the facelift

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the truth about VD ;)

Ok team, so for some reason, I've heard more than the usual grumbling about Valentine's Day this year, and I think it's time somebody gave it to you straight. 

When we were growing up, every single kid showed up to school on Valentine's Day just a little bit nervous about what might happen.  Maybe you were giving a valentine to someone you hoped liked you as "more than just a friend."  Or maybe you heard from some kids at school that so-and-so liked you, and you hoped beyond hope that he or she would give you one of the "special" valentines this year.  Most of you agonized over who got what valentine - careful not to convey the wrong message to the boy or girl who spit during band practice, but sure to include an extra heart or two on the envelope of the valentine for your crush.  Valentine's Day, even then, was hell.  We went home from school on Valentine's Day having a pretty good sense of whether or not the person we liked actually liked us back.

And guess what... nothing has really changed since then.

People (generally guys) always say things "Valentine's Day is so stupid" or "Why do we have to have a holiday to tell someone they're loved?"  What I want to know, is why does it have to be so painful to let someone know you like them, love them, appreciate them, respect them or want the best for them?  That's what it's really about.  Who cares if there's one day a year devoted to it?  Who cares if Hallmark gets involved and it's the highest sales day of the year for chocolate shops?  Who cares if "giving flowers on Valentine's Day is too cliche?" 

I would ask the Valentine's Day naysayers if they give chocolates or flowers any other day of the year.  Most likely, the answer to that question is no.  And what's really going on is that your significant other is hoping, really hoping, that maybe Valentine's Day will give you an excuse to actually be sweet (and maybe even a little bit romantic)... cliche or not.

I highly doubt that you would ever hear someone who regularly gets flowers, chocolates or other romantic gestures complain about his or her significant other forgetting, ignoring or totally blowing Valentine's Day.  Those people never complain - either because their significant other has enough common sense to also be romantic on Valentine's Day or they really, truly don't care about romance on Valentine's Day because they get enough of it every other day of the year.

The people who are disappointed about a lack of TLC on v-day are those who don't get it any other day and wake up on Valentine's morning a little bit nervous, a little bit excited that maybe today would be the day where the person they like lets them know they're liked back.  That's really all this day is about.

So for those of you who may have screwed it up royally this year, on the one day someone was hoping for you to tell them how much they're liked, loved, appreciated or respected... please know that there really are 364 other days this year for you to clean up your act. At the end of the day, everyone deep down just wants to know they're liked, holiday or no holiday.

I hope there’s love at the end of your day to take you away.

– Dr. Dog

robots and spam

After my most recent post, I woke up the next morning to an email notification letting me know that someone had posted a comment to my blog.  For the first time ever, the commenter wasn't my mom, best friend, aunt, dogsitter or law school classmate. It was someone I didn't even know.  A complete stranger had posted to my blog.  As I lay in bed reading my email notification (yes, I can admit it, I check my email immediately after my alarm goes off), it hit me:  I was big time now.  Totally blogospherely legit.  My blog was out there in cyberspace, and random people were reading it. And they were commenting. You have got to be kidding me.  This "viral" thing really DOES happen on its own, doesn't it?  As I patted myself on the back for my literary popularity, I clicked to my blog and read the comment:

Criminal lawyer make good support on client need and make that free from legal harassments. That has the best law situation which make it excellence.  Best Criminal Lawyers in Toronto. -posted by robertducket

Hmm.  That's weird.  Ok, so maybe I was attracting illiterate fans.  A fan is a fan though, right?  Wrong.  Not when the fan is a robot.  Robertducket was a robot.  So was Marry Lee, who posted shortly after robertducket and told me: The article is worth while reading, I like it very much and which you shared the info in this post is very useful. Thanks for sharing a wonderful post.  

It took a consult with our social media strategist for me to quickly learn the purpose of those "enter the numbers and letters you see below" boxes.  It's to fight off robots, and clearly, I had been infiltrated.

I'm still oddly flattered by the fact that the robots chose me.  There has to be some sort of code that assesses which blogs are read frequently enough to be worth spamming... right?  That's what I'm telling myself anyway. 

My robot attack is definitely a good step in the viral direction. 

blog on a receipt

[This post, like so many others, started weeks ago.  Unlike the others, it began on a receipt.  I was incredibly inspired at the time,  but I never got around to finishing this post.  Last Friday night, I spent the evening with these ladies - the fruit of this night in Albany and the blog post on a receipt].

