see as i saw

I have a hobby.  It's called planning trips, and it involves the enthusiastic perusal of various guidebooks.  So I decided to partake in a little preliminary scouting trip to the book store this afternoon.  Honestly, all I was after was a descriptive breakdown of the areas in and around San Juan, Puerto Rico.  You know, touristy and developed versus quiet and untamed.

That mission was accomplished, but with an interesting twist of events.  As I sat enmeshed in my travel-centric bubble, an elderly gentleman with a walker approached the leather armchair next to me and claimed the spot.  Every once in a while I could hear him emit an effortful grunt as he repositioned or a small burp as he drank his coffee.  As soon as he said, "Excuse me, Miss?", I knew he was talking to me.

He wanted to know if I was taking a trip to Puerto Rico.  When I affirmed, he began to draw out a slow sequence of thoughts on places he thought I might enjoy.  As he tried to describe the forest to me, I mentioned that I had been to Costa Rica.  I think that's when he decided I was a kindred spirit.

I soon learned that he had also been to Costa Rica and that he really loved the vibrancy of Rio.  There was a touch of emotion in his voice and gaze when he commented on his connection to time spent in the Amazon.  I listened attentively until we both lapsed back into our books.

When it came time to leave, I made eye contact and smiled, intending to tell him to have a good evening.  But he had one more nugget for me.  He told me that if I ever found someone to travel with me, I should make a point to fly into Cuzco and make my way to Machu Picchu.  I assured him that this was already on my bucket list and we bade one another farewell.

In the same moment, I felt both sad and affirmed.  It struck me that his adventuring days were over, although not by choice.  I didn't want to think about the fact that this infatuation of mine can come to any end.  On the other hand, his passion was still so palpable as he spoke and overflowed with a need to share.

I'm already like that now; I imagine that maybe some day when I'm approaching 80 years old, I'll be just as eager to throw my two cents in the mix.  Although by then there may be no such thing as book stores as a locale for my conversation starter.  That's another sad thought that I won't dare tread on right now.

In the past eight months, I have spent a lot of time thinking and nearly as much time tracking down and following blogs that echo my mental wavelength.

In one of the posts that I read today, the writer first illustrates a baby's journey to its first steps, followed by a reminder of the plight it took for the baby to get to that stage.  Crawling, falling, dragging him or herself back up to try again.  The crux of the post is that we essentially spend our lives in this same cycle, only the steps and falls are less literal.

I know there were college days when I assumed that my life would be on a skillfully chosen path to bliss soon after walking away with a diploma in my hand.  At the age of 28, I still feel perplexed by my portions of my life on a regular basis.  While that used to frustrate me, I'm now learning to accept it and appreciate the journey.

By taking the time to look back on so many years and events in my life, I'm able to hone in on the value that each of them has created.  The path may not be a straight and even line, but as long as I'm growing and learning then everything is going exactly as it should.

There's a relatively well-used phrase referring your "formative years" being well behind you, commonly used in referring to adolescence, but more specifically denoting your journey to maturity.  In that case, I'm not sure that my formative years will ever fully be behind me.  I intend to continue learning, trying, doing, crawling, falling and walking for as long as I have the power to do so.

A few months my great aunt had a stroke that left her incapable of ever swallowing on her own again.  Approaching 90 years old, she has always been a vivacious and strong woman, living alone in her own house for many years.  The side effects of the stroke took her quality of life and made her feel as if she wasn't really living anymore.

So last week she asked them to remove her feeding tube, which would inevitably only give her another week or two to live.  My grandma is by her sister's side daily, while my mom visits a couple times a week.  I've made sure to call and talk to her, disregarding my own feeling of awkwardness at discerning proper topics of conversation in such circumstances.

My mom called today to tell me that they're putting her on morphine this afternoon and she doesn't have much time left.  All my great aunt talks about is how happy she has been to hear from and see so many people in the past week.

