see as i saw

So, it's the last day of June.  As blogging goals go, that makes me 50% completed.  (If you want to get technical about it, I'm not quite halfway since there are 182 days in the first six months and 184 days in the next six.)  In some ways, it's unbelievable how quickly half of a year has slipped by.  And some days I'm astounded that I have actually stuck to this goal.  Then I remember how stubborn I can be.

On the flip side, it's also intimidating to think that I have to do this for six more months.  Finding motivation to take photos every day can be challenging; keeping my eyes open for inspiration adds another layer of effort.  Then there's the writing.  Most days, I have little to no idea what I'm going to say until my fingers hit the keys.  It's difficult to fathom that I have 366 days worth of relevant things to say, especially when I allow myself to remember that people are reading this.  No pressure.

Thinking long-term seems taunting and intimidating, and sometimes downright illogical.  So much can change in a week, a day, an instant.  I have always had an issue with that standard job interview question about where you see yourself in five or ten years.  Would I have foreseen the current juncture of my life five years ago?  Not a chance, not even close.  In more ways that blogging, I think I've been focusing too much on that distant long-term future.  Putting pressure on myself to make all of the right decisions now, so that I end up exactly where I want to be somewhere down the road.

It's silly to believe that I have such precise aim.  Instead I need to draw it back in, take life one day at a time.  Put things out in the universe, see which ones stick, and learn from those that don't.  It seems so logical in theory.  Just like blogging though, I'll need to keep myself in check when those long-term thoughts start to rule or motivation flags.

This morning I somehow started entertaining a barrage of thoughts about change and evolution (not the origin of species type), how it's easy to not put much stock in a tweak here and a nudge there.  All of a sudden, looking back, you realize how different things used to be.  It's that perspective that has a tendency to make me think, "I'm so old."

It started innocently enough.  I needed a stamp to mail my rent (because I always forget to schedule for my bank to send it in time) and I had no idea what postage costs anymore.  Thanks to Google, something that didn't exist for a majority of my lifetime, that wasn't difficult to discern.  And it's $0.45, in case you're wondering.  My first thought was, "I remember when I was a kid and stamps were only $0.29."  This segued into reminiscence of gas being less than a dollar a gallon, $0.25 payphone calls, using encyclopedias and reference books to research and write essays, etc., etc.

Walking back from the post office, I was listening to music on my phone and stopped to take a photo for this very blog.  And suddenly I was a little bit in awe of the technology that I held.  So many capabilities in one little dude.  We're literally attached at the hip every day.  Somehow, again, I managed to spend most of my life without one because smartphones didn't exist.

I know that I'm not the only one who rolls my eyes when my parents are clueless about technology or intimidated to just click buttons and see what happens.  Now I'm wondering what might happen in the next twenty years of my life that could leave me in the dust.  Hitting adolescence in the boom of the technological age is sort of like starting to learn a foreign language when you're a young child.  You're not scared of it and just absorb it better.  It will be interesting to see what the next generation schools us on.

I'm so hot right now that I'm thinking about packing up and moving to northern Canada.  Tonight.  And, yet, I find myself hyperaware of how grateful I am for the air conditioning in my car and my apartment.  There's an extension of the gratitude when I consider that even though I don't have a job, I can still afford to have that car and that apartment.

The initial catalyst for this unconventional journey was to recalibrate and find the life direction that I really wanted.  By life direction, I know that I meant job.  Looking back on the past six months, and taking into consideration that I still don't really have an answer on the job front, I know that it has been more about personal development.

I've always been inside my own head, sometimes to a detrimental extent.  Nearly everything that drifts into my mind is analyzed, correlated and cataloged.  Somehow I let myself believe that this meant I knew myself, that I understood my world.  It amazes me to see how much there is to learn about myself, though.  I've discovered things that I'm far too sensitive about, things that I haven't been nearly appreciative enough about, and things that I've been unnecessarily clinging to.

It's so easy to get caught up in the daily grind, in our patterns, without turning a discerning eye on why we're doing the things we do or if we're on the right track.  Don't get me wrong, this has not been the easiest six months of my life.  I wouldn't call it a joyride by any stretch of the imagination.  In fact, some days it's an uphill battle.  But like any experience in life, I know that this stage is giving me necessary experience to reach the next one.  Sometimes I just get a little anxious for the next stage to arrive.