***

I am sitting here, writing this post on the back of a receipt.  It's the perfect emotional storm for this girl, who's on a work trip to Albany.  Having recently gone gluten-free (that's a post in itself), I'm happy to "blame" my work meal of choice on a dietary necessity.  It's a BYOB restaurant, and I'm at sea level... which means I can easily consume a bottle of wine on my own, without qualms or apologies.

- Receipt blog (the beginning of gratitude-filled introspection)

***

I spent most of last week out in Albany on a (very successful and inspiring) work trip.  We're finally getting to that place where you can see the client transitioning to your side and you really feel like a team.  It's the place where you know the relationship that has been forming organically over the last few months is finally solidifying.  And it's genuine.  It's the best.

Our last night in upstate New York, I was on my own for dinner, which was a welcome reprieve after a day of non-stop presentations.  Yelp is the greatest resource while traveling, and I found an excellently-rated BYOB sushi restaurant within walking distance from my hotel.  Victory.

My hotel was also located adjacent to the Albany Law School, so I wasn't surprised to be seated next to a table of law school girl friends.  I was by myself and had accidentally left my Twilight book at the hotel, so I didn't have a whole to do besides listen to their conversation.  Well, that and consume the entire bottle of wine I had brought with me (it was BYOB after all...).  A couple glasses in, I was engrossed in the story of how one of the girls was so pissed at "Mike" because he didn't call her over Christmas break.  Apparently, she and Mike had been dabbling in being more than friends (and of course, but "dabbling," I mean "diddling").  She had even given Mike her Trust & Estates outline during finals.  Mike never really got Trusts like she did.  She didn't have to do that for him.  And after all that, he didn't even text her once over break.  She really didn't want to go back to class the following Monday.  A la "He's Just Not That Into You," her friends gave her every reason in the book for why she didn't hear from Mike.  Mike was probably just spending a lot of time with his family.  He probably didn't want to bother her while she was with her family.  Yeah, he was probably just being respectful.  He knew how close she was with her family, after all.

The conversation then turned to how good it was to be back and how they had all missed each other, even if it had been nice to be home for Christmas.  The sushi had been gone for awhile (both theirs and mine), and the girls were at that point in the night where they needed to decide whether to order another bottle of wine and go for it or call it an early night.  Unfortunately for the sake of my entertainment, they decided not to order the second (or maybe it would have been their third) bottle, and I was soon left to my own thoughts and the regret of leaving my laptop at the hotel.

I poured another glass of wine (because it would have been wasteful not to). 

We were those girls once.  Hours spent in study rooms and Thursday nights at sushi dinners.  So much angst and advice in each locale.  We (ok, I) also had had a "Mike," Trust & Estates outlines and resentment for the cost of law books.  We too had enjoyed our Christmas breaks, but somehow felt that getting back to school and returning to our group was what really felt like coming home. 

I suddenly missed my girlfriends so badly it hurt.  So, I comprised a group text to tell them where I was and how much my neighbors reminded me of us back in the day.  Then the texts from across the country began pouring in.  And I found myself laughing out loud or outright crying, depending on the text. (The servers at the sushi restaurant thought I was absolutely nuts).  More than any other emotion, though, I was overwhelmed with a sense of gratitude for the girls in my life.  We got lucky.  Really, really lucky.

We're all spread out now, doing very different things with our lives.  Salt Lake to Chicago to (soon-to-be) St. Louis.  There have been heartbreaks and weddings.  Breakups and babies.  Vacations and embarrassment.  Birthdays and come to Jesuses (and other come to Jesuses). We've run marathons and adopted puppies... And I'm amazed at how quickly the time passes.

Those Albany law school girls have so much ahead of themselves, and things are going to change for them like they changed for us.  I hope they know how lucky they are.  With law school, it's easy to lose track of the gratitude in the grueling (there's a "forest in the trees" comment somewhere here too), and at the risk of sounding cliche, or even outright cheesy, my friends were the best thing to come out of law school for me.  Lord knows it wasn't the "being a lawyer" part.  And it certainly wasn't the debt part.

People ask me all the time if I regret going to law school, spending all that money on a career I ended up hating, wasting time learning something I may never actually use.  My answer has always been, and will continue to be, the same: Never.  I met some of the greatest women in the world because of law school, and it wouldn't trade that for anything. 

I love being unexpectedly reminded of what really matters.   

