eleven bee

i got a call from HR the other day after what had felt like a pretty uneventful team meeting. HR wanted to talk to me about “the incident” from that morning.

it turns out, in suggesting that we schedule a separate quick meeting about another topic that had come up, i used the word “powwow.” i paused and waited for HR to explain. she broke the silence: “you can’t say that.”

i quickly processed what she was telling me, hitting on each of the five stages of grief and change management – denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and then acceptance. it felt to me initially like a small thing to get upset about, but then i remembered it really wasn’t my place to tell a person what they should or should not be offended by.

i had the same initial reaction to the news that we had changed the standard email signature line to include gender pronoun preferences. i don’t care what you call me, honestly. him, her, it. whatever… but then i worked my way through this one too. if this small gesture – and setting an automated email signature really takes zero effort after the original setup – sends a message to anyone else out there that there’s a space for more acceptance that includes them, then maybe that’s okay. it’s one thing to point to a finger outward to question why others are so danged sensitive. but isn’t there also a possible criticism to be made of the person whose protests over small gestures of acceptance seem conspicuously out of proportion to the effort it would take to just do it? really, how is this any skin off my nose?

on the other hand, i have been talking a lot lately about the importance of prioritizing. none of us has enough time, resources, whatever, to do everything we want to do. the issues around race and social justice are huge and it just feels more important than ever that things change. that we change things. so it’s with all this in mind that the conflicted contrarian in me (note to self: that could totally be the name of my memoir) thinks it matters that we choose which battles we want to fight.

the fact that we’re trying again (still) to have these paradigm shifting conversations around vital social justice issues at the same time that current culture has enabled status building through gotcha moments just seems like a cruel prank on the part of the universe. or karma. or whatever.

i believe with all my heart that we have to move beyond what is likely to be an infinite list of potential ways that one can feel wronged, so that we can have the bigger conversations. but as we continue to move toward those moments, i’ve decided that i’ll continue to make the small gestures. when someone takes the time to communicate to me that they’re affected negatively by my words or my actions, i’ll pause and make sure to listen. when someone asks for a small act of kindness or grace, and it’s within my abilities to accommodate, i will.

_{image from https://creation.com/wagging-finger}

it’s a modest accomplishment, but one i’m going to celebrate nonetheless: i have managed to stick to writing once a day for the last week. in reading back over what i’ve put out there, i can totally see that this is not my best work. i can feel it when i’m writing. the effort it takes to try to build back up these muscles. but i’ve been here before – with writing, with work, with other lapsed personal goals – and i know that it will come. ringo might have been the walrus, but i’m 100% the tortoise. slow and steady. i’ll get there.

speaking of lapsed personal goals and slow and steady – i have a triathlon to train for coming up in less than 6 months.

signing up for a repeat of a race i’ve already completed was kind of a black friday impulse decision two years ago. i had a tiny epiphany around my “racing” philosophy a while back. and as is the case so often with me, i’ve figured out a way to broadly apply this insight to many areas of my life.

i decided to train for my first triathlon back in 2010(ish) just to prove to myself that i could do it. the idea of an open water group swim (eek), followed by a bike ride, followed by run seemed ridiculous. but i went ahead and trained for it, in my own clumsy DIY kind of way and survived. i proved to myself that i could do a sprint tri (1/2 mile swim, 12.4 mile bike, and 3.1 mile run). i didn’t break any records, but i survived.