You know what's bad for productivity?  Wimbledon.  Or any Grand Slam tournament, for that matter.  Even though I wake up before my 8:00am alarm, it's only so that I can turn on ESPN2.  I tell myself that I can focus on tennis while I eat breakfast and drink my coffee, then I'll leave it on in the background while I accomplish things.  There's just one small problem, tennis commandeers my attention every time I get started.  Then I find myself migrating toward the couch, pretending that it's just to watch the end of the set.

Based on the fact that I'm not exactly a women's tennis enthusiast, you would think that I could get something done when they switch coverage to women's matches.  You would be wrong.  That's because there's a wonderful little innovation known as espn3.com, allowing me to choose the match I want to watch.  Sometimes I'm my own worst enemy, concurrently putting one men's match on my computer and another on my TV screen.

Why can't tennis enthusiast be a job title?

Each weekday morning the American Advertising Federation emails what they call a "Smart Brief" to their subscriber list.  Essentially, it's a recap of major and current advertising-related news.  I've been a subscriber since my undergraduate days and pay varying degrees of attention to the emails.  On a typical day, I skim the headlines and occasionally read a couple of the abstracts.  Once or twice a week, I actually click to read a full article.

Today I clicked on a headline, "Best Small Towns for Business in America", under the American Express Open Forum section.  I did a little light reading on how start-ups don't necessarily need to be located in urban meccas anymore, because of digital capabilities.  Skimmed through the list of cities that attract this crowd and why.  Then I checked out the "You might also like" article recommendations.

A mixture of curiosity and annoyance greeted me when I saw an article entitled "Don't Hire People Who Went to Grad School".  That seemed like a pretty unwarranted blanket statement.  Clearly my possession of a graduate degree can't be a disservice to my job search...right?  I read the woman's article and reserved judgment until the end (but I'll give you my opinion at the beginning).

Final verdict: I understand most of her arguments, but I don't agree with her assertion that "it's a decent bet to stay away from candidates with a graduate degree". Sure, some people do go to grad school just to put off real life for a few more semesters. On the other hand, some people really are just passionate about a field or learning in general, so they extend their education. These may also be the employees with an appetite for lifelong learning, always seeking to extend their skill set, ultimately becoming increasingly valuable to an organization. Again, point taken, there are a lot of graduate programs that are not structured in a way to successfully prime students for the professional environment. The same applies to undergraduate programs, though; should we tell employers to eschew Bachelor degrees also?

I can't speak to her arguments about MBA or law degrees, since I haven't personally been enrolled in either type of program. The points that she raises sound like great hard-hitting interview questions: Why did you spend $100,000 to learn about entrepreneurship rather than forming a start-up? Outside of your knowledge of case law, how have you accrued the requisite skills for forming a successful law practice? There's just no way I can buy into writing off a candidate with a graduate education before giving them a chance to demonstrate their value.

Stepping down from my soapbox now.

After $418 in brakes, a full day waiting around for the shop to finish, and $50 in gas (truly insult to injury), I wasn't in the mood for quality time with the highway.  So it's one more night in the casa de mis padres, and a glass of Spanish red wine for good measure.

There's nothing like a large and unexpected expense to rev up your motivation to find full-time work again.  Conversely, there's nothing like searching for the job you don't know that you want to leave you confused and no further advanced.  That's how I spent today's waiting hours, blindly searching and groping for answers and direction.

I wish that jobs were searchable by the company culture you're looking for.  From there, I think I'd be better able to scan the various job titles and decide what I'd like to pursue.  Today I read a blog post that mentioned a woman who used social media to find a new job.  Here's the twist: she didn't advertise herself as seeking a job, but rather as hiring a new boss.  Maybe I'm relying to heavily on the odds that standard channels of job searching will provide results.  Non-traditional means and outside the box tactics could provide better results, especially taking into consideration my preference for that non-traditional mentality.  Of course, I probably have to figure out at least an industry or two to focus on first.

Tomorrow marks the first day of a required cringe-worthy expense during my non-employment phase.  Thus far I've watched my finances carefully, sticking within and even under my allotted monthly budget.  Renewing my license plates was a bit irksome, especially since Illinois decided to jack up the prices some more.  I've been dragging my feet on renewing my car's city sticker.  Justifying that $85 is so difficult when I spent all of last year with the sticker sitting my glovebox instead of adhered to my windshield.

And it is only fitting that tomorrow's expense also revolves around my automobile.  New brakes.  Let's hope the tally stops at $150.  In all fairness to the Grand Prix, after six years together this is only the second replacement that was needed (tires were last summer).  Car ownership is expensive.  Add in the monthly insurance payments, which are higher due to the mere fact that I reside in a high-risk city, and the gas prices...I start to have heart palpitations.  Somehow, I can't quite conceive of life without my car though.