"Writing is like prostitution.  First you do it for love, and then for a few close friends, and then for money."  -Moliere

between the eyes

Yoga keeps me honest.   Especially in the routine parts of my life - the things I do on a daily basis without really thinking about them.  Running with the dog this morning, I could feel every muscle of my body, thanks to an intense flow class earlier this week.  I had gotten away from yoga while training for the Chicago Marathon.  While I had had a great run (both literally and figuratively), those weeks had easily turned into months.  And my yoga mat never left the backseat of my car.

I hadn't really been feeling (or acting) like myself, and I couldn't quite put my finger on what it was that felt different.  Don't get me wrong... I was having an awesome time.  Way more fun than 28 year olds should be having.  And part of me felt like I was in college again.  While I didn't really do anything "wrong" or "bad" (acknowledging of course that morality is a bit relative), I felt reckless, and I didn't like it one bit.  More than anything, I didn't feel like myself.  I didn't feel centered.

Getting back to yoga was something I had been meaning to do for months, but I had just never got around to it.  Instead, I went through the motions of my daily routine.  Sure, I was running.  But I never really pushed myself or changed my route.  Instead, I just got through the same 5 mile loop day in and day out, just to be able to check the box next to "workout" for that day.  Something needed to change.

So, I held my breath and purchased an unlimited month at Core Power Yoga. And I finally feel like I'm getting back to my old self again.  The craziest part is, I didn't fully recognize that something was "wrong" until I realized it was back to being right.  I'm thinking, and I'm present.  I'm acting with intention.  I'm reading. I'm aware of just how freaking lucky I am.  I'm engaging.  I know that I have enough.  I know that I am enough.  I remember to look at the big picture.  I know I need people.  I'm inspired.

All of this from spending a few hours a week on my mat, sweating my butt off next to complete strangers and asking myself to do just a little bit better while also demanding that I be satisfied with where I'm at.  This is an incredibly difficult balance for me to achieve.

At dinner, a friend suggested that I look into a blog she knew I would love.  I went home that night and stayed up for hours reading... and reading... and reading.  It's called Momastery, and it will rock your world (whether you're a mom or not).  Every now and then, a writer hits me right between the eyes and inspires me to do more.  To be more honest.  To write more freely.  To not be afraid.  Glennon's words and her story do even more than that to me.  I honestly don't know that I will ever be the same having read her work.

In writing this post, I'm suddenly struck by the irony of the phrase "between the eyes."  I'm sure the yogis out there got it the moment I said it.  But there's also another phrase that goes something like: "if you have to explain it, then you didn't deliver it properly."  So, I'll leave it here and hope my delivery was effective enough to make my point.  And if not, then I guess I'll have to do better next time.

numbers don't lie

Last weekend, I had the pleasure of attending an awesome wedding in Madison with old friends.  The recent discovery of a gluten intolerance meant I could not participate in the college-style beer consumption while touring our old stomping grounds in a trolley for wedding party pictures.  That, combined with being one of the only single attendees at the wedding, had me at the bar ordering a mandarin martini promptly upon arrival at the reception.

The really outgoing and awesome girlfriend of one of my college friends quickly approached me and introduced herself.  She didn't really know anyone at the wedding, and within two minutes of talking to her, I felt like we had been friends for years.  As I instructed the bartender on my martini preferences (more dry than sweet), my new friend, Christina, was suddenly engrossed in conversation with a short, soft-spoken older woman standing next to her at the bar.  My martini arrived, and I was scanning the room for who I should talk to next when Christina quickly turned to me, her eyes huge.  She grabbed my arm and mouthed, "you HAVE to talk to this lady."  Shaking her head, she turned back to the older woman and bent down so the woman could speak directly into her ear.  I learned later that the woman's name was Beverly Kay.  She was a friend of the bride's parents.  And she lived in the town I grew up in.  It was eerie already.

Christina and Beverly began writing numbers on a piece of paper, and I realized this woman was a psychic of some kind.  Immediately, I was skeptical.  I find astrology very intriguing, but "psychics" were a little much.  Over the next few minutes, I caught bits and pieces of what Beverly had to say to Christina, but more importantly, it was impossible to ignore Christina's reaction.  At the end of her reading, Christina grabbed my arm and pushed me over to Beverly.  Talk to her.  You HAVE to talk to her.  Come find me when you're done, and she walked away dumbfounded.