with the next challenge, i could have gone one of two ways: either do another sprint distance triathlon and try to improve my time, or just do a longer distance tri. i chose the latter. this is where my epiphany comes in. i realize that this focus on doing more, rather than doing better, is something that probably defines me in other areas of my life too. (quantity vs. quality?) bringing this back to just triathlons, my focus has always been on surviving each race. i never want to hit that wall and just not be able to carry forward, so i tend to train and race very conservatively, always making sure i have some gas in the tank. the idea of reframing my goals for triathlon to try and improve my performance rather than swim/bike/run farther was what motivated me to sign up for the boulder half ironman again. (well it was that and also the fact that i had worked my way up from a sprint to an olympic distance, a half-ironman, and after a failed first attempt, a full ironman, and just could not fathom what would come after that…)

so i signed up for the 2020 boulder half ironman and, well, 2020 was quite a year, no? which means that my registration for this race rolled over to 2021. but in the meanwhile, i turned 50… and will be turning 51 nine days after the 2021 race is scheduled. my shoulder is jacked up. and my knee hurts. and because of that and a handful of other reasons, i’m not feeling particularly motivated.

i’ve seen a few medical professionals about the shoulder thing in particular. it really interferes with swimming, and when i explain that i do actually swim longer distances in training, the doctor, or physical therapist, or whoever i happen to be speaking with nods knowingly and empathizes with the idea of being kept from doing the things that we love. i’ve stopped trying to correct them. i’m not an endorphin junky, addicted to exercise and movement. i do it for a bunch of other reasons – to challenge myself, to try and stay at least a little in shape, and to fit into clothes. but this is not my passion.

at the beginning of the year, i decided to try and jump start my physical fitness activity level. but instead of running, i decided to start walking instead. it turns out i actually enjoy walking. especially with a good podcast or audio book to listen to. i wonder why my “don’t force it” philosophy doesn’t apply to my usual choices about physical activity? how have i not marie kondo’ed my workout program?

anyway. i’m thinking the odds of the race actually happening in august are at about 50/50. and if it happens, i’ll be there. and even if i’m just leaning on the wisdom i’ve gained along the way about how to race smarter, i’m optimistic that my performance this time will be a least a smidge above the (pretty darned slow) times i clocked when i first did this race back in 2017.

and, when it comes to writing, while i’ve been focussing on just establishing better habits, being consistent and spending this time every day jotting down random thoughts, i think it makes sense to sense to give at least equal attention to the quality of these words too. here’s to 2021 goals.

Sorry, can you say that again?

I have been reading up on how air pod pros can be used as hearing aids for my mother. As part of this I had her complete a hearing assessment today using the mimi hearing test app. I could hear the sounds beeping in the air pods in her ear from my seat across the room, but watched as she sat with her finger hovering about the “I can hear it” button, waiting patiently for a sound. It turns out that even with her hearing aids in, she has only 45% of her hearing in her right ear and close to zero in her left ear.

In other hearing-related news I finally watched the Sound of Metal the other day. I thought it was good. And I found the unforced examination of the concept of deaf culture really thought provoking. The other thing that movie did well was switching back and forth between different audio-perspectives: what could be heard of the world outside the main character’s head, and what the main character could hear – first before his hearing suddenly disappeared, then as it was disappearing, when it was gone altogether, and then the confusing noise that he was able to recapture after surgery.

This did make me think more about what it must be like for my mother to continue to try to interact with the world around her – which, frankly, has mostly been exclusively this little family of ours in this house over the last 6 months.

I ended up taking the same hearing assessment that I had had my mother take this morning. My hearing was at around 75% for each ear – worse than about 93% of people my same age. Ima be honest: that freaked me out a bit. I’ll have to get my own ears checked out one of these days. It occurs to me that this is the kind of thing that can sneak up on you – in fact that sort of seems that that’s what’s happened in this case. So I guess it’s good to know.

I’ll adjust. It’ll be fine.

I had an interview once for a small beach town in northern San Diego County very early on in my city planning career. I had just graduated from grad school the previous year and had spent that first year working half-time for a employee-owned planning consulting firm that specialized in disability planning and defense base conversion and half-time for a community based non profit assisting grass-roots neighborhood organizations in Oakland with applications for federal Community Development Block Grants.

After that first year, my boyfriend at the time had a notion for us to move to India where he could continue his sitar studies. (He had graduated with a bachelors degree in ethnomusicology and had specialized in sitar – practicing for up to six hours each day.) But before we could head off to India, he had to make some money. So we moved down to San Diego county where he knew he would be able to make some quick money laying tile with a contractor buddy of his.

