I just took the high dive off the deep end. I'm talking uncontrollable crying, psycho screaming, boo boo face, hitched breathe -- the works. This was the day after my Book Club's "self help" night and my proclamation (after reading Live Oprah for my book) that I'm going to be more positive and not let work, husband's unemployment, my illness get me down. I was going to be the optimistic, cup-is-half-full kind of gal.
I jinxed myself.
After a record breaking 12 days into 2010, I was ready to throw in the towel at work, get a divorce and go live in a cave. So i had my emotional hissy fits and tried to come to grips with what was going on (CAUTION: THE FOLLOWING CONTENT MAY SURPRISE AND/OR SUBJECT PEOPLE TO COLD SWEATS, DISILLUSIONMENT AND TEMPORARY LOSS OF HOPE).
1) I do not have super powers, a marvy utility belt or even an underwear-on-the-outside super hero outfit (ok I do have a cape and keep it ready just in case).
2) I ask for help but for some reason both at work and at home the words coming out of my mouth must not be spoken in a language understood by all.
3) Life circumstances are continuously changing so nothing is ever written in stone.
At work, there seems to be a secret language of words and actions. No one does what they say they will do and at the end of the day it is your job to get things done but don't be an enabler but give clear direction and guidance but let people figure out how to do their job but don't do it for them when you are dangerously close to not making a deadline but maybe you can do it just this one time but don't make that a practice but allow enough time to get the work done but be reactive to impossible deadlines but don't tell anyone you can't do because you may then become someone not considered a valuable resource but this one time work 13 hours but don't make that a practice. These are the million little voices pounding my brain -- ALL THE TIME. It's like Elvis and Costello's "Who's on First" routine. By the time I get up from my desk and move away from the computer at the end of the day, and go home (downstairs), I'm faced with nothing that I need done around the house completed. And suddenly, I'm in the pits of despair and feel like the world is ganging up on me and no one is paying attention to my daily pleas, my daily begging for help.
To understand this phenomenon, you must examine how one asks for help --
1) direct request from one person to the next, "Could you do the section of the presentation on blind mice" or "Could you empty the dishwasher?"
2) A communal plan of what needs to be done to accomplish the task like a project plan or a "Honey Do" list on the refrigerator
3) An overall assignment of tasks in a specific area to one owner like all areas of this project pertaining to blind mice will be done teammate X or "Honey you are responsible to get the garbage to the curb on Thursday Nights."
These seem like reasonable and viable paths to asking for help, partnering with your team or you spouse. Possibly they are as straight-forward as they seem and methods that are very successful for other people. Just not me.
I need people to put on their big girl and big boy panties and take ownership of areas without me having to spell out each and every specific task. Right now, my husband has two areas of responsibility: a) searching for a job and b) being an adult, homeowner who partners with me to do stuff around the house like put away our tools, put on a new toilet paper roll when he uses the last of it, take on some of the tasks on the Honey Do list that have already been assigned to him.
Am I doomed to the status of Enabler? Try them on for size and help a girl out!
Friday, January 15, 2010
Saturday, October 3, 2009
The Guilt of Paradise and finding Malu
So here we are in October. Andy is still unemployed and depressed. I'm employed but going crazy with stress from my job and a little bit too from knowing that I am the only one bringing in a salary. That in itself is enough motivation to not say no to every project coming your way even though you are overbooked. But we are on vacation in Hawaii and I'm looking for some "malu" or peace. At least for the two weeks here in paradise! Expensive paradise. In the middle of my biggest project at work.
The guilt, of course, is a bit overwhelming. But why shouldn't we take a vacation? Yes it eats into our nest egg that we've utilized quite well since Andy's lay-off. We've done the due diligence our finances. We've cut out unnecessary expenses -- no cleaning service, no landscaping projects, more cooking at home/less eating out. We have consolidated our mortgage into one 15-year low interest loan. I make a very decent salary. So why should we feel guilty about a vacation?
Well, for one thing, everything is so expensive here! I had a mani/pedi yesterday and didn't ask how much it cost before I got it. I thought how much could it be? Well, you can imagine my surprise when I got a ticket for $150!!! The little flower on my big toe cost $25...for each toe! But it was a wonderful mani/pedi...they rubbed a delicious pineapple and sea salt exfoliation treatment on my legs and then a nice massage with pineapple scented oil. The same for my hands and arms. Plus I got acrylic pink and white on my nails. I'm used to paying about $80 for these services at home. I guess I got the premium Hawaiian service for the extra $70!
My husband tells me to not worry about it. I deserve the pampering. Honestly, I agree with him! I have been so extremely stressed out and this vacation has done wonders. I don't really care how much we spend. The guilt comes because I think I should!
Everyday the news shows more and more issues about the economy. More job losses, more people evicted, more people going hungry. I have many friends who were victims of the same lay off as Andy at that big blue company. They are out there looking for jobs and wondering what they are going to do after the severance pay is gone. Andy has applied for so many jobs online and the only responses he's had have been for selling insurance or personal financial services.
I feel guilt that I am not happy in my job right now. I am overstressed, got too much going on to do the kind of job I want to do and I want to do something different! I want a promotion! I want to move up in my company. I keep telling myself, "At least I have a job." But you know what? That is so unfair that I'm not allowed to have goals and expectations. I think some companies use this as an unfair advantage. Let's get rid of the people that make this company what it is and then the people we have left will be so fearful of keeping their job they'll take on everything we throw at them. I'm not sure all companies think this way but it sure feels like it. From a company financial perspective, looking at figures on paper, I'm sure it is easy to cut spending by cutting employees. Publically traded companies have an obligation to their stockholders to be profitable and an easy way to drive profits if sales are not there is to cut expenses. Employees being one of the highest expenses. As a stokeholder in several large companies, that doesn't really give me Malu. I'm not sure what the Hawaiian word for agita is but...I feel it.