Beverly introduced herself to me and immediately told me to write down my birthday month and day.  I liked where this started.  Those who know me, know how proud of my birthday I am and that I take every opportunity to talk about how it was the coolest possible day to be born that year.  Clearly, Beverly was my kind of lady.  As I wrote down the 8 and the 3, it was Beverly's turn to grab MY arm.  I've been doing this, in one fashion or another, since I was 5 years old, she whispered.  And in all my years, I have only met four other people with my birthday.  You're the fifth.  She quickly began writing down numbers and muttering under her breath.  She told me how she knew these numbers inside and out because they were her numbers too. You're witty and animated.  Your friends think you're funny and you like to own a room.  But sometimes you go too far and put your foot in your mouth.  Then, you're confused when no one thinks it's funny.  Ummm... yep, that's accurate.  Go on Beverly, you have my attention.

She next instructed me to write down my birth year: 1983 (it's worth noting that this was NOT also her birth year).  Again, she jumped in with a flurry of numbers and muttering.  Her eyes poured into the cocktail napkin in front of us.  Suddenly, she stopped and looked up at me.  She cocked her head to the side and a small smile twitched at the corners of her mouth.

So when are you going to start writing those books?

I recoiled like I had been punched in the stomach.  Chills from head to toe, and my eyes immediately filled with tears.  Christina, who had been watching me from across the room, undoubtedly anticipating this reaction, was by my side in a second.  All I could do was shake my head.  Beverly waited patiently (she clearly got this response often).  I took a deep breath and stepped toward her again.  You're very talented.  This is going to be a great year for you, but you need to get started now.  Don't wait. 

...And with that, I let someone else have a turn.  I had heard all I needed to hear.  It's funny... out of all the things a psychic could have told me, that was the one that went straight to my soul.  Interestingly, however, it's not the thing I would have asked about, given the chance.  I suppose I have to believe she probably knew that too.  Actually, I don't "have" to believe anything.  Which is why it doesn't matter to me whether Beverly is a mind-reader, a really good mathematician, or just a lucky guesser. 

What matters is, she was right.

Quite literally rocking my world right now.

i am not an island

If you want to go quickly, go alone.
If you want to go far, go together.
-African proverb

help, help*

There’s nothing like the adrenaline of running sprinting through the airport knowing you have a one in a million chance of making your flight, but hoping beyond hope that somehow you pull it off.  Thanks to the help of a GREAT friend (who thought I was asking him to help me change my flat tire, when, in actuality, I was asking him to drive me to the airport during rush hour traffic), I’m miraculously on my flight to Milwaukee.  Thank you, NateDogg – you’re the epitome of awesome.

 

As my heart rate slowly returns to normal and the coughing and wheezing lets up (yes, seriously), I find myself engaged in a bit of adrenaline-induced introspection.

Why do I have SUCH a hard time asking for help?  I anticipate that this post will be as much personal as it is professional, despite the author’s preference that it be strictly the latter.  The fact that my friend thought I was asking him to come downtown and help me change my tire illustrates explicitly what I’m going to discuss in this post.  Why didn’t (couldn’t) I just say to him, “I’m in a really bad spot.  I have a flat tire, and I REALLY need a ride to the airport right this second if I have any chance of making my flight?”? (This grammar nazi isn’t quite sure that’s the accurate punctuation, but just go with it).

Instead, what I said to him (and a couple others) was more along the lines of, “Hey!  How’s it going? … Good, good! ....  Oh me?  Well, yeah, I’m not so great.  I actually have to catch a flight to Wisconsin, and I just came out to my parking lot, and I have a flat tire…. Yeah, seriously.  Can you believe it?  Murphy’s law, right? … Yeah, well I don’t know what I’m going to do.  What are you doing right now? … If you’re busy, I’m sure I could grab a cab.”  NateDogg, who knows me so well and, admittedly, over the years, has taken me under his wing as a bit of a second dependent (his wife is one of my besties), immediately said, “No, no, I’ll come help you.  Where are you?”

Thinking he was coming to help me change my tire, he called to let me know he had arrived at the designated corner.  I bounded out of my office, threw my suitcase in the backseat and hopped in the front seat.  “Thank you SO much for taking me to the airport.  You’re the absolute BEST!!!  Do you think we can make it there in 25 minutes?!?!” I gushed, breathless (ps – It was rush hour).