I got some temp work at first with a pharmaceutical company next to a field of poinsettias working in the warehouse with a bunch of rodeo cowboys prepping packages of medicines for clinical trials. It was super fun work. I was offered a permanent position, right around the same time I noticed an ad for an entry-level city planning position with the next town over.

I went in for the interview and, I thought, handled myself pretty well. While I had had some general exposure to the nuts and bolts of city planning, I was definitely not super familiar, and certainly didn’t understand the particulars of city planning in a coastal town. One of the questions the interview panel asked me had to do with defining the geographic jurisdiction of the California Coastal Commission. I had no idea. I was stumped. So I answered honestly. “I don’t know. But I can promise you that I could walk out of this room and come back within 15 minutes with that information.” See? I was resourceful!

As I’ve gotten older I’ve come to appreciate things like resourcefulness, creativity, stick-to-it-ness over other more static characteristics like memorized facts, or brute strength.

One of my college roommates confessed to having something like an inferiority complex when she would compare herself to the rest of us in the house. “For you guys, this stuff [she meant college classes, I thought at the time – but looking back on it now, maybe it was broader than that] comes easy. For me, it’s hard. I have to really work at this to get to that same place.” And even then I thought, god, that discipline will get you way farther than just the lazy work habits I had developed in the spirit of getting by.

So all of this – lord, I do take my time getting to the point, don’t I? – brings me to the conversation I had with my 15-year old son at the end of the day earlier this week. I had read or heard something about cheating becoming a big issue for remote learners. So I asked him, “Do you cheat?” He paused for only the tiniest of moments before answering “Not in all of my classes.”

My 17 year old son was playing video games in the loft outside my bedroom, where I had been chatting with my 15 year old. He had overheard our conversation. “Oh my god, why would you tell her that?” he shouted from way over there.

My response was a little delayed. I was processing. First I dealt with my 15 year old. “I’m super happy that you were honest with me, but at the same time, I thought it was pretty clear that cheating is not okay…” Had we not talked specifically about this before? Maybe not. But I reinforced that it’s too difficult to spell out the rules for every possible scenario. (For example, it’s also not okay to murder someone by beating them repeatedly with a shoe. Do I have to call that out specifically for that to be understood?) “The general rules,” I reminded, “are simple. One, be kind, two, be honest, and three, do things for others.*”

After we squared that away, and I got a commitment from the 15-year old that he wouldn’t cheat any more, I circled back to the 17 year old. “Dude. Don’t encourage your brother to lie. And you – you better not be cheating either…”

This has gotten a little meandering. Here’s how I propose to weave all those thoughts up there together. K (the 15 year old) didn’t know the info. The class he was taking wasn’t actually teaching him how to think or problem solve, it was a “remember this fact” kind of situation. And no, it’s never okay to be dishonest, and cheating to me (as it is likely to everyone?) is a form of dishonesty. But at the same time, he knew how to find the answer. Is there a universe where that kind of resourcefulness might be seen as better indicator of future success than the rote memorization of information?

For what it’s worth, I still got the job even though I hadn’t known how far inland a project had to be to not trigger review of the California Coastal Commission. (I think it was about 1000 feet from the coast for the northern San Diego County.)

_{* I have mostly just focussed on those first two rules. But I’m drawn to lists of three, so I usually tag on a third one. Right now, it’s help others. I’ve also from time to time completed the list with a “don’t get into any situations that will fundamentally change your life that can’t be undone.” This is intended to cover things like addiction or teen pregnancies. But I digress.}

_{image from https://www.opencolleges.edu.au/informed/features/the-ultimate-lesson-teaching-your-students-to-be-resourceful/}

I still haven’t figured out how to use this space to talk about the really interesting stuff. The people stuff.

