Thank God I'm Not in My Car

It's Wednesday.  

A bright, sunny Wednesday with low humidity and a mostly-clear sky but for the jet trails fanning into "clouds."  

I was supposed to have been on the road today.  Wasting another perfect summer day in my car, faking a sense of presence by having my sunroof open, listening to Kenny Chesney - while vehemently wishing I was anywhere but in that car.  My meeting today was postponed until Friday and while it means I will have two days on the road before the weekend, I found myself with an unscheduled day in the middle of this week.  

Running on proverbial fumes yet again, I announced to Jack last night (over a spontaneous dinner of ribs and chicken wings) that I was taking today as a mental health day.  I am teaching a four hour class tomorrow and while it took me until noon to feel mentally prepared, I've been goofing off since then.  It's 2:57.  Two hours and fifty seven minutes of frivolity.  How luxurious.

I'm terrified of crashing and burning like I have done twice this past year - in fall and in spring.  I ignore my body, my mind, and my spirit when one of the three is calling for a freaking break.  At first, one of the three will politely request a break.  Then they get ornery and act up...I have a wickedly upset stomach, a crappy demeanor, a restless spirit.  I normally ignore them and end up in the hospital or at least flat on my bed with a pneumonia.  

Screw that.

One of my colleagues, a fellow system leader, recently embarked upon a challenge.  A 43-hour week challenge.  I was mystified as I heard her talk about the limits she is setting on work hours, travel time, email time at home in the evenings....

She sensed a huge imbalance in her own life and knew she needed to correct it.  And knowing my tendency to overwork myself, she challenged me to a 44 hour work week.  She gave me a bonus hour and this was to include my travel time.  

Don't get me wrong.  I know it is incredibly rare to work in one's chosen field before they even finish their terminal degree (I'm officially half-done with the PhD but man, oh man, my reserves are nil).  My colleagues remind me of this - that I'm so lucky and so blessed.  I'm not discounting that.  But I'm not happy.

One of my good friends is an overachieving, Type A attorney.  She invited me to lunch the other week and we sat for two hours over a deli lunch discussing happiness.  She had recently read a book called "The Happiness Dare" and it changed her life.  I promptly bought the book and read it on our beach on Lake Michigan during our annual beach vacay.  I'm a "doer" and not happy unless I'm producing and productive.  Yawn.  What am I, a machine?  When I took the "strengths finder" test, I was diagnosed as being an achiever with focus, competition, and discipline.  

As our friends were skulking on the beach, on the prowl for sea glass, I was diligently studying how to be happy.  Maybe I should make a spreadsheet or write a report on things that make me happy?

I *really* don't want to be a droid.  

The Happiness Dare was worth the $11 and Amazon Prime membership because of one sentence (paraphrasing): "Your worth is not defined by your productivity."  

I'm sure the authors had a more eloquent way of explaining this but it hit home...I'm worth so much more than what I accomplish.  Than what I weigh or my pant size.  Than what's in my bank account.  That I'm not defined by some eternal benchmark of productivity, regardless of what that productivity looks like or how it manifests itself.

I thought I had already transcended this.  Apparently, it's a recurring realization that keeps popping up like a buoy being tackled by waves in the ocean.  Boop!  Time to think about this again!  

Yay.

Since I returned from Italy in May, I haven't really been on Facebook.  I think FB is a poison...peoples'perfectly filtered lives hit you in the gut when you're low.  Do I really care that people are taking their fifth vacation this year while I drive 2,000 miles?  Do I really care that people from high school have had several babies and retain their prom night figures?  Do I really care that so-and-so is completing her 31st half-marathon?

No.  

When did Facebook become "BragBook?" 

No thanks.  

Thinking about this, comparison is the poison.  Why do we compare ourselves to others knowing we have different life circumstances, gifts, talents, and callings?

Screw comparisons.  

I'm not sure where this post is going....it's one woman in Indy who decided to blow off work today to take care of herself.  As my professor said during the very first lecture of my very first grad school class, one has to take their own pulse.  He was a surgeon and chose to talk to us about self-care and taking care of ourselves so we can care for others.  

So I guess that's what I'm doing today.  Trying to achieve a 44-hour work week and replenish for the next two days and three months of crazy.  I am not scheduled to come up for air again until Halloween.  

I used to think that a busy schedule pointed to success.  Now, I feel trapped by my schedule and wish someone could write me an excuse note to get out of a meeting or two.  

But I'll persevere and get up at 5 in the morning tomorrow to kick ass.  But today?  

I'm going to go pour myself a glass of Chardonnay, grab a novel I have been meaning to read for six months, and go sit on my patio under the huge umbrella on this perfect August day.  

*The Happiness Dare has an online quiz in which you can figure out your happiness style.  The book is definitely worth the $11.

Bottoms Up

It’s been a weird day.

I am writing this from my hotel bed, snuggled up in my jammies at 7:28 p.m., local time.  I ran an ethics conference for our system today and it went very well…and I had three separate speeches as part of the conference.  It felt a bit like running a wedding and getting married at the same time.  Evaluations were awesome and I feel as though I turned a corner in my public speaking.  I ad-libbed two of my three parts and I think they were perceived as natural and authentic. 

Today was the first time I was publicly recognized as an ethicist.  To all of the top leadership and physicians in our healthcare system.  I received an unofficial promotion in professionalism from “Ethics Director” to “Ethicist.”  It’s a subtle difference; that somewhere in the collective psyche, I crossed a line in the sand.  In my earlier days of this blog, I struggled to understand what “administrator” entailed.  I knew what it meant on paper, but what did it mean to embody that title?  Now I am grappling with what it means to be an ethicist, having somehow been granted this authority.  I have been fighting for some decent recognition for the past several years and it seems as though a few weeks after I stop trying, I finally earn that respect. 