So, I'll work through the pain of swiping my credit card.  I'll be thankful that new brakes mean I'm safer on the road.  And I'll remind myself that at least I'm accruing travel points on my credit card for that purchase.

Decluttering, unpacking, setting up and breaking down.  It's been an active week helping out other folks.  My body is starting to argue with me about it, requesting a day of lounging around.  Things always seem to be go, go, go when I'm home for the weekend though.  Maybe I'll reserving an upcoming weekday for reading and napping in the park.

Spending the day at my cousin's graduation party brought me in contact with the extended network of family friends, those people who make a cameo every few years.  They all wanted to know two things: how I like living in Chicago and what I'm doing with my career.  I like Chicago just fine and I'm taking the latter day by day.  The open-ended response appeased some and perplexed others.

Today was one of those days where I almost just wanted to pick a direction, any direction, because not knowing felt so taxing.  Then I reminded myself that my reaction was elicited from a collection of external forces.  In reality, I have purposefully chosen the path that I'm taking and there are reasons for it.  I'll find the appropriate next step in my journey.  I still believe that.

My brother graduated from high school in 1999, marking the first member of our generation to have a graduation party.  I appointed myself as lead sign maker.  Standard letter-size paper indicated trash receptacles, can recycling (because we do that in Michigan, $0.10 each), the assortment of beverages in each cooler, etc.  Poster board demarcated the major turns to arrive at our house and clearly announced that the party was there.  These were not quickly scrawled in black permanent marker; I had an arsenal of colors and put block letters and doodles to good use.

At the time, my five-year-old cousin was in awe of how I came up with these creations.  She begged me to make her a sign on a spare poster board.  That sign, bearing her name and assorted girly doodles, hung on her bedroom door for probably the next ten years.  This year it was her turn to graduate, and tomorrow it's her party.  Several months ago, I promised that my gift to her would be something creative and homemade.  This is my final product.

My original concept didn't pan out, because I couldn't find the necessary materials.  Then I realized that I have absolutely no clue what eighteen-year-old girls are into these days.  So, I turned to the new one-stop shop for crafting, clothing, food, and any other miscellany you can imagine - Pinterest.  A search for "dorm" pulled up hundreds of results, girls building boards with their dream dorm decor.  One running theme seemed to involve letters, monograms and words as art.  Based on that and the knowledge of a bright color scheme, I made the rest up as I went along.

Now that this project is over, I'll have to find another creative outlet.  Maybe some day I'll even take the time to make art for myself instead of someone else.

In an ideal world, I would have a much more interesting photo for today.  I had grand expectations of stopping over at Northwestern's campus as I passed through Evanston.  In reality, there was no time or energy for such endeavors; so you get a snapshot taken from my driver's seat at a red light.  It is in Evanston though.

I was on the road by 7:00am (it then took only an hour to go twenty miles - insert sarcasm font), then I spent nine hours unpacking a home for a family of five, followed by another hour-long commute.  I decided to skip the highway route on the journey home for two reasons: 1) an accident on the Eden would have made my commute time indefinite and 2) the thought of zig zagging around back roads for the scenic route sounded appealing.

Today's deep thoughts on life were more like reaffirmations...and not that deep.  First, I don't think I could make it living in the city and working in the burbs.  That whole notion of an easier reverse commute is a myth (as opposed to suburbs to city).  My speedometer rarely topped 20 mph this morning.  And second, people just flat out own way more belongings than they could possibly need.  Clearly I am not exempt, although 550 square feet of living space helps stifle the urge to invest in material goods.  Every time I do an unpack or organizing job, I want to come home and purge "stuff".  At least I have a small head start on the game with my nearly obsessive need to organize and contain; that makes accumulation less likely.  It's also helpful that I have long since renounced willingness to partake in ownership of knick knacks and tchotchkes.

The way that some girls like to walk through a clothing store and run their hands over a silk dress or a leather handbag, or how some guys walk through a car lot tracing the curves of a luxury automobile, I like to walk through art supply stores. Paint brushes and canvases practically beg for a swish of my hand. My eyes are alert and hungry as I pass through every aisle; it doesn't matter that I have no idea how to etch or sculpt, I still want to look. Without self-restraint, I could spend a small fortune.