Here’s an example of my dilemma. I have learned a lot about myself in these last five and a half years since my divorce. I remember listening to a friend describe to me how the rebound after the divorce could be fun with some initial playful romantic encounters. I think of myself, generally, as being on the adventurous side of the spectrum, but holy hell, the very idea of having to navigate that long-ago-left-behind territory of meeting new people, of dating for gods sake… I remember sitting in my friend’s office, holding my head in my hands as I tried to imagine it. It was terrifying.

But as it turned out, after that slightly nerve wracking first first date was behind me, I very quickly adjusted. I really enjoyed getting to meet new people. I took each new person that I met for coffee or for a walk or whatever just as they were. Legitimately no expectation, just an opportunity to connect with new and interesting people. I quickly learned that the benefit of dating at this age is that by now, people had some fascinating life experiences to share. Some I clicked with; some I did not. Either way, it was totally ok.

I wrote a few days ago about how I mostly choose not to force things any more, but also about how maybe that’s not a totally great thing in all situations. This is particularly true when it comes to relationships. I came to understand that, coming out of 15 year marriage, I was so exhausted from the effort of trying to make it work that I just didn’t have it in me to be in a relationship that required much more than the most minimal amount of effort. Which is all fine and good if that’s mutual, but in “normal” (ha!) grown up relationships, it’s not unreasonable to expect that both people go into things with the understanding that they’re both willing to do some work, right?

So initially I think I was a little more cavalier in my relationships with others. Affectionate and appreciative. Supportive too. But a little unintentionally callous at the same time. And that’s not a particularly kind way to be with others you care about.

All of this is a long build up to saying that I’ve met some lovely people along the way and have learned a little something new with each relationship. My thinking has evolved quite a bit as I have started to observe some common themes – spoiler alert, these themes all have to do with unnecessarily restrictive and unrealistic constraints or expectations that we put on our selves when it comes to our relationships. (Almost every single divorced man I’ve met has described extended periods of profound loneliness towards the end of their marriage. Many seem apologetic, or sheepish, or maybe a little ashamed to admit it…)

And I’d love to be able to write a little bit about these adventures, the people I’ve met, the things I’ve observed, the things I’ve learned. Not in any kind of salacious way. But still. Writing about that does seem quite personal, no? And I haven’t figured out how to write about those things in this kind of quasi-public space in a way that’s respectful.

It doesn’t help that I’m still quite friendly with most of the people I’ve met these last few years, and there’s the chance that one of them might some day stumble upon this corner of the internet and find themselves reading about themselves. It’s not enough simply to change Frank to a Joseph, is it?

This is a post about letting go.

On Sunday mornings I wake up and, while everyone is still sleeping, I open the newspaper at the kitchen counter and read the obituaries, I solve the sudoku puzzle (the wicked hard one!), and I read the Ask Amy advice column. Every few weeks there will be some version of the “my partner is abusive or unfaithful, but I can’t bring myself to leave him/her” or “my family is the worst, they have always been horrible, what should I do” scenario. And each time I read this stuff I think to myself, “you’ve got ONE life.” What could possibly compel you to stick around to fight that battle after you already know you can’t win?

It’s come up in work too. With me, and with others, I have been asking the question: what do you like most about your job? What about the things you don’t enjoy? When the stuff you don’t enjoy starts to overshadow the stuff you do enjoy, what would make you want to stay in that position?

I’m old enough now – have I mentioned I’m 50 lately? what’s that? I mention it in every post? – that I kind of feel that I’ve earned the privilege of being able to pick and choose a little when it comes to the kind of work I do. That’s the thing I think that I like most about my job. There’s lots about my job that triggers all sorts of insecurities that have threaded their way through my entire professional history, but there’s also stuff that I truly enjoy. There’s stuff that sparks joy.

But I see people, and I read about people in those Sunday morning advice columns, who maybe recognize that there’s a lot about their current situation that no longer has anything positive to offer them, and even though they could choose to walk away or find a new partner or job (yes i know it’s seldom that easy), or define some other possible scenario for themselves, they choose to stay.