I have been trying to pinpoint when this change occurred….I spent some time in the hospital and on medical leave for astronomically-high blood pressure.  My boss spent some time with one of my professors who apparently talked about me as a student at length.  And Easter happened.  Maybe it was an Easter miracle, maybe a combination of these other things.  But suddenly, I’m perceived as an ethicist.  Maybe it’s one of those “stop trying and it will happen” sort of things. 

Also of note today, my board chair announced at the ethics conference that I would be stepping back from my ministerial leadership role with the Leadership Enhancement Program.  That ethics has become so busy that I cannot possible maintain both and school and stay alive (she said that to a group of 150 system execs).  Perhaps that was part of the clincher in my transition to ethicist…I’m out of my “training” phase and doing this “for real” now?  Who knows. 

All I know is that my shoulders feel a WHOLE HELL OF A LOT lighter this evening.  I stressed pretty hardcore about this conference and the job transition piece.  Now that both are complete, I feel like a different person.  Free.  Absolved.  Released.  For once able to focus on my own happiness…at least I think that is what that feeling is.  Hence the lavish use of time to reflect when I have 427 – wait, I mean 429 unanswered emails in my inbox right now.

I mentioned that I am writing this from my hotel room.  I am a stone’s throw from my house when we lived out here in Chicagoland.  Jack and I talk about those times and they feel so very dark when we reflect back on them.  Neither one of us liked our jobs and while we enjoy the feeling of accomplishment that comes with a job well done, the darkness tends to seep in after a while.  You get stuck in that day-by-day life of survival, stringing together some days until you finally get to a weekend and can breathe for a minute (before diving into homework).  Life became so routinized that we can pretty much summarize our time here in a sentence:  Hard freaking work, long 12-14 hour days, Friday night partying, schoolwork, mass, shopping, time with our good friends, repeat.  Throw in a few dashes of insomnia, stomach acid, and road rage and the mix is complete.

I changed out of my suit after conference and per Jack’s recommendation, tried a new brewery right by this hotel.  It was wonderful – a pulled pork to die for and some imperial IPAs rivaling some of the best I’ve had.  Side note: I met a retired attorney at the bar, whose daughter I graduated high school with back in the day.  Mr. Lawyer was impressed at my beer knowledge and I credited it to Jack.  Jack is the one who made sure I could identify Amarillo hops from Cascade and what makes an Imperial IPA different from other IPAs.  I’m a hot commodity in breweries (Ha). 

After dinner, since I was literally still in my old ‘hood, I took a drive.  Man, it just felt dark.  It was windy, cold, and rainy; it ALWAYS felt windy, cold, and rainy in Chicagoland.  It is a suitable metaphor for how I felt during those rough times.  Our old house felt small, cramped, almost institutional.  Like that was a tiny touchstone of normal in a chaotic world that threatened to eat us alive if we let our guards down even a little.  We were SO intense.  Blame it on the imperial IPA but tonight became a game of “I wish I knew then what I know now.”  Sitting at a traffic light I encountered probably a hundred times five years ago, I wished I had known that our hard work would pay off and that I’d be returning to these parts on business, employed to follow my passion.  I wish I knew that we wouldn’t have to worry about money.  I wish I knew that I would come out on the other side, having gotten through the deepest, darkest muck I can imagine.  Lots of separation from Jack because of travel and I cannot even tell you how many 16+hour work days.  Honestly, I’m grateful that all I have is high blood pressure.  By this stage in the game, I’m kind of surprised I haven’t had a more serious intervention.  Thanking God for that. 

I haven’t emerged on the “other side” yet but I feel a decent measure of success that I made it at least most of the way through.  I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.  The worst really is over. 

I feel so grateful to Jack and my loving friends who have accompanied me on this crazy journey, not questioning my insane career goals or multi-tasking skills in balancing school, work, travel, and occasional weekend-long parties at Chez Dorrie.  Thank you for not giving up on me.  Jack, thank YOU for not giving up on me and for sticking by my side through thick and thin – all of the travel between South Bend and Chicago for that year and a half, Chicago and Indianapolis for that 6 months, and my ongoing business travel these past few years.  You always make sure I come home to a hot dinner, a welcoming hug, and an enveloping sense of belonging – that wherever you are IS home.    

I have a lot of travel in the next few weeks, including another trip to Italy to lead a pilgrimage.  But despite all of this travel and career success, I can’t wait to throw myself in your arms and retire to our beautiful patio to share drinks, laughter, and tales from our days over the bonfire.  Even on a weekday.    

I reflected on our five-years-ago-selves tonight and if we’re even half this happy in another five years, I’ll count myself among the luckiest of women on this planet.  

............Also, if you're not barfing by now with my cheesiness, please also note that I had NO idea what "Netflix and Chill" meant until a few days ago.  I swear....so stuck in 2013!  Sorry about that!

Netflix and Chill - On Doctors' Orders

Where the heck does time go?

How is it mid-April?  Whaaaa?

If I honestly listen to my body, it thinks it is early February.  Maybe February 12?  So the fact that spring is in full effect is throwing me off-kilter.  

So I'm on medical leave.  You've probably seen this coming.  I have not but yet, I sort of anticipated some sort of body-breaking havoc that would throw me in the ER when I was in the middle of a random meeting.

So what happened?  I was in a meeting with a colleague, in the cafeteria for a working lunch.  And felt awful.  Like my head was going to explode and that I needed to A) puke B) pass out or C) call for freaking help.  I texted my former imaging employee, "Mallow" and asked if I could get a quick BP reading.  I know I have high blood pressure at times and I've leaned on her before for BP readings when at the hospital.  