So, I'm taking almost three weeks off in the middle of my biggest project's most busy time. And I'm spending money on luxuries and gourmet dining. And I'm having a great time and de-stressing. And hopefully, I can keep a little of Hawaii's "malu" (peace) with me when I'm completely underwater in everyday life.
The guilt, of course, is a bit overwhelming. But why shouldn't we take a vacation? Yes it eats into our nest egg that we've utilized quite well since Andy's lay-off. We've done the due diligence our finances. We've cut out unnecessary expenses -- no cleaning service, no landscaping projects, more cooking at home/less eating out. We have consolidated our mortgage into one 15-year low interest loan. I make a very decent salary. So why should we feel guilty about a vacation?
Well, for one thing, everything is so expensive here! I had a mani/pedi yesterday and didn't ask how much it cost before I got it. I thought how much could it be? Well, you can imagine my surprise when I got a ticket for $150!!! The little flower on my big toe cost $25...for each toe! But it was a wonderful mani/pedi...they rubbed a delicious pineapple and sea salt exfoliation treatment on my legs and then a nice massage with pineapple scented oil. The same for my hands and arms. Plus I got acrylic pink and white on my nails. I'm used to paying about $80 for these services at home. I guess I got the premium Hawaiian service for the extra $70!
My husband tells me to not worry about it. I deserve the pampering. Honestly, I agree with him! I have been so extremely stressed out and this vacation has done wonders. I don't really care how much we spend. The guilt comes because I think I should!
Everyday the news shows more and more issues about the economy. More job losses, more people evicted, more people going hungry. I have many friends who were victims of the same lay off as Andy at that big blue company. They are out there looking for jobs and wondering what they are going to do after the severance pay is gone. Andy has applied for so many jobs online and the only responses he's had have been for selling insurance or personal financial services.
I feel guilt that I am not happy in my job right now. I am overstressed, got too much going on to do the kind of job I want to do and I want to do something different! I want a promotion! I want to move up in my company. I keep telling myself, "At least I have a job." But you know what? That is so unfair that I'm not allowed to have goals and expectations. I think some companies use this as an unfair advantage. Let's get rid of the people that make this company what it is and then the people we have left will be so fearful of keeping their job they'll take on everything we throw at them. I'm not sure all companies think this way but it sure feels like it. From a company financial perspective, looking at figures on paper, I'm sure it is easy to cut spending by cutting employees. Publically traded companies have an obligation to their stockholders to be profitable and an easy way to drive profits if sales are not there is to cut expenses. Employees being one of the highest expenses. As a stokeholder in several large companies, that doesn't really give me Malu. I'm not sure what the Hawaiian word for agita is but...I feel it.
So, I'm taking almost three weeks off in the middle of my biggest project's most busy time. And I'm spending money on luxuries and gourmet dining. And I'm having a great time and de-stressing. And hopefully, I can keep a little of Hawaii's "malu" (peace) with me when I'm completely underwater in everyday life.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Learning Passion from Your Parents
My husband and I are coming up on our 15th wedding anniversary. It hasn't been an easy road to maneuver. I was lucky enough (or cursed...not sure which) to have parents who were passionately in love with each other as my road model to marriage. In this case, the word passion can describe the good times and the bad times. There were more good times than bad times, but let me tell you, when the bad times came there was a lot of passion about who was right and who was wrong!
My early years were spent in a small town outside of Boston, Massachusetts. This was the town that both my parents' family had settled in when they came from Ireland. My grandfather was the superintendent for schools. His wife, Catherine, however died when my father was only two years old. She had tuberculosis. Dad was raised by different members of the Collins family and a housekeeper who took most of the cash given to her for the weekly groceries and fed my father a concoction of white rice and raisins which left him with a permanent grudge against and rice products. Because of my grandfather's standing in the community, they were considered to be a well-off family. Members of the local yacht club, housekeeper, and only two kids in the household. As an Irish Catholic family this was not the norm, even in the Great Depression. My dad was born in 1930 and my mom in 1933.
My mom on the other hand, grew up, technically on the wrong side of the tracks. She was the youngest girl of 13 brothers and sisters. There were two younger brothers after her. My grandfather Cahill worked multiple jobs to make ends meet for his large family. He was also the main cook, disciplinarian and bread winner of the family. He was totally devoted to my grandmother and my mother was his baby girl. He did things for her that the other sisters (and brothers) did not get. For instance, he bought her a car when she was old enough to drive. She didn't have to "help" with the chores around the house. In other words, she was a spoiled young lady!
I give you this brief history of my parents and the way they were raised so you may have a little insight to my parents "passionate" marriage. My mother came into their marriage with little knowledge about being a wife. She didn't know how to cook. She didn't know how to keep house. She definitely didn't know about sex and devoured all my pamphlets on the monthly miracle we woman have been bestowed when the school had "THE TALK" session in 5th grade. The pamphlets seemed to answer a lot of questions she had but still wouldn't talk to me about it. She went from a home that took care of her into another home where she was to be taken care of.
My dad, on the other hand, was brought up with a distant father who lamented the loss of the love of his life and never really got over it. He was not close to his children because he left it up to everyone else to raise them. My father hungered for a home of his own where he felt loved and wanted. Where someone would take care of him and he would take care of his special someone.
And then he found my mother. She was the best friend of the girl his best friend, Donald, was marrying. The only problem was that my mom was engaged to another guy. That didn't stop my father. He wooed her until she broke off her engagement and went out with him. On their first date, my dad leaned over as if he was going to kiss my mom but instead whispered in her ear, "You are going to be my wife."
And in a year, on June 4th, 1959, they were married. It's the stuff movies are made of...or at least a mini series. There was passion and drama and humor in their marriage. My mom even learned how to cook a few dishes when they lived in the attic apartment of a nice old Italian couple. I was born into that apartment and my older brother and I called them Grandma and Grandpa. Grandma taught my mom how to make spaghetti sauce from scratch and lasagna and pizziola.