There wasn't much to say when I called today, but I made sure to cover the things that are most important: I love you & goodbye.  Although I'm typically pretty stoic with emotions, my throat seized up and my eyes brimmed over with tears as I squeaked out these words.

Lessons reinforced today: It's worth putting aside your nonsense to ensure that important people know what they mean to you.  Live a life that reaps the kind of love where everyone is knocking down your door and making your phone ring to make sure you know it.

It's a few days early yet, but I have Olympic fever.  In fact, it's quite possibly as severe as the Grand Slam fever that I get four times per tennis season.  The kind where you want to be glued to not only the TV screen, but also any available computer monitors, ensuring that you catch as many pivotal moments of athleticism as possible.

I vaguely remember the 1992 Summer Olympics in Barcelona.  Without a doubt, I was obsessed during the 1996 Atlanta games though - mainly with gymnastics and the medal count by country.  Honestly, I was essentially keeping a spreadsheet on a giant whiteboard, which was updated daily.  During my free hours, I was also penning a rather well-crafted Olympics newsletter with the assistance of Microsoft Publisher.  I'm pretty sure there's still an issue of that floating around somewhere in my parents' basement.

In the sixteen years since then, my interest has spanned further into other sports.  Gymnastics still holds the softest spot, even if I don't follow as avidly as I once did.  No doubt that tennis, played on the hallowed grounds of Wimbledon, will have my attention.  I couldn't conceive of missing any Phelps/Lochte drama in the pool.  Throw in a dash of track, diving, beach volleyball...it's going to be a busy time.

Here's to hoping that the games can go off without a hitch, staying a celebration of athleticism and not a demonstration of politics.  I was in London when things got scary in 2005, luckily remaining unscathed, but that's not a scenario that I wish on anyone.

In addition to re-committing myself to working out, I'm on a kick to continue refining my food and drink choices.  Some days, I'm successful without a struggle.  Often, though, I finish eating my healthy meal or snack and the urge for Oreos continues to lurk.  Sometimes it's cheese.  Or ice cream.  You get the point.

The other factor in this equation is being at home versus traveling or visiting someone else's home.  Somehow there's this invisible barrier of self-control that ends when I leave my own residence.  For some reason, I doubt that affliction is mine alone.  If only my mom and grandma would stop trying to feed me every ten minutes...or I was capable of practicing restraint when cookies are dangled in front of me.

(Disclaimer: This does not imply that I'm dieting, merely trying to form healthier habits.  I'm currently sans health insurance, so we'll call it preventative healthcare.)

Staying true to form for my curious nature, I've been spending some time looking into resources on chronological versus skill-based resumes.  I consider it a valid topic, because 1) I'm starting to put some of those documents out into the wild again and 2) the positions that I'm interested in are more like second cousins to my previous job titles.

I have a confession to make.  Sometimes I form opinions and cling stubbornly to them.  I know, it's not exactly an earth-shattering confession.  In my younger years, I generally refused to even consider changing my mind.  Maybe it felt like a weakness or I didn't want people to believe I could be swayed.  I'm not implying that my will has softened with age, but rather it has matured.  My opinions may still be cast with the same passionate furor, but I'm willing to concede some ground when solid arguments are raised.

Why am I thinking about this today?  Because I spent the morning hoping that no one would win the men's Wimbledon title today.  There's no denying Federer's greatness, but I hate seeing all of Sampras' records tumble down.  And I've always had a hardened heart against Murray.  From unwarranted arrogance to his dinky dropshot style of play, I could never get behind him.  To top it off, he's essentially tennis' version of a flopper.  You know, those soccer players that take dramatic falls of their own accord then try to convince a ref it was an opposing player's fault?  Murray blames external objects and circumstance: the balls, the court, the sun, his pockets.

Today, though, after watching him play a real and solid match against arguably the greatest of all time, I conceded a little bit.  His post-match interview was genuinely emotional, tear-filled and heartfelt.  I couldn't help the flow of compassion.  This guy, despite the usual bravado, is throwing his heart and soul into an endeavor and continually being stopped just shy of the goal.  My polarized stance hit neutral ground while watching him unsuccessfully attempt to keep his emotions in check.