Yes, I have places I go in the hospital where they will covertly take my BP.  It is all who you know.

For realz.

Anyway, Mallow was in the cafeteria as I was texting her and she whisked me down to Imaging for a BP and quick EKG.  Thank goodness it was time for noonday prayer because I needed to sit for a moment to calm my heart rate while trying not to barf in technicolor tones.  Mallow and my colleague with whom I was lunching picked up all my stuff.  They walked me back to Imaging.  Honestly, I don't recall the walk.  I think I was too worried about not appearing ill.   Not like I'd ever do that.  Nope.  NOPE.

Mallow quickly hooked me up to the BP machine and started the EKG.  I wasn't actively having a heart attack but my BP was 178/134.  The hell? 

I felt so awful that I let them take me to the ER.  Honestly, I was so weak and felt so awful that I let them wheel me over there.   Mallow was taking me around the corner to the "public" entrance and lo and behold, the director of the emergency department was coming out the back door of the ER.  He looked at me like, "Dorrie?!"  I said, "Leather Portfolio Man?"  He must have seen my face, extremely pale and sweaty and scared.   Armed with a fancy suit and a leather portfolio, the ER director gave me my own private room and there were doctors awaiting me before I even got into the room.  I was totally willing to enter the ER via the normal routes but in that time of crazy, stroke-level blood pressure, I completely accepted the healthcare administrators' caste system.  I was healthcare royalty.  And I let them fawn over me, with their EKG palm fronds and telemetry misting machines.  I kid about the palm fronds but if I'm ever going to have a major health crisis anywhere, I'd like it to be at that hospital.  Maybe I should move my office back to the hospital just in case....

Seriously, it is all who you know.  My tests were so fast that I hoped the common folk got this type of treatment.  

#I'mNotAPlebe

Anyway, my stress test sucked.  Dr. McAwesomeSauce ordered a stat stress and my BP topped out at 218/150-something.  My BP was too high to begin the stress test - the doctor came in to supervise my exam.  Man, was it awful.  When the techs are yelling out your BP every few seconds and asking if they should stop the test, you start to question most things in your life.  Am I in a hospital?  Sure.  Am I at peace with God?   I'm scared and need Jack to come in here and tell me a story to distract me?  Hang in there, Dorrie!  How quickly can people get to me if I code?   {That's the kind of crap that goes through your head when you're feeling that awful.}

I was in training for a half marathon and was diagnosed with "low exercise tolerance" in a stress test?   Ummmm.    I'm pretty sure I can walk 15 miles if you ask me to.  Oh, wait.  $&#$!%@.  Something is definitely up and I need to figure out what is going on.  

I was discharged from the hospital with a new BP med.  Jack filled it and I took the medicine.   I immediately felt a bit better but man, what a conversion experience. 

I don't want to die.   Or be in the hospital.   Or be on medical leave.  Except that I'm on medical leave. 

People have been warning me for years that I am running at too fast a pace, trying to do too much too quickly.  Honestly, the hard work has gotten me to this place in my life with a well-paying job that I love (even if I do not always love my coworker!  Ha).  I feel pretty awful today and while it's 75 and sunny outside, I can't bring myself to leave my recliner.  I have all of the windows open so it's just as good as being outside, right?.    

If we're honest with this whole thing, I knew this was coming.  Whatever *this* is.  I'm not sure what *this* is yet.  I'm surprised that my body withstood this insane pace for as long as it did and I'm not entirely shocked that it broke down.  So I am undergoing a barrage of tests this week and feel somewhat violated by all the blood collection, imaging, and other tests.  At this point, my doctors think I have an underlying adrenal issue that is causing all of the cardiac stuff (and physical inability to relax - which makes total sense to me.  I stress out on the beach).  It's hard to diagnose that kind of thing (hence all of the tests) but I'm glad my heart seems to be okay.  I gloomily joke that I will be in the cath lab by 40 and even though my ticker is strong, this was a big scare.       

My boss kindly suggested that we cancel everything this week and I agreed heartily.  So it's been a pretty relaxing week - lots of "Netflix and chill."  I cannot recall the last time I ever took a week off of work to just stay home.  My work laptop even got the "blue screen of doom" and it looks as though I will need a new one.  Darn.  Guess God doesn't want me working yet.

Speaking of God, this wasn't an awesome Lent for me.  It started off very well and with a bunch of work crud flaring up and continued (insane) travel, it was sometimes a sacrifice to just get out of bed.  A good friend suggested that I simply make getting out of bed each morning an intentional act of faith.  So that helped a little and mitigates my sadness that I wasn't faithful to the many Lenten promises I made.  I had high hopes!  However, it wasn't a complete bust and I learned a lot about myself along the way.  Last year, I gave myself an A- for Lent and while this year is more of a C, the reflection and quiet times are all worth it.  I've been better at breathing and mindfulness (even while driving - but the Apple Watch helps with that since it reminds you to breathe!), am eating much better than I did before, 'religiously' take my meds (something with which I struggle), limit my social media, and I still didn't eat sweets.  I've given up sweets for Lent since I was 7 but there is nothing like a Cadbury Egg on Easter!

I know, it's elementary.  But if that's all I can manage with all this work stuff, health stuff, and oh yeah, school stuff, I hope God is pleased with that.  As we say in Italy, sometimes you just have to declare a victory.  I really like that saying - celebrate the small wins, don't beat yourself up, and move on.  The Italians have lower blood pressure as a nation and I can see why.       

Maybe that's it.  Maybe we need to move to Tuscany.  

#I'mOutOfHere!

From My Tub on this Boxing Day

I'm writing this from my bathtub.  