When I was in third grade, some drama came to the marriage. Wedding vows, Commandments, etc. were broken. A new music teacher came to down and she was a "gay divorcee" which in 1970 was still not that common in a 98% Catholic town. I do not know when and how they met but a relationship was formed with Miss Beaver (yes that was really her name) and my father. All of a sudden, I was getting asked to sing solos at the assembly the chorus groups had for parents. Miss Beaver would miraculously show up to the places we were. She was a bit of a stalker I'm afraid.
Soon after the shady coincidental meetings started to happen, a dark blue Cadillac started appearing in our driveway when my dad was at work and we were at school. As I rounded the corner to walk down our street to our house, I could see it leaving our driveway. A dark-haired man driving. When I came home early one day because of some kind of malfunction at the school, the man was still at my house. They were both a little shocked when I walked into the house but I did not catch them in a compromising situation. They were sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee. I found out this was the man my mother dumped to marry my father. It turns out that my father had the affair first...really a mistake, one-night stand (was his version 20-years later). My mother wanted to retaliate by sleeping with Adrian Z (I can't remember his last name but it was Italian). Once they were "even," their marriage went on like nothing happened. But, within the year, we packed up everything, left family and friends and moved to Florida where Mom and Dad didn't know a soul and really had to depend on each other for love, companionship and friendship. Their marriage grew stronger. This is the time that they learned how to be each other's best friends, confidantes and partners. Life was good for the Collins' house in Florida.
Growing up in Florida was wonderful. Our land was covered in orange, grapefruit and tangerine trees. We had a pool and our house became the central entertainment house on the block. All the kids and all the parents used to hang out there. My parents brought to Florida their ability to socialize regularly. Any one of the half-dozen families on the block would stop by for cocktails at 5:00 pm sharp. A beer or a highball at the ready. I get my passion for entertaining from my parents. Not only did they party at home but almost every Saturday night, they would take off for the Moose Club with their new best friends the Wilsons to go dancing.
Even when they were fighting, it took on a sense of humor. I remember one spat about friends of my father who wanted to come to Orlando and stay at our home. It would require a lot of bedroom re-organization to accommodate a married couple and their hyper-active kid. My parents were sitting outside by the pool and every time my father said they were coming, my mother said, "No!" and bopped him on the head with an empty paper towel roll. They were giggling and laughing. All of a sudden my father picked my mother up, lawn chair and all, and threw her into the pool.
In 1977, however, their marriage took on another twist. My mother had a massive heart attack and needed to have a triple by-pass surgery. One important item to note here is that both my mom and dad were intensely uncomfortable with the medical world. As children, we did not go to the doctor unless our arms were hanging limply by our side, our head was cracked open or we were hacking so bad from bronchitis that they thought our insides were going to come out our mouths! My parents never even thought of going in for an annual check up. The only time you went to the dentist was if you had a toothache. There was no such thing as preventative care.
In the 70's a heart by-pass wasn't as routine a surgery as it is today. There was a lot more risk associated with it. My mother didn't want the surgery. She kept saying that she was alive today and she couldn't take the risk. So she didn't have the surgery. As the years went by she steadily lost the use of her legs. The doctors kept attributing it to the lack of oxygen going to her limbs. My dad expanded his care taking to include her.
What the doctors missed was that my mother actually had multiple sclerosis. Until her death in 1992 my father was by her side. He retired from work at 55 so he could be her caretaker full time. Their devotion to each other was incredible. After my mother's death, my father passed away within a year. I think he died of a broken heart.
My husband and I have had our ups and downs in our marriage but at the end of the day, he's my best friend, my lover and my partner. His strengths match my weaknesses and my strengths match his weaknesses. I know we can overcome the downs and share the joy of our up times!
My early years were spent in a small town outside of Boston, Massachusetts. This was the town that both my parents' family had settled in when they came from Ireland. My grandfather was the superintendent for schools. His wife, Catherine, however died when my father was only two years old. She had tuberculosis. Dad was raised by different members of the Collins family and a housekeeper who took most of the cash given to her for the weekly groceries and fed my father a concoction of white rice and raisins which left him with a permanent grudge against and rice products. Because of my grandfather's standing in the community, they were considered to be a well-off family. Members of the local yacht club, housekeeper, and only two kids in the household. As an Irish Catholic family this was not the norm, even in the Great Depression. My dad was born in 1930 and my mom in 1933.
My mom on the other hand, grew up, technically on the wrong side of the tracks. She was the youngest girl of 13 brothers and sisters. There were two younger brothers after her. My grandfather Cahill worked multiple jobs to make ends meet for his large family. He was also the main cook, disciplinarian and bread winner of the family. He was totally devoted to my grandmother and my mother was his baby girl. He did things for her that the other sisters (and brothers) did not get. For instance, he bought her a car when she was old enough to drive. She didn't have to "help" with the chores around the house. In other words, she was a spoiled young lady!
I give you this brief history of my parents and the way they were raised so you may have a little insight to my parents "passionate" marriage. My mother came into their marriage with little knowledge about being a wife. She didn't know how to cook. She didn't know how to keep house. She definitely didn't know about sex and devoured all my pamphlets on the monthly miracle we woman have been bestowed when the school had "THE TALK" session in 5th grade. The pamphlets seemed to answer a lot of questions she had but still wouldn't talk to me about it. She went from a home that took care of her into another home where she was to be taken care of.
My dad, on the other hand, was brought up with a distant father who lamented the loss of the love of his life and never really got over it. He was not close to his children because he left it up to everyone else to raise them. My father hungered for a home of his own where he felt loved and wanted. Where someone would take care of him and he would take care of his special someone.