This has always been my relationship with art supplies. As much as I love perusing, creative daydreaming, and bringing those daydreams to fruition, I don't think it's a passion that I want to turn into a monetary enterprise. This kind of creativity is highly personal to me. It's a thoughtful process and usually a rather effortful one. I love to create for myself and for people I love, people that I know well enough to use their personalities as creative inspiration. When I was five or ten years old, my mom was hanging my artwork on the refrigerator or at her desk. Never would I have thought that at the age of 28, she would still be hanging my art on her walls and I would still be delivering handmade birthday, Christmas and Mother's Day cards every year.

So, I don't want to make a career out of my art passion in a direct way (i.e. selling art). Maybe what I should be taking from this little reverie is that I could excel at something that channels my creative urges in some other way. Even without formal education in graphic or web design, there have to be job choices infused with creative needs.

My inbox gets hit at least once each day with what I call "food for thought" emails.  These are blogs I've subscribed to or email lists I've joined that run a gamut of topics from motivation, pursuing the unconventional work life, personal finance, and more.  Their essential function is to make me think, acting as catalysts for change and inspiration.

Some days these emails just reassure me that either I'm not completely insane...or there are at least other people out there as crazy as me.  Today's blog post from Escape the City referenced a short article by a guy named Daniel H. Pink.  Essentially, he wanted to point out the shift in what motivates work enjoyment and productivity in the 21st century, and urge employers to upgrade.  Here's how my email "read and response" sequence went:

Read: Autonomy - the desire to direct our own lives
Response: Yes
Read: Mastery - the urge to get continuously better at something that matters
Response: YES
Read: Purpose - the yearning to do what we do in the service of something larger than ourselves
Response: YES!!!

My final consensus: this is precisely the must-have list that guides my job search.  I'm going to have to pull out the needle in a haystack metaphor here.  Already pretty convinced that this combo is a rare find, this article confirms that others are seeking and not finding it.  Instead of letting this scarcity discourage me, I prefer to appreciate the fact that I'm not alone in seeking these elements as the building blocks of my work life.

I've mentioned it before, but I hold tight as long as I can before turning on my air conditioning.  At the present moment, it's 93 degrees and I haven't caved.  Somehow I've managed to make it feel like a challenge, like I don't want to lose to my body's biological need to cool down.  Ultimately, I know I'll give in when the afternoon sunlight starts pouring in my west-facing windows, ratcheting the discomfort level up to unbearable.

As much as I prefer fresh air to conditioned air, it sometimes amazes me that I grew up in a house devoid of the option to synthetically decrease the temperature.  We subsisted on keeping the shades closed, fans of various types (ceiling, oscillating, attic), and the sprinkler in the backyard.  That was the glory of being a kid and living in suburbia.  During those summer days, there was no reason I couldn't live in my bathing suit and frolic in the icy hose water at any time I pleased.  I have this inclination that it would go over a little differently if I brought that trend back to life outside of my urban dwelling...at the age of 28.

It wasn't until my grandparents retired that I gave serious consideration to exactly what that meant.  They were excommunicating full-time employment from their lives.  The thing that accounted for most of the waking hours in their week would become a non-entity.  How were they possibly going to fill their time?

Now I get it.  When a job disappears, there seem to be a slew of other activities waiting in the wings to stop up the gaps.  I just caught myself thinking, "I have a lot going on this week, it's going to fly by."  Then I had to stop and see the humor in that.

Part of my agenda consists of paid projects, there is a healthy list of personal projects to tackle before Friday morning, there are people to see and a happy birthday call to make; all of this before getting back in my car on Friday for a return trip to the mitten state.

Here's my challenge.  In the midst of all these projects and rendezvous, I need to try to stay on task with the new-ish habits I'm trying to ingrain - working out, Spanish and Codecademy.  I'll consider this a dry run of the prioritizing that I'll need to put in place when I do return to the full-time work world.  When that day comes, I will be strictly enforcing a "no personal priorities left behind" rule.

My dad left the police force somewhere around 1997, but this piece of memorabilia lives on in my parents house.  Much like the ash gray t-shirt I still wear that bears the same logo.

Since my parents no longer live in my childhood home, or even the same city, coming home has become a juxtaposition of familiar and new.  For the most part, the material items representing my childhood and adolescence have either migrated to my own home or been purged.  My mom has a similar love for photography, but the type focused around people.  Those reminders of years past hang everywhere in my parents' home, sometimes eliciting a smile and a fond memory, other times a shake of the head and amazement that anyone would wear that outfit.

There are certain creations and art projects that my mom couldn't bear to part with, and they still have a place of honor near her desk.  For some reason, my prom dresses still hang in a basement closet.  I'm sure if I dug through a couple of boxes in storage, I might unearth some other "treasures".  For now, I'll passively sit on the couch and sip from my Novi Police coffee mug, absorbing the morning sun.  I wish it came with a donut, too.