It's stop #1 on my "Dorrie's self care" tour of 2017.  I love writing and this is a good way to write and provide myself a nice way to look back at my journey.  

So here's the thing.  I feel like I barely survived these last few months.  Turns out that working crazy hours with lots of travel, doing a half-time Ph.D., and training for marathons takes a toll on one's body.  And mind.  And soul.  And immune system.  

I'd never been in better shape and I was smaller than I've been in years. I felt like I was kicking ass - when people asked how I was doing or what my life was like, thy couldn't believe the hard worker, business traveler, student, and marathoner were all the same person.  

And I loved that feeling!  Heck yes, I'm superwoman and I have the income, grades, and race medals to show for it.  

Except that I have been sick now since Thanksgiving.  I spent my December wrapped in a blanket, coughing, and visiting my doctor.  Amidst finals, a hellish paper that robbed me of probably 75 hours, and a heavy travel schedule for work.  I feel like my entire being is very inflamed - to the point where I am breaking out in hives occasionally.  No trigger except probably the massive amounts of cortisol I'm producing. 

While I wracked up the achievements this year, my personal reservoir evaporated, little by little.  What was once a beautiful lake, ringed with plants and vibrant life became a muddy dirt hole that eventually drained dry.  My birthday was pretty dark this year and I realized it's because I was digging in the dry clay, trying to force health and happiness. 

Yeah, that didn't work.

Christmas was a lovely holiday once again this year, bursting with joy and laughter. The adult siblings and our spouses stayed with my folks for the weekend.  It was hysterical.  Lots of Christmas carols, jokes, and sitting around for hours with coffee and Bailey's.  The only problem is that we never want the nights to end and we stay up until 2 or 3 a.m.    I always struggle the day after big, joyous holidays but the sleep deprivation makes it even harder.  The concept of "holiday hangover" is very real for me. 

So that's why I'm in the tub, in a luxurious Lush bath.  My bed isn't far behind.  I want to stay up and not "close" the holiday weekend but I'm so tired.  

The New Year is upon us shortly and my new year goals are always the same: better eating, less alcohol, more exercise, pay down debt.   It's all about structure, discipline, and endurance.  

How fun.  Is there any wonder I'm dreading New Year's?  So I can put myself on a rigid diet, skip going out to dinner, and walk miles to nowhere on my treadmill?  

I need an attitude adjustment.  A realignment.  I'm hatching this plan tonight but instead of my annual January rigidity, I'm approaching New Year's resolutions in a positive light.  Healthy food because I'm working my body hard right now and it needs healthy fuel.  Exercise to stretch my body so I feel well.   I tend to forget that my body is a temple.  2017 is the Year of the Temple.  I'm debating a Whole30 but generally want to eat better so I feel well.  It will help to get the green bean casserole and sugar cookies out of my blood stream but I want to pay better attention to what I'm putting in my body.  

I'm getting one massage a month.  Maybe one every two weeks during heavy travel periods or stressful points in the semester.  I'm taking baths with my fancy bath products.  Why save them for some random "rainy day?"  I'm going to bed when I feel like it, refusing to judge myself as lazy or lame.  This body deserves sleep, too.   

In the last 2 years, four people bought Jack and me coloring books.  I am going to color when the mood strikes.  I am going to shamelessly read fictional books, even when I have school reading due (a big opportunity for me - I refuse to do anything "fun" until my obligations are met).  The thing is, sometimes obligations cannot be all met before I "treat" myself to an early bedtime.  

I am so grateful for my blessings and I'm tired of thinking of everything as an obligation.  Even something as holy as church - I always want to rush through it so I can get to that day's to-do list.  I deserve to have joy, not only st Christmas, but always and things like prayer or reflection should not be rushed.  Last night, on Christmas night, I sat in front of the fireplace, fire roaring, listening to Josh Groban's "O Holy Night."  No rushing, just space and time to reflect on God's Gift to humanity.  

In short, I'm going to treat myself like I treat my best friends.  I try to be nice to them, giving them what they need, listening to them, and forgiving mistakes quickly.  It sounds so elementary but I'm going to befriend myself and give ME a break.  The insane expectations I have of myself are exhausting me and I really think they contribute to (cause?) my flailing immunity. 

The Fire

Nothing worth achieving comes easily.  Or quickly.

Jack and I are in the fire now.  Work that has exploded for both of us - a blessing because it means our careers are going well and people need us to accomplish things.  My work travel keeps me on the road at least 2 weeks a month.  Jack is an incredibly good sport about my travels.

School is in full force for us both, two classes each this semester.  13 total credit hours so, I guess, between the two of us, we are in full-time school.  We are looking down the barrel of 80 hour weeks with school and work.  

And crazy us, we are training for two races this fall, a 10 mile trail walk and a half marathon in Nov.  This is good, though, because the time together focuses our minds and gives us a cool connection.  Exercise clears your head so that you can study and write effectively.  

We are both trying to find our routines, how to maximize the weekends and work efficiently during the work week.  

Nothing worth achieving comes easily.  We can do this.  We WILL do this. 

See you after December 12!  

My Dear Brother Got Married

Weddings are always such emotional, high stakes events.  

This one was no exception.  While it's not healthy, I joke that I cry once a year, at best.  Standing on the altar, supporting my brother and his bride, watching them exchange vows and promise each other "forever," something unhinged in me.  

I've been the bride.  I've been a bridesmaid 9 times if my count is correct.  It's not my first rodeo.  But something about this last Saturday struck me so differently.  At first I thought it was the sense of "church."  For the bride, church is her family, her life, her grounding.  She's steeped in it.  And her actions demonstrate that faith and commitment to God.  It was a pretty good mirror - it was easy to look at your own moral reflection while amidst that faith community.  Not always easy to see the reflection but those reality checks are helpful for future reflection.