And then he found my mother. She was the best friend of the girl his best friend, Donald, was marrying. The only problem was that my mom was engaged to another guy. That didn't stop my father. He wooed her until she broke off her engagement and went out with him. On their first date, my dad leaned over as if he was going to kiss my mom but instead whispered in her ear, "You are going to be my wife."
And in a year, on June 4th, 1959, they were married. It's the stuff movies are made of...or at least a mini series. There was passion and drama and humor in their marriage. My mom even learned how to cook a few dishes when they lived in the attic apartment of a nice old Italian couple. I was born into that apartment and my older brother and I called them Grandma and Grandpa. Grandma taught my mom how to make spaghetti sauce from scratch and lasagna and pizziola.
When I was in third grade, some drama came to the marriage. Wedding vows, Commandments, etc. were broken. A new music teacher came to down and she was a "gay divorcee" which in 1970 was still not that common in a 98% Catholic town. I do not know when and how they met but a relationship was formed with Miss Beaver (yes that was really her name) and my father. All of a sudden, I was getting asked to sing solos at the assembly the chorus groups had for parents. Miss Beaver would miraculously show up to the places we were. She was a bit of a stalker I'm afraid.
Soon after the shady coincidental meetings started to happen, a dark blue Cadillac started appearing in our driveway when my dad was at work and we were at school. As I rounded the corner to walk down our street to our house, I could see it leaving our driveway. A dark-haired man driving. When I came home early one day because of some kind of malfunction at the school, the man was still at my house. They were both a little shocked when I walked into the house but I did not catch them in a compromising situation. They were sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee. I found out this was the man my mother dumped to marry my father. It turns out that my father had the affair first...really a mistake, one-night stand (was his version 20-years later). My mother wanted to retaliate by sleeping with Adrian Z (I can't remember his last name but it was Italian). Once they were "even," their marriage went on like nothing happened. But, within the year, we packed up everything, left family and friends and moved to Florida where Mom and Dad didn't know a soul and really had to depend on each other for love, companionship and friendship. Their marriage grew stronger. This is the time that they learned how to be each other's best friends, confidantes and partners. Life was good for the Collins' house in Florida.
Growing up in Florida was wonderful. Our land was covered in orange, grapefruit and tangerine trees. We had a pool and our house became the central entertainment house on the block. All the kids and all the parents used to hang out there. My parents brought to Florida their ability to socialize regularly. Any one of the half-dozen families on the block would stop by for cocktails at 5:00 pm sharp. A beer or a highball at the ready. I get my passion for entertaining from my parents. Not only did they party at home but almost every Saturday night, they would take off for the Moose Club with their new best friends the Wilsons to go dancing.
Even when they were fighting, it took on a sense of humor. I remember one spat about friends of my father who wanted to come to Orlando and stay at our home. It would require a lot of bedroom re-organization to accommodate a married couple and their hyper-active kid. My parents were sitting outside by the pool and every time my father said they were coming, my mother said, "No!" and bopped him on the head with an empty paper towel roll. They were giggling and laughing. All of a sudden my father picked my mother up, lawn chair and all, and threw her into the pool.
In 1977, however, their marriage took on another twist. My mother had a massive heart attack and needed to have a triple by-pass surgery. One important item to note here is that both my mom and dad were intensely uncomfortable with the medical world. As children, we did not go to the doctor unless our arms were hanging limply by our side, our head was cracked open or we were hacking so bad from bronchitis that they thought our insides were going to come out our mouths! My parents never even thought of going in for an annual check up. The only time you went to the dentist was if you had a toothache. There was no such thing as preventative care.
In the 70's a heart by-pass wasn't as routine a surgery as it is today. There was a lot more risk associated with it. My mother didn't want the surgery. She kept saying that she was alive today and she couldn't take the risk. So she didn't have the surgery. As the years went by she steadily lost the use of her legs. The doctors kept attributing it to the lack of oxygen going to her limbs. My dad expanded his care taking to include her.
What the doctors missed was that my mother actually had multiple sclerosis. Until her death in 1992 my father was by her side. He retired from work at 55 so he could be her caretaker full time. Their devotion to each other was incredible. After my mother's death, my father passed away within a year. I think he died of a broken heart.
My husband and I have had our ups and downs in our marriage but at the end of the day, he's my best friend, my lover and my partner. His strengths match my weaknesses and my strengths match his weaknesses. I know we can overcome the downs and share the joy of our up times!
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Rash of "Feel Good" TV Messages
There's no doubt about, America needs something to celebrate life and living to our fullest potential. That's why I turn to TV to get my dose of "living life to the fullest." I need a TV show that takes up an hour of my precious life to tell me to get up off that couch or out of that lounge chair and go sky-dive, or write a novel or marry the one you love. Thank goodness for the network shows or else I wouldn't understand that in these trying times of job losses, economic ruin, war casualties and overall insecurity, I need to stop and smell the roses or do a random acts of kindness or drink from the cup half full.
If I record the shows, then instead of giving up an hour or a half-hour, I only have to give up about 45 minutes or 22 minutes. I can speed through the commercials which will ultimately give me back some time but waste someone's advertising dollar requiring the ad company to lay off people because the client is not happy and possibly requiring the client to lay off people because their product isn't selling. Is Ford the only American car company because it placed its vehicles in Knight Rider, the TV Show? Can't skip through the placement during the whole TV show. But, alas, you can skip the whole TV show when it is brain numbingly stupid.
So, I'm trying to learn to not be an "armchair life liver." At times I have my moments like the really cool vacation when we are white water rafting Snake River...the same river that Evil Knievel jumped in the 70s. Or I feel like I'm living life when I'm at the homeless shelter serving food I cooked for them. Or when I'm playing with my dogs just for the pure joy of play.