Unfortunately, he didn't leave the flopper antics at home; his on-court demeanor still irked me.  My passion runs deep when it comes to tennis, positive and negative opinions alike.  He's still not going to be my favorite, and I'll continue to root against him in most match-ups.  But I respect his emotional investment in his dream.

If you looked at a timeline of every place that I've been employed, there's a strong undercurrent of customer service and client-related jobs.  Starting with restaurant and retail work, continuing through the advertising and marketing roles, and right up to the organizing jobs that I undertake today.  For every job that fits in the customer service category, I can also recall an individual telling me that they wouldn't peg me for the type to have a job like that.

I'm not arguing with the appraisal.  By nature I'm more of an observer, a thinker, a problem-solver. Admittedly, my first customer-facing role was a bit of an internal battle to convince myself that I could do it.  Over the years, that trepidation started to fade.  And while I may still more naturally embrace the "think and solve" role, taking the reins in customer-related scenarios isn't an internal struggle anymore.

My conclusion: you don't need to be a natural at something to do it successfully.  And not only successfully, but well.  Instead of trying to mimic those who are natural extroverts, I opted to interpret customer service in the way that felt most natural to me.  It probably also helps that I'm stubborn and determined to succeed.  If I'm bad at something, I want to get better (although I prefer to hone the skill without anyone looking over my shoulder).  Finally, I've learned to accept that I'm not always smooth, but I like to think that my occasional lapses are more endearing and genuine than awkward.

A different employment path may have been easier and less nerve-wracking, but this goes beyond professional development.  I truly believe that this unnatural path was vital for my personal development, starting as a shy child and learning not only how to interact with the surrounding world, but ultimately that determination a handy tool for success.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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."

One interesting side of effect of the zero income status is learning how to be more efficient with what you buy and more industrious with what you already have.  The efficiency lesson started in Costa Rica, although the lower cost of living simplified it.  My weekly grocery total was negligible.  In the city, you have to put in a more concerted effort.

The cost efficiency juggling doesn't really thrill, but I do find some enjoyment in being industrious with whatever I have on hand.  You know those times when you rout through the cupboards and refrigerator claiming that there's nothing to eat?  I've found that a little creative thinking, generally accompanied by some Googling, reveals that there are several ways to mix and match what you have.  Sometimes those experiments come out surprisingly well, other times I'm less than impressed.  In an effort to not be wasteful, I eat them anyways.

I've also been taking standard household goods that are either collecting dust in my storage unit or derive from the packaging of some food item and upcycling them.  I have a mail collector made from a picture frame, sans glass, and some fabric.  The pen holder on my desk is a glass salsa jar with the label removed.  Shoeboxes are an old standby, but now I'm planning to up the visual appeal and create some uniformity by covering them in a neutral fabric.

Do I want to return to the world of not fretting over every cent that I spend?  Sure.  But I also appreciate this unintended life lesson that I ran myself into.

I know, I know.  A large portion of my photos are floral-based.  Let's just call it one of my girlier traits and move on.

In an effort to be prepared at a moment's notice, should the perfect job opportunity spring up in front of, I took a little time to bring my resume up-to-date.  Essentially, that meant assigning a January 2012 end date and adding a "Freelance" heading.  Being naturally inquisitive, I thought that I'd engage in a little Googling before writing out my freelance section.  How do that HR and resume professionals in internet land believe you should position independent work situations.

As it turns out, most of them told me that terms like "freelance", "contract" and "independent" are red flags.  Most people use them as gap fillers, while it indicates a penchant to start a solo enterprise for others.  I suppose that both of those could be fair assessments.  On my resume, though, freelance indicates a need to still be involved in a productive activity while exploring my options.  It is a means of continuing to grow while ensuring that I ultimately make the best decision for my future.  In my opinion, the time I spend freelancing shouldn't qualify me for the slush pile of resumes.