Then I thought it was the out-of-the-way country church.  It was beautiful - surrounded by corn fields, swaying in the breeze.  Horse-drawn buggies passed by every few minutes and we all sort of marveled at that sense of pace.  Could we slow down even a day?  Weather granted us a welcome break from the humidity, the Robin egg blue sky punctuated by a few fluffy clouds, and the summer breeze shook the leaves and blew through the fields.  All of us immediately felt like part of the country.  Not in a derogatory way but in a "slow" way.  We all drank in the lack of urgency.  If you're 2 minutes late for a meeting, does it really matter?

Then I thought it was the chill bride.  The bride was the most relaxed, non-nervous bride I have ever seen.  Like, "This is God's will for me and I'm going for it" type of attitude.  The groom?  Since he's my brother, I had license to check on him throughout the morning and early afternoon.  He was pacing like a nervous dog at one point.  However, Jack took care of him and he radiated the whole day - looking at his bride with such admiration.  I don't think he realized how much emotion he showed when he even glanced at her - but it hit me in the heart how much he loves her.  And she him.  

Reflecting on my own wedding, I don't remember being that nervous.  Sure, you want things to go well, but those two this weekend truly let go.  They planned all of the details and then relaxed enough to let the details carry them through the evening.  I like how newlyweds can show us old married folks some inspiration!

So, yes, the wedding was beautiful.  The bride's choreographing down to the nanosecond panned out well.  We celebrated the bride and groom Friday night at rehearsal.  All day Saturday.  And Sunday, over a lunch of wedding leftovers and a sea of presents where two new families came together for the first time.  It was excellent.  We don't know each other that well but there is good intention...and we want to all support the bride and groom.  That's the most important part, right?  That family has your back.    

In kind of an odd (and unplanned twist), Jack and I and our two friends were having after-party nachos and pizza and I texted the groom - who was also staying at Notre Dame, just down the hall with us.  I offered him food and beer and suddenly, he and his bride joined us for a late night pub snack at ND.  It felt like a once in a lifetime experience to be able to be there with my brother and his bride - on their most important of important nights - because they wanted to be with us, too.  Probably, they were just THAT hungry, but it was touching that they came down to the hotel bar to be with family for another couple hours.  

Standing on the altar for my brother, I had to choke back sobs for a good 20 minutes.  I cannot say this well but I did help raise him.  I'm not sure what category is closer than "sister" but I am in some strange in-between of Sister and Mother that's not quite Aunt.  Whatever it is, it made me choke up every time I looked at my brother this weekend.  Weddings always get me but seeing my brother marry the love of his life made me so optimistic towards life.  As I watched the bride unwrap her wedding gifts, I pictured her making a Thanksgiving casserole in that one dish and an Easter ham in another.  After my parents depart this earth, we have a wonderful couple to help Jack and I carry on family traditions.  

The merging of families...it's not always easy but I feel like we hit the jackpot with this one.  

I have a bit of PTSD today...I wondered what I would feel like this week after the 3+ months of parties were complete.  It started with the Mini marathon in May, I went to Rome, then was gone most of June with work and school and the bridal shower, July brought vacation, other work-related travel, our 15 year wedding anniversary, and the bachelor/bachelorette party, and then here we are with the wedding.  As of today, the partying is over.  The normalcy is returning.  As much as I like the summer party season, it was intense this year.  Rightly so, but it is nice to transition back to ordinary time.  You have to fast in order to be able to feast.  We've been feasting since early May.  It's time to scale back and settle into our lives once again.  

I'm grateful for this life.  For such blatant displays of love and commitment.  For the opportunity to both fast and feast - celebrating lives and families coming together for a lifetime.  Cheers to the bride and groom and everyone who celebrates love.

Aloneness is okay (especially when Shark Week and Olympic Trials are on TV)

I’ve come a long way. 

I used to avoid dining in restaurants alone, afraid that other (mostly business travelers) would judge me as a lonely woman too ____________ to get a date.  I was wearing wedding rings and was probably texting my husband the whole time while I ordered a quick beer and waited for my carry-out grilled chicken sandwich (no mayo) to be ready so I could eat in my hotel room in relative peace.  I hated the stares, the weirdness, and well, the judging. 

Turns out it was just me judging myself.  Image that. 

I’ve been on the road WAY more than I care to have been…between Rome, Chicago, Minneapolis, Philly, Little Rock, Boca Raton, Atlanta, Orlando, and…wherever else I’ve been on business lately…am [finally] no longer worried about others judging me. 

Who the hell cares?  I’m going to be that woman who sits at the upscale bar, orders a glass of chardonnay, and eats something wonderful off the menu.  Guess what?  At upscale hotel bars, EVERYONE is a business traveler.  If you gaze around the bar, everyone’s face is illuminated by the subtle blue glow of their iPhone, reflecting their perusing of FB, Reddit “shower thoughts,” or texts from loved ones.  I’m not alone as I send a covert Snapchat to my husband, explaining my menu choice that may or may not have way too much garlic.  Even when I eat "high on the hog," my bill is rarely more than $35. 

As Aerosmith says, "I'm livin' on the edge." 

I remember going to Chicago when I was first “minted;” I had to attend a conference in Skokie.  I thought I was hot shit because I managed to leave the hotel on foot, walk two blocks, pass by a Crate and Barrel (where I, of course, bought some glassware), and find a McCormick and Schmidt’s.  Where I found a colleague.  Saved!  No eating alone!