Although it's not technically summer, I feel confident in qualifying any day hovering around 90 degrees as summertime.  As stifling as those days can feel, I still have a difficult time succumbing to air conditioning.  The warm and sunny weather seems so fleeting in the Midwest that I try to appreciate it, even when sweat is dripping down my back.  Plus, I've learned not to underestimate the power of a shady spot on a hot day.  And the best hot summer days end in cool summery nights.

Today was one of those days, spent in the glory of Pure Michigan.  It's no secret that I have a soft spot for my home state.  The older I get, and the longer I live away from here, the more I learn to appreciate the little things that I've always loved.  There's a simple pleasure in driving at night, windows down, the smell of summer air whipping in the windows.  Mom & pop ice cream places with only a walk-up window, willing to sell me a decent portion of soft serve for under $2.00.  And the even smaller details: the smell of hose water on a hot concrete driveway, complete strangers acknowledging each others' existence when they pass on the sidewalk, and there's even something about country music from the late 90s while driving down a dirt road.

Don't worry, Chicago, I still love you.  And when winter rolls around, even Pure Michigan commercials are virtually powerless.  My allegiances head south; not Florida-style snowbird south, but Latin America south.  So many love affairs.

Wrigley Field is practically in my backyard (abstractly speaking), so I've been by it countless times.  During my years in Chicago, I've even "watched" games from four or five of the rooftops just beyond the outfield (those are more for eating and drinking than the game itself).  Somehow I had never managed to step foot inside that historic little ballpark though.  What better occasion to make my first visit than a visit from my hometown sluggers?

I think the baseball gods were in agreement with this last second plan hatched with my dad.  The weather was perfect: high 70s, sunny, nice lake breeze.  The game was sold out (scalpers were looking for $100-300 per ticket) and we managed to snag some seats for face value ($32.50).  Those seats were right behind home plate, but the view was slightly obstructed...so we upgraded ourselves about twenty rows closer during the third inning.  Verlander was pitching and the Tigers sealed the win with a homer in the 9th inning.  I couldn't have constructed the scene better myself.

Cubs games are so much better when I have a vested interest in one of the teams playing.  I don't think it will matter how long I live in Chicago, these teams will never really feel like mine.  It seems safe to assume that this extends to locales other than Chicago.  East Lansing and Detroit branded me for life; I feel that it would be difficult for any city/team to usurp or even join them.

Back in 1980-something, at a ripe young age between four and six, I formed a habit.  One night a week, I stayed up past my bed time and watched a TV show that was completely over my head.  Dallas.  Why my parents let me do this, I still don't know.  Besides getting to stay up late, I can still remember inexplicable joy in the ritual of watching something that I was completely incapable of grasping.

I knew the characters' names, I could vaguely summarize a dramatic scene, but my crowning achievement was memorizing the tune of the theme song.  And every week, about five or ten minutes before show time, I would bound into whatever room my parents were occupying and regale them with my rendition of the song...on my plastic Fisher Price kazoo.

Starting tonight, TNT is reintroducing Dallas to the TV-viewing public.  I have my DVR set for two reasons: nostalgia compels me (even though I no longer have the aforementioned kazoo to usher the show in each week) and my favorite childhood babysitter's younger brother has a role in the show. So, tonight history repeats itself in a way.  We'll see if I'm a Dallas fan or if I should just go back to fondly remembering the kazoo days.

A word that I run across with astounding frequency in my quest for a direction is "passion" - in its various forms.  Everyone seems to self-assuredly instruct you to follow your passion and voila!  Happiness.  Just waiting there like a pot of gold at the end of rainbow.  There's a reason that I used that particular metaphor.  Like that pot of gold, my passion and the pathway to happiness seem to be somewhat elusive thus far.  How does someone not know what they're passionate about?  I'm starting to feel a little bit like Julia Roberts in Runaway Bride, not knowing my favorite type of eggs.  If you asked me to list off things or activities that I like, simple enough.  But that line between "like" and "passionate" seems wavy and abstract.

Today I was in the midst of my recurring Tuesday Codeacademy lessons, CSSing like an amateur and taking notes on declarations and selectors, and I had a thought.  Maybe the path to figuring out my passions starts with small leads.  Perhaps this belies my inner geek, but I eagerly await the hourly coding tutorials that I've assigned myself every Tuesday and Thursday.  And the daily half hour of Spanish grammar, vocabulary or verbs.  I don't have an ultimate purpose for these pursuits beyond wanting to acquire the knowledge.  I can hope that one of them is a catalyst, guiding me down that elusive path.  Even if neither of them is "the one", it's a good reminder to just keep doing, trying and learning.

