see as i saw

I'm sure you've seen just as many articles and debates about the death of face-to-face communication, especially in regards to Generation Y and whatever they're calling the youngins these days.  As I was texting away this afternoon, I started thinking about the way in which this habit has changed the way we write...or type, rather.

Traditionally, it seems that writing was of a more formal nature, obeying punctuation and syntax rules.  As we've relegated phone calls and personal interaction to the past, the non-verbal forms have taken on more casual proportions.

Abbreviations and acronyms are only part of it.   In fact, we try to type out our communication to convey even the intonations and expressions that you would experience in person.  Emoticons :-/, draggggging out words with repeated letters...ellipsis to demonstrate a dramatic pause or open-ended thought...

I'm as guilty as most (although I do avoid the acronyms, they just bug me), hiding behind my technology for communication.  As a self-professed introvert, it's easier and more comfortable to send an email or a text.  Since it's become a social norm, I don't generally think twice about it either.

Yet, as a lover of all things grammar, punctuation and syntax, I have a difficult time accepting the virtual slaughter of the written word.  Pun intended.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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%.

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.

I have this idyllic notion of a work day as one where I sit on a patio, enveloped by sun and warm air, sipping an iced coffee.  That doesn't seem like too irrational of an expectation; I'm even willing to tolerate only moderately comfortable outdoor furniture.  In an effort to find a local coffee establishment to match my criteria, I engaged in a little web wandering.  At one point, Google informed me that some of Chicago's very own Starbucks are soon to be engaged in a concept test.  Alcohol.

The particular patio that I was eyeing is in the process of obtaining a liquor license, while the second location is still under construction.  Not only will the latter store serve beer and wine, but it's also intended to be a flagship store.  I'm not sure what characteristics define a flagship Starbucks, but they had me sold on the idea of a second-story balcony seating area.  I'm unequivocally in favor of outdoor seating options, especially those that don't place me twelve inches from the curb of a traffic-laden city street.

What I haven't quite decided on is whether I'll feel inclined to visit my barista during the morning and my sommelier in the same place during the evening.  Although, I suppose it has a certain Euro appeal to it.  If they're pouring $3.50 venti-sized pinot noirs, though, I'm sold.

In all honesty, I have never been one of those people who wishes they could go back to high school days.  Actually, I spent most of the time I was there counting down the days until I left.  There's no singular reason for my impatience and lack of fond regard, high school just wasn't a scene that I was generally interested in.

Something that I've realized about those years that I do miss is the sports, both playing and spectating.  Tennis gave me a mission and a focus, during the on- and off-season periods.  There were practices and meets five days a week, sometimes weekend tournaments, and I enjoyed being around my tennis "family".  Although I did generally spend Friday nights at varsity football games, I was more of a soccer girl.  I befriended soccer moms, traveled for games, and sat through cold and rain.  During my freshman and sophomore years, I was there for JV and varsity games.  Hard core.  Plenty of time was spent at basketball games and boys tennis meets, too.  Sometimes I dabbled in baseball and wrestling fandom.

Sure, I could go to professional sporting events or even minor league games to fill my sports void.  Oh, and I hear ESPN is a really good source.  A couple things though: game tickets aren't necessarily all that cheap (making frequency of attendance an issue) and I don't know the people on the field, court, etc.  Regardless of my general feelings about the high school experience, I was in full support of my classmates' efforts when they were competing.  I took pride in their victories.  Perhaps this is why people have kids and enroll them in sports; it's probably the next best thing.

 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.

Since the beginning of 2012, I have put a lot of time into exploring and learning as a means of seeking my next life destination.  That means not only internal reflection, but also consulting an array of external experiences and written material - books, articles, blogs, etc.  Today I ran across a blog that's associated with a book.  This book happened to make some headlines, so perhaps you've heard of it: The 4-Hour Work Week.

I didn't wade through a lot of the original content, but I was struck by a stats page.  It broke down the average number of vacation days taken in a year, U.S. vs. the world.  Being at the bottom of the list was expected, but the actual difference was a bit mind-boggling:
Italy - 42
France - 37
Germany - 35
Brazil - 34
Britain - 28
Canada - 26
Japan - 25
USA - 13

Something else that I continually circle back to in my quest for a next step is a desire for flexibility.  I have whims (no surprise there) that make a cubicle feel like a cage.  If only I could have the freedom and be trusted to manage my daily workload from outside the confines of the office environment when I needed wanted to.  There was another set of stats on The 4-Hour Work Week blog that spoke to this new-fangled concept.  Although they're somewhat dated, I would guess that the general trend still applies.

At the end of 2007, Best Buy HQ converted all 4,000 employees to a "Results-Only Work Environment".  Work no longer defined a physical place, but rather a task that you perform (as it should be).  The basis for performance was output instead of hours.  Employees now worked wherever and whenever they wanted.  What was the outcome?

There was a 35% rise in productivity, compared to figures from 2005.  The average change in quitting across all divisions was -72.3%!  People stopped quitting their job when they were given more freedom AND they became more productive.  So, I guess it just gives me hope.

There's a couple that lives on my floor, probably around 60 years old.  He's from Australia and always addresses me as "love", probably because he doesn't really know or remember my name.  Anyways, nice people.  I ran into him at the elevator today, loading up some lumber and stuff.  We chatted about the project he had worked on all day and I mentioned how I grew up in a project-oriented home.  Long story short, he said it sounds like he'd really get along with my dad.