One time I traveled to Minneapolis alone.  Jack and I had just discovered craft brews and I located a local Irish pub (huh?) that served 50+ craft brews.  I had new territory to navigate.  My conference did not start until the morning (it was 2 p.m.) but a respectable woman didn’t have more than one beer at a bar, right?  Later that night, I found a sushi restaurant that served an all-you-can-eat extravaganza that consisted of little sushi belts floating by you on a little faux river.  Here comes the salmon!  Grab it!  I was sitting near a couple with young kids and I was humbled by the kids knowing way more than I did about sushi.  One actually helped me find an unagi that I wouldn’t hate.  I had to rely on a little kid to get me through my aloneness.

Once, I flew to Philly alone.  I finally got up the nerve to seek out the nearest Philly Cheesesteak.  It was worth the search and I loved it.  It was the first time I went to a large city on business and didn't feel completely awkward/pathetic while walking around alone.  I used to feel like such a target, like everyone was wondering why I was without companionship.  Co-dependent much?  Maybe.  I have come to realize that solo travel is not for the faint of heart.  You gotta have faith...and confidence. 

One time I traveled to Rome alone.  Wait, that was four times.  I think the proverbial challenging of one’s comfort zone really helps.  I figured out how to shop, walk, and go out alone in Rome – not a feat for the doubting – and survived.  So after being in Rome alone, Chicago feels like no big deal. 

So that’s where I was tonight.  Doctor school let out early tonight, at 4:30 p.m., and the class decided to go out to a local eatery to celebrate our collective awesomeness.  Or something.

I wasn’t game.  I wasn't feeling it.  I have been with people for the last…um…138 days straight (or so it feels) and I simply could not fake it through another evening; fake-laughing at jokes or fake-appreciating peoples’ kid stories’, or fake-appreciating the tenured physicians’ stories from fellowship and how they hate their administrators.

I finally know myself well enough to know when I need a break.  Better that than sitting like a crab in the corner, cursing people when they order another drink and ALL YOU WANT TO DO is go to bed. 

No peeps. 

I could have blamed it on the lasagna that totally upset my stomach this afternoon (everyone at this medical school seems to be a vegetarian and only drinks “Fiji” water…whatever…I’ll drink that crappy Lake Michigan tap water).   I could have blamed it on budgets.  But I told my professor that I needed space.  I couldn’t even elaborate before he said, “I’m glad you know yourself so well and what your soul needs during this time.” 

Sold.

Thanks, Doc.

So after talking to Jack, showering and relaxing, I took my tired rear down to the nice, dark wood hotel bar, had a buttery chardonnay, a lovely caprese flatbread, kept to myself, and considered it a win. 

A quick word about the “doc” thing.  I keep calling this program “doctor school,” yes, because I’m becoming a doctor through my studies.  But I’m surrounded by medical students, moving from class to class like the rest of us did in high school.  Their “normal” is pretty amazing…going to school from 8-3 or so and then going to the hospital for work on the units until 10 or 11 p.m.  It feels as though there are two types of people roaming around campus, those in scrubs and those teaching them (who are sometimes in scrubs).  It’s my first major experience in a medical school and guess what?  The students all seem insecure, unsure of themselves, maybe not-so-confident at times. 

People accepted to one of the best medical schools in America are still insecure.  They’re probably all Type A, first-born, overachievers.  But if the cream of the crop is insecure, what about the rest of us? 

Can’t we just own our “spot” where we are right now?  It dawned on me today, sitting in the medical school, listening to tenured physicians and professors talk about demanding situations, that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. 

What if we all decided that we are exactly where we are supposed to be? 

That's my plan for today.  Wherever you go, go confidently!

#goodlife

I'm sitting in my living room, all of the windows wide open, listening to a chorus of lawn mowers.  It's Tuesday; why are so many people home?  Well, I'm home today because I'm still recovering from Italy and a dose of my own stupidity. 

I'm so fortunate to 'have' to go to Italy every May.  Between my recent trips to Italy, I have spent a full month there out of the last 12 months.  I am starting to feel at home in Rome, as I have learned the streets in the neighborhoods around the Vatican and Piazza Novona.  I had to go out by myself one day to buy a bottle of wine for mass and while it wasn't completely comfortable, it wasn't scary to venture out to a local grocery store.  I found some awesome olive oil and a bottle of Montefalco, our favorite Italian wine, to bring home for Jack.  It felt surprisingly normal to hit a store by myself in Rome. We usually advise folks not to venture out alone but hey, do as I say, not as I do.  LOL.

During this trip, I truly adjusted to local time, too.  When we were there for two weeks last fall, I definitely adjusted - but I usually do not really adjust in a week.  This year was different; I keep waking up at 1 a.m., starving for espresso and crusty bread!  I'm crazy tired as well and since I worked about 190 hours last week, I didn't think anyone would mind if I worked from home today.  This week is my last lull before full-on crazy sets in again.  June is horrific, travel-wise.  I think I'm on the road about 15 scheduled days already (out of 23 working days in June) and I'm sure it will increase as another meeting or two are added.  At least my June mileage check will be able to pay for my car payment - probably through the end of 2016!  My doctoral program starts next Monday.  I tuned into an orientation podcast earlier (seriously, a podcast) and I'm nervous about this degree.  It still feels overwhelming and everyone I've talked to about the program says it's quite onerous.  I have to submit my grades to my board chair so the pressure's really on to achieve A's.  Despite my nerves and lacking confidence in this new coursework, I set a crazy goal to try for valedictorian of my class.  I realize that's pretty arrogant, considering the company I will be in, but why not try?  I was near the top of my first master's but barely graduated Magna Cum Laude with the second degree.  Some of those classes were so damn hard, especially when I was working 70+ hours a week in ops.  While my travel is rough right now, I do have lulls every now and then.  I figure it's a commendable goal; gotta dream it before you can make it happen.  