Is optimism a genetic thing? I watched the Michael J. Fox documentary on optimism. Now, there's a guy who is definitely a glass half full guy! There are all sorts of studies going on now about optimism. In one study, there actually seems to be a genetic indicator in your DNA that indicates if you are an optimist or not. I'm not sure I believe that. I think you have to open your brain, your logical side, and your heart to see the good things in a bad situation. Perhaps it is a genetic disposition that allows you to change the way you think. On the flip side of that coin, it is so much easier to buy into the cup half empty scenario, especially if you are surrounded by negative people. Someone drives that giant bandwagon of doom and gloom and you can see the people running along side to jump on board.
I'm trying to optimistically look at the obstacles I need to overcome. I think I can make it over these hurdles. I have to accept that it is a work in progress. Somewhere along the journey of life, I've become a bit OCD. I think that in order to be successful I have to have everything available and ever obstacle resolved FIRST. And then I should be able to skip along the path and achieve the goals that I've set for myself.
Life doesn't work that way. Some obstacles are actually brick walls that you have to find a way around. You can't get over them but you need to take different routes. And sometimes the road around the brick walls allows you to see and smell flowers you've never seen before. Not from an armchair but from your "Feel Good" journey.
If I record the shows, then instead of giving up an hour or a half-hour, I only have to give up about 45 minutes or 22 minutes. I can speed through the commercials which will ultimately give me back some time but waste someone's advertising dollar requiring the ad company to lay off people because the client is not happy and possibly requiring the client to lay off people because their product isn't selling. Is Ford the only American car company because it placed its vehicles in Knight Rider, the TV Show? Can't skip through the placement during the whole TV show. But, alas, you can skip the whole TV show when it is brain numbingly stupid.
So, I'm trying to learn to not be an "armchair life liver." At times I have my moments like the really cool vacation when we are white water rafting Snake River...the same river that Evil Knievel jumped in the 70s. Or I feel like I'm living life when I'm at the homeless shelter serving food I cooked for them. Or when I'm playing with my dogs just for the pure joy of play.
Is optimism a genetic thing? I watched the Michael J. Fox documentary on optimism. Now, there's a guy who is definitely a glass half full guy! There are all sorts of studies going on now about optimism. In one study, there actually seems to be a genetic indicator in your DNA that indicates if you are an optimist or not. I'm not sure I believe that. I think you have to open your brain, your logical side, and your heart to see the good things in a bad situation. Perhaps it is a genetic disposition that allows you to change the way you think. On the flip side of that coin, it is so much easier to buy into the cup half empty scenario, especially if you are surrounded by negative people. Someone drives that giant bandwagon of doom and gloom and you can see the people running along side to jump on board.
I'm trying to optimistically look at the obstacles I need to overcome. I think I can make it over these hurdles. I have to accept that it is a work in progress. Somewhere along the journey of life, I've become a bit OCD. I think that in order to be successful I have to have everything available and ever obstacle resolved FIRST. And then I should be able to skip along the path and achieve the goals that I've set for myself.
Life doesn't work that way. Some obstacles are actually brick walls that you have to find a way around. You can't get over them but you need to take different routes. And sometimes the road around the brick walls allows you to see and smell flowers you've never seen before. Not from an armchair but from your "Feel Good" journey.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Things I've Learned in Vegas
Las Vegas is the land of opportunity, the land of hopes and dreams, the land of fantasy...the land of believing in yourself! Some folks "poo poo" Vegas as a den of sex, sin and stereotypical indulgence. I'm telling you, though, you can learn a lot about yourself and life lessons that everyone can use--even when they are not in Vegas.
1. You control your own life! The array of choices that Las Vegas gives you can be overwhelming for the week. Where do you go to gamble? Where do you go to eat? What shows do you go? How much money can you afford to entertain yourself with gambling? When do you stop? It is very easy to over indulge in Vegas. In fact, I think they hope you will. Which isn't all bad -- if you can keep in mind that you have the power to say yes or no. Sit through those boring timeshare talks knowing that at the end of the spiel, you will not be tempted and will say "no." You'll get a lovely night out or an invigorating day at the Spa all on someone else's dime. Of course, we are the proud owners of three timeshares (investing in our future vacations) including one in Vegas!
2. Believe in yourself! Vegas does have the ability to make your dreams come true. If you invest some money in yourself to go play poker or blackjack, you are not only building skills but you have the possibility to win the games. Look at professional poker tournaments today...the World Series of Poker gets larger and larger every year with everyday Joes and Jos showing up to play. Vegas offers other venues too like live Rock Band karaoke, outrageous roller coasters, and tournaments galore. You can even fly in Vegas in an indoor parachuting place. Embrace the fear and believe in yourself.
3. Math is always an important life skill. Vegas is all about the math...statistics and just plain arithmetic. I started playing penny slots on our trip to Vegas last October. I had no clue what I was doing nor that I had changed the penny ante to a nickel. Penny slots have multiple lines you can bet on and none of them seem to make sense to me. And then they fool you a bit and talk about how many credits you have...not how much money you have put into the machine or won or lost on the machine. I won a couple of hundred bucks on that slot and have no clue why. After I cashed out, I finally figured out that the nickel ante I was playing had been doubled and then multiplied by 15 lines. Each spin of the wheel cost me $15.00! That was way more than I ever played on a hand of Black Jack or a quarter or dollar slot machine. On the trip we just came back from, I was winning again on a penny slot that I had upped to a nickel. About an hour before we needed to leave for the airport, I won a jackpot. I called Andy up and said, "How much is 52,200 nickels?" He grumbled at me that he was playing Black Jack and to use the calculator on the iPhone. About a minute later he called back because he realized I just won over $2500. The night before I won about $700 which I thought was pretty darn skippy but this was wonderful! This was, take the dog training classes I want to take money or cut down some trees in the backyard money or buy that gadget that I wanted but didn't really need money. This was pay for the whole trip, all the shows, all the food, all of Andy's losses (from this trip and a couple of other solo trips to casinos in 2009) and still come out ahead!