At the end of the day, I'll be so bold as to say that any company relegating me to that pile based on several months of working freelance isn't the type of company that will understand and appreciate what I have to offer.  So, my resume now proudly waves its freelance flag.

These days, I have so much time to let my mind run wild that I keep coming up with ideas and promptly forgetting about them.  Sometimes it's a job or business idea.  Other times it's a project I want to work on.  It can also be a topic I want to write about.  Of course, there's also the list of things I want to learn or accomplish. I try to write them down, but sometimes I'm convinced that I'll remember the idea later.  That's rarely how it works.

So, to throw a light on one of those many noted and forgotten goals and ideas: I want to attack the list of 100 novels that everyone should read.  Clearly there will be differentiation from one list to another.  From what I can find, the most "official" list comes from the Modern Library board.  Listed alongside the board's list is the reader's list (check out both lists here).  I'll warn you that sifting through these lists is an easy way to feel inadequate.  I'm an avid reader and even love classic literature.  My final tallies: 10% of the board's list completed and 13% of the reader's list.

When comparing the lists, they have only 30 novels in common.  That indicates the top 30, in my opinion.  I already have seven (only seven?!) of those under my belt.  Well, maybe 6.25 - I'm in the midst of reading Of Human Bondage now.  So, those other 23 will be my starting point.  There are 31ish weeks left in 2012, so my mission is to have the top 30 checked off before the calendar year changes.  I suppose that means I'll have to become friends with the Chicago Public Library again (and make good on the $0.31 in overdue charges still lingering).

 Sometimes the universe hands you days that are so beautiful that you can't help but make concessions.  Friday was meant to be a productive day, and it was until noon.  Then my book and I found a park bench in the sun.  Today made such a valiant effort to be better than yesterday that I felt obliged to partake in another act of indulgence.  There's something about summertime weather that calls for a margarita.  And when you have a margarita, you might as well throw in some enchiladas.

I have lived in Chicago for nearly three and a half years, and I'm always wondering how I can live so close to Lake Michigan and not know anyone with a boat.  There were so many watercraft just pining away in their slips today, unused and unloved.  Don't boat owners know that there are people like me who would love to extend much needed attention to their expensive toys?  Do you think there's any potential in a service that's like dog walking, except you take people's boats out for a spin?  If not, then I guess I'll continue to be a failure at having a friend (or even an acquaintance) with a boat.

Usually I turn right on the Lakefront Path, because the beach and lake views don't disappear.  I decided to finally give into the left turn and was graciously rewarded.  I make no secret of my love for the scent of lilacs; who needs roses.  Multiple rows of lilac bushes qualified this as a grove, in my opinion.  It seems I wasn't the only camera wielding Chicagoan that was smitten either.

I also spent a little time in the park, just me and a Coelho book basking in the sunshine.  That is until a toddler approached my bench.  I said hello, expecting her to toddle by or be swept up by a parent momentarily.  Nope.  She climbed up next to me and smiled like we were old friends, started spewing gibberish and giggling.  I helped her figure out how to set her bottle down so it didn't tip, she reached for my apartment keys.  Finally dad appeared with the stroller and parked himself two feet in front of us.  Interestingly, he didn't sweep her up and rush away (I suppose that means I don't look threatening?).  I played a couple rounds of word recognition with the kid.  (She got "keys" correct, but called my book a "rock"...)

There's a point to this story, beside the fact that a dad let his baby interact with a random girl in the park. I found myself slightly envious of her unworried, free-spirited nature.  She had no qualms walking right up and interacting with me.  There was no over-analyzing, no fear of rejection or awkwardness.  When she saw something of mine that interested her, she didn't stop herself from being inquisitive.  Obviously we give more concessions to a two-year-old who is just discovering the world.  I probably would've been less supportive of a 40-year-old woman acting the same way.  So, my question here is: when does it stop being seeming socially acceptable to approach people without invitation and insert yourself into their day?  What is the dividing line between innocent and invasive?