The other thing I'm recovering from is what feels like a third degree sunburn.  Jack and I took yesterday off as PTO and after eating beautiful Caprese salads, sat outside for about an hour and a half.  It was so nice out; it didn't even occur to me to lather on the SPF.  Stupid, stupid, idiotic mistake.  I can barely walk - my legs and chest are so burned.  I'm radiating more heat than a metal workers' furnace...in July...on the surface of the sun.  

We had some similar weather in Rome - 72 and sunny with low humidity.  There is a great little wine bar right behind our hotel and between that place and the stunning courtyard of our hotel (that also has a wine bar), I logged a lot of time outdoors during downtime.  Not that my downtime was frequent but it was so nice to sit outside and listen to the leaves of the trees rustle in the breeze.  Rome is very noisy; loud police sirens scream by what seems like every few minutes.  The seagulls are huge and apparently evolved to make pterodactyl sounds.  Morning bird sounds ranged from a sweet chirping to what sounded like a pissed off monkey.  But somehow, the breeze masks some of those sounds.  

This group was hysterical with lots of jokes throughout the week.  On Monday, I took ten of them up to the cupola at St. Peter's - the view is stunning and you can see the seven hills of Rome.  It's 512 steps or something.  To reach the top, you have to use handrails that millions of people (literally) have touched.  I would love to swab those handrails to see what types of bugs live on those surfaces.  My point is that your hands feel and smell disgusting after that climb.  One of the pilgrims, atop the roof of St. Peter's Basilica, found a Rosemary plant.  He crushed some Rosemary between his palms and then turns to another one of the pilgrims, thrusting his hands in his face, says "Smell my hands!"  The rest of the group was like, "Heck no, are you crazy!?"  

We had a pilgrim on this trip from the Jewish faith tradition.  He won "quote of the trip" when he said, "I did not sweat during the climb to the cupola but I broke into a cold sweat when trying to pick out a rosary for my wife to have blessed by the pope!"  For not being Christian, this particular individual was an extremely good sport about our Church-centric trip.  

Our program coordinator loves veal and we had veal four times on the trip.  An under-the-breath quote was often "I wonder how the veal will be prepared tonight" versus "I wonder what's for dinner."  

This trip was different in that I was constantly connected but the Internet was like that of 1996.  Wifi worked when it wanted (It was acting very "Italian" in that way) but my cell coverage was wonderful.  In prior years, cell coverage was not good and it was impossible to text or email while traveling around the city.  This year, it was actually easier to stay on cell coverage and not even bother at the hotel with their Italian wifi.  I just hope I don't get a $3945 bill from Verizon.  

Even in Assisi, I had decent cell coverage.  Oh, Assisi.  After spending 8 days there last fall, the place feels like home to me.  I remember the major streets and know where the landmarks are.  I know who has the best gelato and where to find the best olive wood utensils.  I know where to get Italian leather.  I know where the free bathrooms are located.  

I need to go back to Assisi.  This trip made me realize that instead of going back for our vacation in 2018, we're going next year  We are going to rent a house in Umbria and relax, Italian style, for two weeks.  

#goodwine

#goodfriends

#goodlife  

The Struggle Bus Caught Fire

I've been reflecting on the last 36 hours or so.  

And my conclusion?  That fear is stupid.

A totally unwarranted waste of precious time.  Why are we so afraid?  Why the fear?

I cultivate a lot of the fear of failure.  Somewhere in my past, I was informed that I was not good enough and that I better improve...which plays into any perfectionist's insecurity.  If I fail, I won't have a perfect record so therefore, don't try.  Don't risk failure, it isn't worth it.  At least that's where I think it comes from.  

I think I've written about this before but I often reflect back on 8th grade volleyball.  My parents weren't able to send me to five volleyball camps each summer and I deduced that all the more popular girls would make the team in 8th grade.  Even though I was a full-time starter on the 7th grade team and 'won' several games with my serving.  I psyched myself out.  I decided, in my stupid almost-8th-grade head that I wasn't going to be good enough, I wasn't going to make the team, and that I wasn't even going out for volleyball.  Why risk the humiliation?

I "missed" try-out's because I "forgot" to get my physical from my doctor.  As I smugly watched girls stressing out about volleyball try-out's, I heard a jarring thing.  Over and over, girls commented that they were glad I couldn't go out for the team because my absence opened up a place for them. 

Whaaa?  I could have been good enough?  I could have made it?  I could have excelled another year as star server?  DAMN.  I'm my own worst enemy.  

That crushing regret stayed with me.  I went out for varsity softball as a freshman in a huge high school.  Of course I didn't make the team (like, 2 juniors did, no sophomores or freshman).  I was crushed, but only for about an hour.  One time, I asked out a boy whom I wasn't sure liked me.  One time, I went for a job for which I had no business really applying.  

Guess that?  I played softball throughout the years on various teams, rocking short stop and hitting balls to center field.  The job?  They hired me and I've been with them for 14 years.  And the guy?

He's sitting three feet from me on the couch.  Okay, HE asked ME out but it's been a 20 year party.  That I wouldn't trade for the world.  

So why the fear?  Why the fear of failure or rejection when, statistically, it is irrevelant in the end?  

I had the same fear when I applied for this doctorate.  That stupid self-talk starts up inside my head...what if they laugh at your application?  What if they write you back with a great big rejection?  And I was admitted in the early decision process, guaranteeing me a place for this fall.  I start classes in two weeks.  

This all brings me to the race.  The race that has been eliciting some fear for months now.  I don't know why a half-marathon was so daunting.  Maybe it was the 8th grader in me, worried that I wouldn't make the team and would get swept up by the 'struggle bus' at the end.   

