer, all the while thinking, "Oh crap. It's finished. Now I have to DO something with it." I worry that I'll pore over and over and edit the hell out it and basically torture the piece; edit it into submission, if you will. I worry that, even though I know it will be rejected, I'll consider that rejection the Simon Cowell of my writing career, however brief and fledgling it may be. I worry that I'll give up before I give myself another shot. I worry that I'll find it easier to sit on the piece, never submit it to anyone, and carry on with my meager existence, just so that I don't have to feel the sting of rejection.

It was suggested that I also mention the fear of success in concert with the fear of completion. I just don't really have a fear of success. I desperately want to taste success in my life. I want to be a successful career person, I want to succeed in the kitchen, I want my marriage and family to be wildly successful. Fear of success? Not me.

But I need to get over the fear of completion in order to even get a chance at success.

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