That mismatch between the thing they choose to expend their finite life energy on and the things that recharge them, takes a physical and (dare I say it) spiritual toll on them. They’re stressed. Unhappy. Their health deteriorates.

I was wondering the other day if part of the reason people stay in these kind of situations might have to do with the ego. Is it a “damnit, I will fix this. I will make this work” attitude that keeps one from simply accepting the mismatch and letting go?

As I’m typing this, I can hear a voice in my head chiding “does the concept of ‘commitment’ mean nothing here?” and so I feel the need to clarify that I’m not advocating for being lazy. I still think it’s important to put in the work, to make the effort. But at some point there needs to be the self awareness to recognize that the pieces don’t fit together. Life’s too short…

It’s late (for me) and I’m tired after a long day. There’s more to chew on here but I’ll leave that to another day.

_{image from the new yorker (duh)}

I’ve been working on trying to be more patient lately – particularly when it comes to interacting with my mother. After spending a good amount of time working through this with my therapist, she offered up a suggestion: “before you do a thing, take a beat… and then do the opposite.” So what I heard, basically, is that my instincts are so out of whack that the best course of action is a full one-eighty.

It’s a tiny bit of a blow, to be honest. But the worst part of this whole thing is… it seems to be working.

There’s a scene from that tv show Friends when Joey’s teaching a learning annex class on soap opera acting. At the beginning of the first class, Joey hops on to the teacher’s desk at the front of the room and levels with the students. “Before we get started,” he says, “you should know that a number of you are going to have to get much better looking…” Just be someone other than who you are.

_{image from http://andrawebercreative.com/create-blog/2016/9/6/day-253-do-the-opposite}

I started a post earlier this morning about this whole “sandwich generation” thing that I’m living right now. (Picture it: I’m the bologna squeezed between the bread of my kids and my elderly mother.) I’ve come back to it a couple of times throughout the day and still haven’t been able to organize my thoughts in an appealing way. So I’m gonna set that aside for a minute … I’ll come back to it later.

This is something that I’ve gotten good at, I think. I’m over forcing things, you know? But it’s possible I have over-corrected. (I do that a lot.)

I’ve sat in enough church basements in rooms full of strangers to have memorized the serenity prayer. God grand me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. Someone once observed that I seemed to have mastered the “accept the things I cannot change” part. I agreed. But that’s only part of it. It’s important to balance that part out with the whole courage to change the things you can piece as well.

Overall, my que sera sera world view has served me well. I’m grateful for the life I lead – I love my kids, my family. I feel lucky to have the job I do. I live comfortably, I have friends I care deeply about, and I even see my post-divorced social life as a bit of gift. (Albeit a slightly complicated gift, given the COVID-y state of the world and my current multi-gen living sitch.)

There’s a part of me that thinks I should be steering my destiny a little bit more. I’m cool with the zen like state of being that leaf floating down the stream, but occasionally I wish I had a paddle.

When does this “evolved” state cross the line from contentment to just straight up laziness? And how does one go about developing those “make things happen” muscles?

(Also, you know that thing when you can’t remember if you’ve told a story to someone before, and you’re in the middle of telling whatever that story is and wondering if the person you’re talking to is just being polite and indulging you while you repeat yourself? I’m experiencing the blog version of that exact same thing right now. Gonna go scroll through those posts from NINE years ago to see if this particular batch of ramblings is captured somewhere back there already…)

More tomorrow.

I’m restarting again? I mean, again again? Really? I have restarted this attempt to become more disciplined about writing so many times, there should be a word for it. (There probably is, but I’m too lazy to google it.)

I’m not going back to edit or remove any of those older posts, though maybe I should update the “who I am” page since I’m no longer [counting on my fingers here] 39 years old. I’m no longer married. (Divorced since 2015.) Have moved a few times though I’m still living in the same city, returned back to work in the public sector, and recently combined households with my 80 year old mom, so now there are three generations of us under one roof. And a dog.