My dad has a Facebook account that I know he peruses, but rarely posts updates.  We could say he exercises the quality over quantity tenet.  Today he posted a link to the video embedded below, an English teacher delivering a high school commencement speech.  I think he's been toiling inside of my head for the past six months.  Either that or he already knew all of the things that I've just discovered.  Where were speeches like this when I was setting out into the world?  I, for one, would've appreciated the bold-faced truth to roll around in my mind.  So, the video is nearly thirteen minutes, but I found it a worthy use of my time.  If you'd rather forego, that's your call.  I'll at least leave you with this quote from the 8:55 mark:

"I urge you to do, whatever you do, for no other reason than you love it and believe in its importance. [...] Resist the easy comforts of complacency, the specious glitter of materialism, the narcotic paralysis of self-satisfaction."

A recent conversation brought up a latent item on my to-do list: volunteering.  I have long wanted to get involved with an organization or cause and make a meaningful difference.  There were brief spasms of motivation, passive internet browsing for opportunities.  At the end of the day, I always tended to lean on my job as a crutch.  Weekdays were a time crunch.  On weekends I was "exhausted" and wanted the time to relax.  Loads of excuses, no action.

With this in the forefront of my mind, I decided to spend fifty minutes of my day watching Undercover Millionaire, a show that I was vaguely aware of.  Let's get something straight: I'm far from a millionaire and am not capable of emulating that whole writing big checks part of the show.  What really stuck with me was their tactic for finding organizations in whichever town they set foot in.  Hit the pavement and walk into any place that looks like a non-profit or has a sign loudly yelling, "NEED VOLUNTEERS!"  Yet another instance where I've let my overthinking turn into lack of action. Sure, there may be some things that my skill set is better suited to or an organization that really hits home for me.  Honestly, though, no matter who I help...I'm helping.  And isn't that the point?

In an effort to delay turning on my money-sucking AC unit, the best option seemed to be leaving my apartment.  A dousing of sunscreen and swimsuit later, I started making forward progress toward the beach while steeling myself for the mass of humanity that I would encounter.  At noon, there were already enough people making noise and kicking sand around to spoil that tranquil feeling that I hoped against hope to find.  An hour later, when a couple plopped their party down about nine inches from my towel, not even my iPod could help me drift away.  In an act of pure stubborn perseverance, I dragged out my stay for another hour.

Since I wasn't ready to go back to my hotbox, I wandered into a slice of park and found a shady spot under a tree.  I alternated between reading and closing my eyes, until a group of couples decided to bust out a game of bocce on the lawn around me.  Time to admit defeat and call it quits.

I started dawdling home at a pace that was fitting for the temperature, passing a young girl selling lemonade en route.  She didn't even try to convince me to buy a cup as I passed by, just stared at the ground.  That was my first thought, quickly followed by the completely hypothetical scenario of me having a kid with a lemonade stand.  Without a doubt, I'd have them one step shy of writing out a business plan.  Requirements would include defining their unique selling proposition, developing signage/attention grabbers, a rehearsed sales pitch, and an understanding of customer service.  Obviously this would all be pared down to a comprehensible level for a young child.  But if you're going to let them run a money-making endeavor, you might as well teach them a little bit about business.  Plus, just think about how much better they'll feel about the enterprise if it's a success!  I'm only thinking of the kids.

My cousin graduated from high school this year and she obliged me to put my creative streak to work and make her a gift.  I hatched the idea months ago, at first believing that I had plenty of time to act on it.  About a month ago, I started seeking supplies without much luck.  Now her graduation party is two weeks away, my supply stash is still scant, and I've already scoured most of the places that I can think of to find what I need.  Now I'm finally admitting to myself that it may be time to come up with a Plan B.

As I thought about this situation more (a.k.a. overanalyzed), it dawned on me that it's a side effect of a recurring trait.  Single-minded focus.  When I make a decision on what I like or want to do, it's almost like I've set it in stone; my path is decided.  It's not quite the same as being closed-minded, I just forget that I'm allowed to exercise more than one idea at a time.  My frustration over figuring out my future makes more sense when I view it in this light.  Instead of keeping myself on a pretty straight and narrow path of choices (the usual), a whole spectrum is open.  And there is such a variable array of new options that pique my interest.  I keep thinking that I have to pick one and surge forth, committing myself to it.  Old habits die hard, but I'll continue chopping away at it.