Sure, I was nervous before we started but started the course.  Walking with Jack, I enjoyed the course!  It poured on us when we were on the Indianapolis Motor Speedway (known to us Indy folks simply as "The Track").  It was very cool to walk the Track, despite the sheets of rain.  It felt almost baptismal.  

Cleansing.

Live bands played along the race route, one placed at least every half mile.  Church groups egged us on, high school bands played "Jock Jams" songs, and live blues bands serenaded us with deep bass. Miles 1-3 flew by.  All of the sudden, at Mile 4, I realized what the recurring sign was saying.  There was a vertical sign at each mile that said "Pitarea."  In my head, I was like, "Wow, Greeks must be sponsoring this...Pitarea!"  The sign was next to a Mexican restaurant so I figured it might have been an ecumenical gathering of Mexicans and Greeks for sake of the race?  Then I saw the sign again...maybe it was supposed to read, "Pi Terra."  Like, 3.14 and "earth."  Then I wondered if the formal marathon length of 26.2 miles was some deviation of Pi, or 3.14.

Then, like a thunder clap, I realized it read, "Pit Area."  

OH.  PIT AREA.  Yeah, that makes more sense in Indianapolis, in the race month of May, as we are about to race on The Track.  What's funniest is that Jack and I had this epiphany together.  

Which helped us laugh our way through Miles 5 and 6.  Mile 5 or so went through Speedway, Indiana (it's like Main Street USA) and the signs people held up were hysterical.  Like, "Pet my dog for super powers," "Whine now, wine later," and "Wink if you just peed a little bit."  

Cute.

Then we were on the track, with those rainy, blinding miles passing quickly.  The track was WONDERRRRRFUL for walking.  It was like walking on a rubber mat.  The downpour stopped as we finished the Track and departed back to downtown Indy.  Miles 9-12 were pretty chill, as Jack and I sort of put our heads down, earbuds in, trying to keep pace.  They went quickly; it was where I started feeling hungry and spent my minutes plotting the post-race meal of filet mignon and shrimp.  I probably spent 6 whole minutes figuring out what spices I wanted on my steak.  

At Mile 12, we had a gorgeous view of the city and crossed a bridge going back into downtown.  U2's "City of Blinding Lights" just happened to pop up on my MP3 player.  Yes, my MP3 player.  Jack found our old MP3 player from 2008 and it's been a wonderful time capsule for my training!  Most of the songs have a good cadence for exercising and it's a hoot to realize how much I must have liked the Black Eyed Peas in 2008.  Regardless, Bono helped me glide into mile 13, the home stretch.  

Mile 13 was pretty surreal.  Checkered flags line the road and the crowd cheers you on!  People read your race bib and call you by name.  It's so much fun and electric at the finish line.  About a half-mile out, with the finish line in sight, Jack yells over, "Hell, let's run and finish this thing!!"  

After 13 miles, the soles on your shoes feel like they are .0001 inches thick.  I was seriously afraid of tripping and needing a medic on the finish line.  But we ran, we finished well under our expected time, and no, I didn't trip.  All I wanted to accomplish with this race was 1) finishing and 2) not barfing.  

Mission accomplished.  Both of them!

Yesterday afternoon and evening were a bit rough, as was this morning.  But the human body is remarkable in that it heals from all the hard work of a half-marathon.  All of the sit-stand-kneel action in church this morning was challenging but we are feeling better as the day goes on.  This was Jack's first race (go big or go home, right?) and he's hooked.  

So guess who is doing a half in fall and next year's Mini?  

- These two in Indy who are no longer afraid of being picked up by the Struggle Bus.  

On the race course OR in life.  

That .01 Mile on February 12

Well, that was weird.  I was just "butt dialed" by my boss at work.  

I listened to the "voicemail" for a moment then thought better of it.  Do I really want to know?  Then I coined a new phrase that I am going to loan to Pope Francis:

"Mercy is not listening to other peoples' butt dials."  

Watch for it on Twitter and Instagram.  I'm sure his Holiness will quote me.  

Ugh.  

I complained about work recently....things have kind of come to a head and subsided.  I won't go into detail but know that the ethics people are trying to practice forgiveness and cultivate peace.  How novel, right?  Anyway, I won't mention that again (okay, at least for a while).  Time to let it go.

But how about this?  Jack and I completed our formal training program tonight for the Mini.  It was our last 'long' weekday walk.  For giggles, I tabulated my mileage over these last few months as I have prepared for this half-marathon.  

Since December 27, I have walked 280.29 miles.  And that's the "official" exercise mileage, not what I log with Fitbit, doing laundry or going to work or whatever.  280 dedicated miles on the treadmill or the road.  It averages out to 2.19 miles a day.  Rock on!!!

What's funny is that I figured my mileage from December 27 to April 30 and it was 272.99.  Literally the ".99" mile.  Like, couldn't I have walked .01 more that one random Tuesday night in February?  Ha.

My goal from December 27, 2015 to December 27, 2016 was 365 miles.  I now hope to meet that by June 1.  Between the half-marathon and a week in Italy in mid-May, I think June 1 is a realistic goal.  Maybe June 8th.  I guess it depends if I bring home my annual European upper respiratory infection (noooooooooooo!)

So barring a random stomach flu or case of Anthrax, we're walking the Mini on Saturday.  We've practiced with Gatorade chews (omg....they really do help...sugar!  Lovely sugar!  Hello, dear sugar!) and our wick away shirts and new compression pants...yep.  We've got the gear and we are going to knock this thing off our bucket list.  

FINALLY.  YAAAAAAS.