I started thinking about how I hear similar statements all the time: "I think I'd love your mom" or "Your parents sound fun".  This led me to surmise two things.  First, it's not surprising that my parents have so many friends and social invites; even miscellaneous strangers think they sound more than alright.  Second, I must think they're more than alright, too...seeing as I'm clearly finding plenty of time to talk them up to these miscellaneous people.  I will not, however, start carrying photos of them in my wallet as visual support for my stories.

As I walked back from the lakeshore today, I noticed that the gate to the Caldwell Lily Pond was finally open.  Although the vegetation is still in its infancy, that sense of zen still exists.  Somehow urbanity fades away once you walk through that gate.

In other topics related to state of mind, I had a conversation with my Dad the other day about El Camino de Santiago, a pilgrimage route across northern Spain.  It's something that I've been familiar with for years, thanks to my infatuation with Paulo Coelho's books, but my Dad only became acquainted upon watching a movie recently.  I've casually thought that it would be an extraordinary mental and physical journey, traversing 750km on foot, especially since it's in Spain.  Apparently that movie piqued my Dad's interest too, and he asserts that he'll do the journey with me.  One thing everyone should know is that planting a seed related to international travel is not safe with me, unless you intend to follow through; I've already started initial research on this trip.  Seeing as my parents international experience spans only as far as Canada (which doesn't count when you grow up in Michigan), this would be quite the intense foray into world travel for him, although a commendable starting point.  But me, I'm ready to leave tomorrow.  Since that won't happen, I'll settle for buying Coelho's book detailing his pilgrimage on the Camino.

Although I have made my way as far south as the river, I haven't actually crossed into the Loop since my last day of work in January.  Until today.  It was strange and familiar at the same time.  After lunching with my lovely ladies, I had a pressing urge to do my daily walking in new environs.  Well, "new" inasmuch as I haven't walked there every day for the past two months.


It ended up in a small-scale, Forrest Gump-like endeavor.  The sunshine and moderate temperatures beckoned me to wander over to Millenium Park.  I love to sit in the middle of natural surroundings with the city as a backdrop; there's something about the juxtaposition that's beautiful to me.  Instead of catching the bus home when I reached the north end of the park, I figured I'd walk up Michigan Avenue until a bus caught me.  Then I let that bus pass, figuring I'd wait for one at the top of the Magnificent Mile.  But when I got to that point, I figured that I had already walked at least 2.5 miles...what was another two miles?  So I trekked home in my Pumas, taking photos and soaking up the sun.  I couldn't decide on just one photo today, so I narrowed it down to four.

An addendum to yesterday's post: I found a second use for my homemade chocolate syrup.  Coffee.  I haven't been to Starbucks in over a month, thanks to my new AeroPress coffee habit.  Now, there's no need to long for my $3.50 mocha.  I am suitably pleased with my Trader Joe's Costa Rican Tarrazu and homemade chocolate syrup.  I haven't done any test drives on iced coffee at home yet; we'll have to wait and see on that front.

I got a little stir crazy late this afternoon, but didn't feel like wandering too far from home.  That's when the zoo and it's lack of an admission fee come in handy.  The display of actual animals was rather meager, thanks to temperatures barely tipping 50 degrees, but I still found plenty of interesting focal points.  This photo is an attempt to marry the subjects of animals and inanimate objects.  The camel chewing on the fence was a really close contender for the coveted April 23rd slot though.

If you're keeping tally, this is actually the second time that my blog photo has featured a fire hydrant (the first time being in January).  The reason I mention this is that I've found it to be one of those photo subjects that draw confused looks from passersby.  If you stop to photograph flowers or buildings, they tend to think nothing of it.  When you stop, do an about face, then squat down to capture a dandelion and a fire hydrant with your smart phone...peoples' foreheads scrunch up in confusion.  The glorious thing is that I'm getting better at not caring.  And, quite frankly, even if I'm wandering around my own neighborhood the odds are pretty high that I'll never see those people again.

All in all, I'd say today ranked high on the good day meter.  Good weather, good meeting (with a good triple chocolate brownie), good friends and good food.  Did I leave anything out?

In an astounding turn of events, I was so busy today that I nearly forgot about posting a photo.  It has been quite awhile since I've rushed around with meetings and work to do.  Apparently when I put some emails, résumés and ads into the world, things start rolling.  Now we'll have to see what sticks!

It was a strangely familiar, yet abnormal, feeling to be downtown during the workday.  Something that was so routine for three years has just as easily faded into obscurity in my brain.  I must say, though, I liked be around some movement and energy.  Although being calm and happy is wonderful, I'm up for a little variety in my days again.

It has been a pretty positive 24 hours.  I've had two tentative bites on my freelancing line.  One of them hasn't responded to my request for a more specific project scope, but I have a meeting arranged tomorrow afternoon with the other!  Not to doubt myself, but I truly had little hope that a Craigslist ad featuring copywriting and editing services would bring me much bounty.  Clearly I'm not achieving anything more than pocket cash (or more accurately, bill payments), but it's still buoying my hopes of making things work with an unconventional living.

Now, I just need the warm weather to return, so I can sit on a patio in the sun while I'm getting paid to edit and create a PowerPoint presentation.

If only I could've actually spent today napping on the beach, instead of just employing it as a play on words for this photo.  Although 60 degrees and sunny is nice for the spring time, it just doesn't live up to that amazing summer-like week in March.

My only hesitance about using this photo for today is that the bulldozer says, "GO SOX".  I would like to provide a disclaimer stating that I am not a Sox fan.  But I'm not exactly a Cubs fan either.  It seems that my blood runs thick with Michigan sports teams, even if I'm no longer a resident.  So, just pretend that dozer says, "GO TIGERS" - or, better yet, "GO WINGS".