4. Always have a plan. When Andy and I go to Vegas we have a gambling plan that we mostly stick to when playing. We have an "entertainment" allowance -- that's what we call our gambling money. It's up to you if you want to play it all on the first day or have a limit each day. If you win, you cash out and start with that starter "entertainment" money. With slots, it is easy to keep track of what you are starting with and cashing out with. With the real people games like poker or Black Jack, it is harder to cash out and remove yourself from the temptation to not win more. I remember the first time I gambled with Andy was at a Black Jack table on our honeymoon cruise to Bermuda. As fast as I could win, Andy was taking my chips. We seem to have a yin yang win/loss ratio. When I'm losing, he's winning and when he's losing, I'm winning.
5. Know when to walk away from the table. Like old Kenny Rogers says, "You gotta know when to fold 'em." This is not just a Vegas gambling lesson but a useful skill in the real world. Don't gamble with anything that you can't walk away from. It's harder to negotiate on a salary when you don't have a job but ultimately you have the power to say yes or to walk away from the table.
6. Leave on a high note. Who doesn't love George Castanza from TVs classic show, Seinfeld? Remember his philosophy to leave on a high note? He would make a contribution (no matter how big or small) and leave on that contribution. After I won my big jackpot, I had to be paid the jackpot by a slots manager rather than getting a cash out ticket. I think because Uncle Sam wanted his share (I had to fill out a tax form). The slots manager was a little amazed I took the winnings and cashed out the machine and walked away. It was great leaving Vegas on a high note!
Maybe I'm just a control freak but lately I've been totally aware that my every action is determined by a decision I make. I make the choices that control my destiny and every decision is important. I can choose to be positive about life or I can choose to wallow in my shoulda, woulda, couldas. I can choose to bet one penny at a time or I can max bet -- bigger risk but bigger payoff.
Ahhh Vegas! You are the land of opportunities, the land of hopes and dreams, the land of fantasies. You are the epitome of self-fulfillment and choice. Oh, and thanks for the big jackpot!
1. You control your own life! The array of choices that Las Vegas gives you can be overwhelming for the week. Where do you go to gamble? Where do you go to eat? What shows do you go? How much money can you afford to entertain yourself with gambling? When do you stop? It is very easy to over indulge in Vegas. In fact, I think they hope you will. Which isn't all bad -- if you can keep in mind that you have the power to say yes or no. Sit through those boring timeshare talks knowing that at the end of the spiel, you will not be tempted and will say "no." You'll get a lovely night out or an invigorating day at the Spa all on someone else's dime. Of course, we are the proud owners of three timeshares (investing in our future vacations) including one in Vegas!
2. Believe in yourself! Vegas does have the ability to make your dreams come true. If you invest some money in yourself to go play poker or blackjack, you are not only building skills but you have the possibility to win the games. Look at professional poker tournaments today...the World Series of Poker gets larger and larger every year with everyday Joes and Jos showing up to play. Vegas offers other venues too like live Rock Band karaoke, outrageous roller coasters, and tournaments galore. You can even fly in Vegas in an indoor parachuting place. Embrace the fear and believe in yourself.
3. Math is always an important life skill. Vegas is all about the math...statistics and just plain arithmetic. I started playing penny slots on our trip to Vegas last October. I had no clue what I was doing nor that I had changed the penny ante to a nickel. Penny slots have multiple lines you can bet on and none of them seem to make sense to me. And then they fool you a bit and talk about how many credits you have...not how much money you have put into the machine or won or lost on the machine. I won a couple of hundred bucks on that slot and have no clue why. After I cashed out, I finally figured out that the nickel ante I was playing had been doubled and then multiplied by 15 lines. Each spin of the wheel cost me $15.00! That was way more than I ever played on a hand of Black Jack or a quarter or dollar slot machine. On the trip we just came back from, I was winning again on a penny slot that I had upped to a nickel. About an hour before we needed to leave for the airport, I won a jackpot. I called Andy up and said, "How much is 52,200 nickels?" He grumbled at me that he was playing Black Jack and to use the calculator on the iPhone. About a minute later he called back because he realized I just won over $2500. The night before I won about $700 which I thought was pretty darn skippy but this was wonderful! This was, take the dog training classes I want to take money or cut down some trees in the backyard money or buy that gadget that I wanted but didn't really need money. This was pay for the whole trip, all the shows, all the food, all of Andy's losses (from this trip and a couple of other solo trips to casinos in 2009) and still come out ahead!
4. Always have a plan. When Andy and I go to Vegas we have a gambling plan that we mostly stick to when playing. We have an "entertainment" allowance -- that's what we call our gambling money. It's up to you if you want to play it all on the first day or have a limit each day. If you win, you cash out and start with that starter "entertainment" money. With slots, it is easy to keep track of what you are starting with and cashing out with. With the real people games like poker or Black Jack, it is harder to cash out and remove yourself from the temptation to not win more. I remember the first time I gambled with Andy was at a Black Jack table on our honeymoon cruise to Bermuda. As fast as I could win, Andy was taking my chips. We seem to have a yin yang win/loss ratio. When I'm losing, he's winning and when he's losing, I'm winning.
5. Know when to walk away from the table. Like old Kenny Rogers says, "You gotta know when to fold 'em." This is not just a Vegas gambling lesson but a useful skill in the real world. Don't gamble with anything that you can't walk away from. It's harder to negotiate on a salary when you don't have a job but ultimately you have the power to say yes or to walk away from the table.