Last year we saw the beginnings of this COVID pandemic, profound domestic social unrest, and what appeared to be the unraveling of our democratic system. And did I mention that my mother and I moved into this new multi-gen home? I’ve had so many thoughts swirling around in my head recently — from what it takes to create an environment where civil discourse is possible and where we are able to honestly reexamine our own world views in the name of social justice, to how to date as a 50 year old single mom of two teenaged boys living with her elderly mother during a worldwide pandemic — that it just seemed like jotting down some of these ramblings here in this space might be a good idea.

My now-teenaged sons just peeked over my shoulder and they were like “what the heck is that? did you know mom blogged?!?” You have been warned, boys. Read on at your own risk… 😛

***

Oh, and just because I feel like it, here’s a link to something that brought me joy when I saw it the other day. Here’s hoping we all make better choices today. 🙂

If “reflecting” is living life and then looking back on it, does that mean that “flecting” is what you do before you look back?  Is “flecting” a synonym for living?

I just posted this on my facebook page:

Anyone picking up on that big whiff of irony?  See, I’m saying that maybe we should all spend more time DOING and less time documenting what has been done.  And then here I am, apparently just 57 minutes later, documenting that I made this statement.  See?  Clever, no?  Maybe?  Hello?

***

Ima let me finish in a minute, but first I just want to say that I had one of the coolest nights I’ve had in a long time last night.  Certainly one of the most (the only?) spontaneous mini-adventures that I’ve had since … oh, I don’t know … since I decided on a whim to bike down the coast of California when I found myself, unexpectedly, with a week off from my summer job in college.  (Such a cool ride, by the way.)  Anyway, it’s safe to say that a lot of time has come and gone since those relatively carefree days in Santa Cruz, and a lot has changed.  I’m older now.  And I’m a wife.  A mother.  A full time bureaucrat.  (Sob.)

Last night I had another night meeting for work.  Just before the meeting started at 6:30 I heard that Jack White was playing at Red Rocks (and had, in fact, played an impromptu “secret” gig at an old gas station on West Colfax just a few hours before).  Tickets were sold out at the Red Rocks website, but there were still a few available through other outlets.  I texted a few girlfriends to see if anyone was up for a last minute show, but didn’t hear back from anyone until I was already in the meeting and unable to actually purchase the tickets.  By the time the meeting got out at 8:30, all tickets were gone.

I decided to just swing by Red Rocks and take a looksie since it was only about 15 minutes away from my work.  It was super quiet and dark in the hills, the narrow road lined with parked cars on both sides forcing me to sort of creep my way towards the park.  I manged to find the find the box office where they informed me that, actually, they had one ticket left. Yes, please.

I’ve never been to a concert at Red Rocks. I’ve never been to a concert on my own before either.  And it was a blast.

Anyway, at the entrance to the amphitheater, there was a sign that said, essentially, please don’t video the show or take any photos.  Photos will be posted following the show that anyone could access and anyone spotted filming or taking photos of the show would be asked to leave.  Really, it was just a request to, you know, enjoy the show.

I loved that.  I tucked my iphone away and proceeded to just be there and took it all in.

See?  Much better pic than I could have taken on my silly little iphone anyway.

***

Which brings me back to my original thought.  We — or at least I — have gotten very into the habit of snapping pictures of things that strike my fancy and that I think would be interesting to share with others, via Facebook mostly, if I’m being honest.  That habit that I’ve gotten into of stopping while I’m in the moment to step out of that moment to capture it,  I think that very act kind of diminishes the experience somehow.

But then I got to thinking that isn’t this something that writers do, even if in a different way?  We (eek.  feels a little weird to lump myself in with this group, but I’m going to do it anyway) mine everyday life — our experiences, our thoughts, observations, the things we hear about, read about — for material.

Does this act of consciously or unconsciously being on the lookout for good stuff  diminish the experience?  Or is the unobserved life really not worth living after all?

That’s it for tonight.  Back to tuning out.  🙂