I would like to pat myself on the back for not only finishing the first book since I declared my reading challenge, but for accidentally choosing the LONGEST book on the list to get started on my mission.  Three weeks into reading it, I was struck by how odd it was that the Kindle app told me I was only 60% finished.  Off to Amazon.com to check the page count...656.  For some reason that knowledge got me hyper-motivated, and I raced through the last 40%.

I have heard grumblings about the inconveniences of redeeming frequent flyer miles, whether it was coming from a rewards-based credit card commercial or an actual consumer.  Frankly, I didn't even attempt to accrue airline miles until a few years ago when my travel frequency (and distances) hit an uptick.  Upon nearly closing in on the magic number that qualifies me to fly for "free", I'm learning some things.

A trip to Central America or a subset of South American countries will cost you 15,000 miles each way. My sights set on Ecuador, and my points balance around 26,000, I was practically ready to pack my bags.  Until I started perusing the rewards flight schedule.  On about two days each month, I can find a flight from Chicago O'Hare to either of the international airports in Ecuador at a cost of 15,000 miles.  Across a span of six months, I could not find a single day that would grant me access back to the United States for less than 30,000 miles.  So, I guess that debunks the 15,000 miles each way story.

I tried looking into flights on another airline within the same alliance, because word on the street is that they'll accept your miles, too.  Unfortunately, their site provided me with a less than friendly user experience and I simply gave up.  A final attempt at creative thinking was my last ditch effort for the day.  What if I redeemed 15,000 miles for my outgoing flight, then paid for the one-way flight back home?  As it turns out, that one-way return flight cost only $88 less than an entire round-trip ticket.  Hardly worth it.

The good news is that through all of this, I'm pretty positive that Ecuador will be my next destination.  It's just the when and how long that remain to be determined.

LinkedIn sends me a lot of emails each week.  Sometimes it's jobs that they think I'll be interested in, although I never have been.  Then there are the trending articles that may be of interest, and sometimes actually are.  This doesn't take into consideration the emails generated by the alumni groups that I'm a member of or recent changes made to the profiles of people in my network.  Oh, and then there are the free trials of premium services that they want me to try.  Moral of the story: I don't necessarily find value in most of these emails, but I tend to open each one anyways...just in case.  Today that decision felt justified.

Attempting to sell me on a new book, "the start-up of YOU", LinkedIn provided a free preview of a chapter.  Perhaps you received the same email.  Although the excerpt didn't necessarily tell me things that I didn't already know, it drove home some things that I've been wavering on recently.  My rational self knows these things, but a succinct reminder never hurts:

"You won't encounter accidental good fortune - you won't stumble upon opportunities that rocket your career forward - if you're lying in bed.  When you do something, you stir the pot and introduce the possibility that seemingly random ideas, people, and places will collide and form new combinations and opportunities."


"'Keeping your options open' is frequently more of a risk than committing to a plan of action.  Many failures in results can be chalked up to people trying to keep their options open.  Making a decision reduces opportunities in the short run, but increases opportunities in the long run."


I've been overwhelmed by the sheer number of possibilities in front of me - and I've been afraid to choose the wrong one.  Depending on how you twist it, though, there may be no such thing as "wrong".  Instead, if I don't hit a final destination on the first try, I can look at it as a stepping stone.  A perspective that I've always managed to have in looking back on my life is not regretting any of my experiences.  I can see how aspects of each one led me to greater and happier places.  Now I need to employ that attitude in looking forward to prospective opportunities.

It just so happened that this elementary school in my neighborhood is rocking a sign that summed up this mindset perfectly.  Thus, today's photo.

Something peculiar dawned on me this week.  What used to be an encompassing and dedicated passion has slowly shifted further down the priority list.  It's French Open time and even though I don't have a day job, I have only amassed a couple of hours watching those guys slide around on the red clay.  Partial blame can be attributed to the heaviest coverage being on the Tennis Channel, which had to be struck from my finances.  The ESPN coverage window only lasts from 5:00-9:00am, which is less than convenient.

Regardless, I find myself looking at the draw and seeing so many unrecognizable names.  That can only mean that I've been paying much less attention over the past three years.  Inexcusable.  What's even more dismal is my distance from playing the sport myself.  That whole membership at a racquet club idea backfired in my face.  Public courts in Chicago seem to be more of a waiting game than an actual opportunity to hit balls.  And my strings are so loose that I'd be impressed if my racquet could push the ball over the net from the baseline.