6. Leave on a high note. Who doesn't love George Castanza from TVs classic show, Seinfeld? Remember his philosophy to leave on a high note? He would make a contribution (no matter how big or small) and leave on that contribution. After I won my big jackpot, I had to be paid the jackpot by a slots manager rather than getting a cash out ticket. I think because Uncle Sam wanted his share (I had to fill out a tax form). The slots manager was a little amazed I took the winnings and cashed out the machine and walked away. It was great leaving Vegas on a high note!
Maybe I'm just a control freak but lately I've been totally aware that my every action is determined by a decision I make. I make the choices that control my destiny and every decision is important. I can choose to be positive about life or I can choose to wallow in my shoulda, woulda, couldas. I can choose to bet one penny at a time or I can max bet -- bigger risk but bigger payoff.
Ahhh Vegas! You are the land of opportunities, the land of hopes and dreams, the land of fantasies. You are the epitome of self-fulfillment and choice. Oh, and thanks for the big jackpot!
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Five Year Plan
As a kid, your potential is boundless. You can be anything your heart desires. One day you can tell everyone that you are going to be a singer and the next day you are going to be an astronaut. Everyday there can be a new career plan. As you get older, the daily career plan turns into a monthly career plan. As you hit junior high school, you maybe have an idea of what you'd like to do as an adult but you are still free to explore other areas of interest. Maybe you are a budding actor or a talented artist and the reality of making a living at these occupations isn't a factor for you at that age. The point is that you think you can be anything when you grow up!
As far as I can remember back, I have loved animals and wanted to be a veterinarian. Our house was filled with dogs and cats I found a way to raise $5.99 plus shipping and handling for a monthly set of Animal Kingdom cards. Some kids collected baseball cards or Garbage Pail Kids cards. I wanted cards that told me that the Capybera was the largest rodent in the world. I wanted to know that the Platypus was in the same family as the Opossum and the Koala. I even wanted to know that spiders and crabs were in the same class (arachnida) even though they weren't warm and fuzzy mammals!
In high school, I was delivered a blow by an adult. Someone who was supposed to be my champion decided I was worthless and I should give up my dreams. I will never forget the feeling of humiliation, the heat climbing up my neck and spreading out over my cheeks, when she said, "You aren't really college material. Perhaps you should think about becoming a secretary." This statement was made in the beginning of my sophomore year during my first meeting with Ms. Ophelia Irwin, high school guidance counselor.
I didn't understand this. I did not know what she was basing this statement on because this woman didn't know me. She didn't know my passions. She didn't know my abilities and my capabilities. What she did know, or I should say who she did know was my older, trouble-maker brother. And although I was, in my own right, a trouble-maker too, I was smart. I was academic. I knew animals and science and I was a good student. The operative word here is 'was.'
For the next three years I literally sailed through school not caring what was going to happen after graduation. My senior year I had two student assistant periods, three acting classes and creative writing. I didn't care about academics. I wasn't college material so why should I care?
I graduated with average grades and had come to terms that I would end up working at an office. I had a night job with Orange County Voter Registration filing. I couldn't expect much more from life.
But my dad thought I was college material and bless his heart, he went down to the local community college and signed me up for the first semester. I still wonder what he was thinking when he signed me up for biology, french, calculus, and freshman composition. I am so thankful that he had faith in me. But, my nagging self-doubt continued to rule and I threw away my dreams of being a vet.
So fast forward 27 years later and my need to work with animals is as strong today as it was when I was a kid. I still know that the capybera is the world's largest rodent. At 44, I'm probably not going to vet school. But I have a five-year plan to build on my existing skills as a salesperson, business leader, strategic thinker and, most of all, animal lover. I'm looking at animal behavior programs (that's the new, fancy term for dog training). I might look into a vet tech program. But ultimately, I want own a doggie daycare with all the services -- boarding, training, doggie boutique, etc.
As far as I can remember back, I have loved animals and wanted to be a veterinarian. Our house was filled with dogs and cats I found a way to raise $5.99 plus shipping and handling for a monthly set of Animal Kingdom cards. Some kids collected baseball cards or Garbage Pail Kids cards. I wanted cards that told me that the Capybera was the largest rodent in the world. I wanted to know that the Platypus was in the same family as the Opossum and the Koala. I even wanted to know that spiders and crabs were in the same class (arachnida) even though they weren't warm and fuzzy mammals!
In high school, I was delivered a blow by an adult. Someone who was supposed to be my champion decided I was worthless and I should give up my dreams. I will never forget the feeling of humiliation, the heat climbing up my neck and spreading out over my cheeks, when she said, "You aren't really college material. Perhaps you should think about becoming a secretary." This statement was made in the beginning of my sophomore year during my first meeting with Ms. Ophelia Irwin, high school guidance counselor.
I didn't understand this. I did not know what she was basing this statement on because this woman didn't know me. She didn't know my passions. She didn't know my abilities and my capabilities. What she did know, or I should say who she did know was my older, trouble-maker brother. And although I was, in my own right, a trouble-maker too, I was smart. I was academic. I knew animals and science and I was a good student. The operative word here is 'was.'
For the next three years I literally sailed through school not caring what was going to happen after graduation. My senior year I had two student assistant periods, three acting classes and creative writing. I didn't care about academics. I wasn't college material so why should I care?
I graduated with average grades and had come to terms that I would end up working at an office. I had a night job with Orange County Voter Registration filing. I couldn't expect much more from life.
But my dad thought I was college material and bless his heart, he went down to the local community college and signed me up for the first semester. I still wonder what he was thinking when he signed me up for biology, french, calculus, and freshman composition. I am so thankful that he had faith in me. But, my nagging self-doubt continued to rule and I threw away my dreams of being a vet.
So fast forward 27 years later and my need to work with animals is as strong today as it was when I was a kid. I still know that the capybera is the world's largest rodent. At 44, I'm probably not going to vet school. But I have a five-year plan to build on my existing skills as a salesperson, business leader, strategic thinker and, most of all, animal lover. I'm looking at animal behavior programs (that's the new, fancy term for dog training). I might look into a vet tech program. But ultimately, I want own a doggie daycare with all the services -- boarding, training, doggie boutique, etc.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Rebel Without a Clue...