Ummm… what?  Wait… Um, yeah, I guess I can take you to the airport.  I just need to make a couple calls because I’m supposed to be at a dinner down south… No, no, it’s ok - I’ll take you.  Wait, where’s your car?  I thought you needed help with your tire?

Huh?  My tire?  Oh.  Shit.  “I know you believe you understand what you think I said; however, I’m not sure you realize that what you heard, is not what I meant.”

It’s my job to manage expectations.  I am expected to tell it to people straight and let them know what’s ahead.  And from the feedback I’ve received, I think I’m good at my job.  I don’t say this arrogantly… I have A LOT to learn, but I like to think I’m direct and people respect me for it.  So why, WHY, do I have such a difficult time saying to a close, trusted friend, “Hey, I’m incredibly vulnerable right now and completely dependent on your support.  Please, help me.”?

Why can’t I tell my superiors or colleagues that I can’t handle something, that I need direction, support, resources, etc.?  Why do I wait until it’s to the point that it’s absolutely unbearable before I’ll cry uncle?

I perceive a request for help as a personal weakness.  There, I said it.  Let’s start there (I realize I’m well into this post, and I think I’m just “starting”).  I hate admitting that I can’t do something for myself, which means I have a really, really (REALLY) difficult time asking for help.  I know this is flat-out wrong, on many levels (both personal and professional), but I just can’t help the internal reaction I get from admitting defeat.  I’m cringing just writing this.  I hate it.  Surprisingly, however, when other people ask me for help, I don’t perceive them as weak (when requests for help are used reasonably, of course – not necessarily sparingly, just reasonably).  In fact, I love to help other people.  This is strictly a self- perception, and it’s very much a double standard.

Before I effectively (unintentionally) tricked NateDogg into taking me to the airport, I had two VERY good friends say to me “I am busy, but if you NEED me to take you to the airport, just tell me and I’ll take you.”  And I couldn’t tell them.  Of course I needed them to take me to the airport – how else was I going to get there?  I knew I needed them to take me to the airport.  I knew my flight left in an hour.  I knew that even if I could even get a cab, it would be 65 bucks and the driver likely wouldn’t absorb my sense of urgency. I knew I was out of options. But I couldn’t form the words.  Three simple words that absolutely kill me to admit: I. Need. Help.

It’s professionally reminiscent of the moment when my boss told me to start making calls and begin building a team because we were to the point where I needed help.  I don’t need help, not yet anyway.  I got this, I thought defiantly.  But, lucky for me, he insisted (“as a precaution”), and I followed his instruction and made my first call for “help.”  We hired my referral (who is AWESOME) pretty much immediately.

Three months later, I’ve made two specific calls for help, and I couldn’t imagine my life without them.  There have been a couple of projects and a couple of clients that I, admittedly, only reluctantly released control over.  I had taken it as an insult when colleagues and superiors told me that there was no way I would be able to chew all that I had bitten off.  This week, however, we all laughed at how insane it would have been for me to have held on to those pieces.  I let go of them, and somehow, my days are still overflowing, my job is still fulfilling and I’m still respected.

Thank you, NateDogg, for helping me when I couldn’t ask for it.  Thank you to my two other friends for offering to help me, if I could just ask for it.  Both are more valuable than you’ll know. 

* There’s a famous Denver homeless man, who is notorious for violently shaking his change cup at you and hollering “HELP, HELP” as you walk by.  Because of him, the phrase has taken on a bit of a second meaning among some of us locals.

other people's wisdom

Recently, I've been hearing the same message a number of different ways - that it's really important to spend time learning from other people's experiences.  This means committing some serious time to reading business books and blogs.

Before I do that though, I need to admit that this isn't really appealing to me.  I love to read, but admittedly, my literary choices range from smart fiction to trashy magazines.  By way of example, I'm currently enjoying the second book in the Twlight series, and I apologize for nothing.  In a way, I blame law school for this (shocker, I know).  But, I feel as though I reached my lifetime "educational reading" quota somewhere around the middle of second year.  Since then, it's been very difficult for me to spend "free time" reading anything that isn't mindless.  I'd like to change that this year. 

A couple of my close colleagues and I continually remind each other that by experiencing the ups and downs and goods and bads of working at a start-up, we're getting our MBAs - one lesson at a time.  It's such a phenomenal opportunity that I would be crazy to not maximize the experience.  I need to think of business books and blogs as my course materials and start taking them very seriously. 

This guy's blog is a great place to start.