So many excuses.  Unacceptable.  Maybe I don't have the time to dedicate to researching the best and brightest upcoming talent, like I did back in the high school and college days.  I likely can't dedicate ten hour days to watching matches.  And if I want to snag some court time, I'll have to put up with the parameters that the city necessitates.  But ultimately, you have to make a priority of the things that mean something to you.  Tennis, whether watching or playing, has always brought me joy.  So, tomorrow I'm taking the first step toward reigniting the flame.  There's no reason that I can't wake up an hour earlier and spend some quality time with the French Open.  Now, hopefully there are men's matches on at that hour.

For a moment in time, or rather three minutes, I was back in Playa Sámara today.  Standard practice on a beautiful day tends to include a park bench, book and iPod.  Today I was pleasantly surprised to find that the fountain in my favorite park space was actively flowing again, after being out of commission for over a year.  Settling in on the closest bench, I sometimes felt a light mist carried over on the breeze.  Then, at some point, Jack Johnson's voice cut into my focus on the words in my book.  He was lamenting Sitting, Waiting, Wishing and I, in turn, drifted into a reverie.

Next to the little piece of beach that I claimed during my three week stay was Gusto Beach.  The bar menu may have been outside of my budget, but I enjoyed their tunes all day long for free.  Every morning around 11:00am they cycled through a mix that included a Jack Johnson block.  The chill vibe of his music correlated with my state of mind.

So, in that moment on the bench this morning, with the sun shining down on my face, all I had to do was close my eyes.  Images of my daily beach life flashed so vividly behind my eyes; it seemed as though I was just there yesterday.  The trifecta of palm trees that served as my sun protection.  The Tico's Surf School hut with the guys' hammocks strung between the beams.  The exhausted novice surfers precariously balancing boards on their heads.  The dogs without leashes and sometimes seemingly without owners.  If I didn't listen too closely, even the sound of the fountain was slightly reminiscent of the Pacific waves.

But the song ended.  I opened my eyes and saw Chicago.  And I was content with that, because the day and the setting were still beautiful in their own way.  Honestly, it was just nice to transport myself back to such an amazing point in time - and then to think about how I can take steps toward the making next memory for that mental catalog.

Although my body aches and I may have a sliver of glass in my hand, I would say that I'm ending the day pleasantly content. The sun is shining, warmth returned to the Midwest, my neighbor is jamming to the best of Marvin Gaye, and it's a soothing sound drifting through my windows with the breeze.
Today's mission was an organizing job with a focus on unpacking. Interesting revelations occur when a couple moves in together for the first time. Especially when it's in a city apartment. Too much stuff, too little space. Only the man of the house was around for the unpack, so any divesting of material goods would have to wait for his lady's permission. Organization became a backseat activity to simply making the space livable for now. After eight hours, we achieved that. It was quite a feat, but he was happy with the progress.

And me, well, I was happy for a job well done.  It didn't hurt my mood that it was an active payday. To really tip the scales, after I was already brimming with contentment, the client extended a very generous gesture in the form of Rioja. That's gratitude you can't refuse!

Once upon a time I worked in a building downtown...in a cubicle.  Since I walked away from it four and a half months ago, I have not laid eyes on said building.  Until today.  No, I did not go inside.  I did, however, casually pass a former co-worker in the crosswalk.  We exchanged hellos while he looked at me with a mix of familiarity and confusion.  Similarly to my other occasional trips to the Loop, it felt like an old acquaintance seen through new eyes.  Something that was once a part of my everyday is now relegated to such a minor role.

The itch to buy a dSLR camera has picked its way back to the forefront of my mind.  I'm blaming it on all of the Canons we ran into during the jaunt in Traverse City last weekend.  I'm pragmatic enough to realize that it would be foolish to drop a load of cash on a camera without gainful employment.  There is a small freelance cash flow in my life, as well as a couple part-time opportunities that have piqued my interest this week...still not enough to greenlight a brand new dSLR set up.  Key words in that sentence: brand new.

Since I'll be starting from square one anyways, what harm is there in a beginner like me purchasing a "pre-owned" camera body?  People are trading up camera bodies on a regular basis, and they lose value much like a car does.  Once I've mastered the learning curve and returned to a stage of gainful employment, I can join the trade-up crowd, too.  Until then, I think I've struck a nice compromise with myself.  Don't worry, Google is there to teach me what to look for when shopping for a "pre-owned" camera.  It may not be a bad idea to find an experienced user to give me some input.