As a 44-year old woman, I don't like being told, "No." My loving husband has a tendency to spout out that word often which generally invokes the following response from me: "You're not the boss of me!" I know, very mature...
My whole life, though, I've dodged situations where people could tell me no. So, at a very young age, I learned to stop asking permission to do things. Granted, that doesn't always work for say a four-year old. In kindergarten, I discovered one of my new classmates lived on the same street from me. Pleasant Street was a pretty long street and she lived about five blocks "down" the street. One day I decided to visit Jeannie and left our big yard and started my journey.
I made it to Jeannie's house and she was outside in her own yard playing. Jeannie and I had the best time playing tag and Chinese jump rope (remember the chant, "In, Out, Side to Side, Back, In, Out!).
About three hours later I walked home as it was almost dark. I didn't expect that there would be a police car in my driveway. I didn't expect my father to rush to me and bear hug me at the same time he swatted my bottom with a fake spanking. I certainly didn't expect my mother to burst out into hysterical tears. I had no idea what the big deal was or what was going on!
Being a December baby, I was about three months shy of my fifth birthday. I was certainly no baby! When my parents asked me where I had been, I told them in a very matter-of-fact tone that I was "down" the street at Jeannie's house. Now that I was home and safe, the battle of the wills began.
"Who gave you permission to leave this yard?" my mother said through her gritting teeth.
"Who said I had to stay in the yard?" I inquired since no one had really said that rule out loud that we were never allowed to leave the yard without explicit permission from one parent or the other.
"You are a four-year old baby! You are not allowed to leave this yard without your father or me," she exclaimed. I don't remember the exact words that she used but the sentence probably started with a "Jesus, Mary and Joseph and all the Saints in Heaven." My mother was always invoking the Trio and the Saints.
The police officer that was dispatched to our house was watching this exchange between my mother and me. He seemed very entertained by the whole conversation. My father, by this time, had calmed down and asked me why I didn't ask them if I could go over to Jeannie's house.
I looked up at him with an innocent look and big, wide eyes and said, "Because you would have said no."
My father's eyes betrayed all of his emotions. If he was mad, they would just about pop out of his head! If he was amused, the became all soft and smiley. If he was hurt they became cloudy and moist. I could tell he wanted to laugh and his eyes got all twinkly. Meanwhile, my mother's shoulders were drilling into her ears and her body was stiffer than a corpse. She was waiting for my father to discipline his little girl. Her expectations were that he would take her side and that I would have a fitting punishment.
My dad mumbled, "Don't do that again unless we tell you it is OK." And that was it. Dad released Bud the cop thanking him for coming out to the house. Bud smiled and winked at me. And that sealed the deal for me. This was the turning point in my young life...my life's philosophy found! A philosophy that I still live by 40-years later!
It is better to ask for forgiveness later than permission first. No one is the boss of me...except me! If I miss out on something, I have no one to blame except myself for not making it happen.
My whole life, though, I've dodged situations where people could tell me no. So, at a very young age, I learned to stop asking permission to do things. Granted, that doesn't always work for say a four-year old. In kindergarten, I discovered one of my new classmates lived on the same street from me. Pleasant Street was a pretty long street and she lived about five blocks "down" the street. One day I decided to visit Jeannie and left our big yard and started my journey.
I made it to Jeannie's house and she was outside in her own yard playing. Jeannie and I had the best time playing tag and Chinese jump rope (remember the chant, "In, Out, Side to Side, Back, In, Out!).
About three hours later I walked home as it was almost dark. I didn't expect that there would be a police car in my driveway. I didn't expect my father to rush to me and bear hug me at the same time he swatted my bottom with a fake spanking. I certainly didn't expect my mother to burst out into hysterical tears. I had no idea what the big deal was or what was going on!
Being a December baby, I was about three months shy of my fifth birthday. I was certainly no baby! When my parents asked me where I had been, I told them in a very matter-of-fact tone that I was "down" the street at Jeannie's house. Now that I was home and safe, the battle of the wills began.
"Who gave you permission to leave this yard?" my mother said through her gritting teeth.
"Who said I had to stay in the yard?" I inquired since no one had really said that rule out loud that we were never allowed to leave the yard without explicit permission from one parent or the other.
"You are a four-year old baby! You are not allowed to leave this yard without your father or me," she exclaimed. I don't remember the exact words that she used but the sentence probably started with a "Jesus, Mary and Joseph and all the Saints in Heaven." My mother was always invoking the Trio and the Saints.
The police officer that was dispatched to our house was watching this exchange between my mother and me. He seemed very entertained by the whole conversation. My father, by this time, had calmed down and asked me why I didn't ask them if I could go over to Jeannie's house.
I looked up at him with an innocent look and big, wide eyes and said, "Because you would have said no."
My father's eyes betrayed all of his emotions. If he was mad, they would just about pop out of his head! If he was amused, the became all soft and smiley. If he was hurt they became cloudy and moist. I could tell he wanted to laugh and his eyes got all twinkly. Meanwhile, my mother's shoulders were drilling into her ears and her body was stiffer than a corpse. She was waiting for my father to discipline his little girl. Her expectations were that he would take her side and that I would have a fitting punishment.
My dad mumbled, "Don't do that again unless we tell you it is OK." And that was it. Dad released Bud the cop thanking him for coming out to the house. Bud smiled and winked at me. And that sealed the deal for me. This was the turning point in my young life...my life's philosophy found! A philosophy that I still live by 40-years later!
It is better to ask for forgiveness later than permission first. No one is the boss of me...except me! If I miss out on something, I have no one to blame except myself for not making it happen.
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