Mini-Failures and Pandora's Box

Failure on Day 1:

Right, so picking this first day back from a 10-day vacation wasn't the smartest move.  While I coasted through the morning in my post-vacation Zen, the day really tried my patience and endurance.  My first day back was 12 hours long.

When I came home, Jack met me at the door with a glass of wine and a little appetizer so I could relax before dinner.  Best. Dude. Ever.

All thoughout the day, I listened to my self-talk.  It's exhausting, to focus on each though stringing throught your head like you're spinning yarn.  I created two big wooden boxes in my head, one to the left of my mental space, one to the right.  The one to the right is a big white wooden box, with thick wood slats, like one would find on a beach to house kayaks.  This box is marked "Pandora's" in newspaper ransom note letters.  The other box, a navy blue painted wood box, sits to the left, sort of in the shadows and has "EXPECTATIONS" strewn across it in hurried white paint.  

As I sense a thought that is pressing down on me or another person as an unfair, heavy, or just goofy expectation, I mentally shove it in the blue box.  But if I encounter any thought that is negative, going back to my old ways of doing something just to make someone else happy, or to achieve, or to look really good because my email box is at 3 (not!), I shove those compulsions into Pandora's Box.  I'm not sure if I will ever want to sort through that stuff again but for right know, I know they're safe and out of my way.  

My thoughts today still did vary when I had to break up a scruffle between two docs, spearhead a terrifying  budgeting process, and continued to shoulder a staffing crisis in IR.  But I purposely tried to change my attitude.  I'm doing this for my people and for my patients.  Not for me or my ego, to prove that I'm good at my job.  

I shared a bit of my struggle with my boss this morning, about the perfectionism thing, and she just laughed.  She said something like, "You do so well, I don't even know what you're worried about."  She didn't take me too seriously, so I will have to give her some examples about this paradigm shift I'm trying to make.

And without further adieu, mostly because my blessed Ambien is kicking in, I noted a few failures today at work.  I did not finish paperwork on root cause analyses and 2 other contracts that need to go out by tomorrrow at the latest.  I set the goal to get my email down to under 100 and I got it to 104.  I set the goal to leave the office by 5:45 and I got out of there at 6:10.  Pretty sure I won't lose my job over these.  OH, and I left a few dishes in the sink, letting Jack take care of things if he felt like it.  I didn't go to the gym and instead, watched an episode of Deadliest Catch.  The work will be there tomorrow.  The fat will be there tomorrow, as will the paper I have due on Saturday.  I have to clean my house this week for the management team I am hosting for dinner on Friday night.  Yet, somehow it will be all complete and it will have been GOOD ENOUGH!

Hurray for this new permission in my life...good enough!

I Didn't Major in Psychology...

I'm sitting on my couch, looking out at a beautiful, mostly sunny, humid day in the Amazon.  I mean, Indianapolis.  After this year's polar vortex, I will not complain about the humidity.  I will not complain about how my naturally curly hair just graduated to "fro" status.  Remember that episode of Friends where Monica had to get the braids to control her crazy 'fro hair in the Caribbean?  Yep, that's me.  

Eh, oh well.  

Jack and I just returned from a STUNNING 10-day vacation that started on July 2.  We met our friends, Mr. and Mrs. Vera, for our annual beach vacation up on Lake Michigan.  We spent a couple days over the 4th in Chicago, partying with the Vera family, then we moved on up to the beach.  We visited old friends (Alex, as referenced in previous posts) and her dogs, complete with Coronas in the sun while we threw the tennis balls 294 times for the doggies.  We boogieboarded.  I paddleboarded several times and feel as though I got the knack of it.  We sunned on the beach for hours, lingering in the 72-and-sunny, robin-egg-blue skies, with gentle lake breezes that stirred up just enough wave action to make it feel like the ocean.  

It was perfect.  Our friends have become family and we could share long stretches of silence, with everyone equally absorbed in their beach reads.  The Chardonnay was cold, the sandwiches fresh, and each evening, Jack whipped up a gourmet feast.  We shared a few beach bonfires and lit several of those really cool paper lantern things into the night sky.  

And yet, I could not relax.  200 miles away from my job, iPhone on airplane mode (I needed it for pictures and music), and splayed out on a warm beach with my family, I could not relax.  In fact, I was wound tighter than a garage door spring - you know the scary ones about which urban legends are spun where they suddenly unwind and kill people.  Separately, the other three would pull me aside and express their concern for my wellbeing, saying I'm "too young to be this uptight."

Yeah....I know.  I thought I was working on it. 

My favorite part of vacation is the chance to sit and just "be," to let the proverbial dust settle in my mind, heart, and soul.  It's when I let my soul catch up to my life (if that makes any sense).  But when I started to allow the muck to settle, I didn't like what I saw.  In fact, I had a terrible night the last two nights as I struggled through a poignant, painful, perhaps deadly realization.  

I'm a raging perfectionist.  Probably an obsessive perfectionist.  I know, I know, anyone reading this is laughing to themselves, shaking their head like, "Duh!!"  But it dawned on me, clear and unquestionable - that I HAVE to change something.  The daily chest pain and moments at work where I catch myself unconsciously holding my breath HAVE to stop.  I'm going to either die or burn out and do the Dairy Queen gig I keep somewhat joking about.  

The perfectionist thing explained everything to me.  I'm insecure as hell, afraid that someone's going to watch me make one mistake and then deem me unworthy.  Unworthy of my job, my marriage, my friends, everything.  Is it irrational?  Of course.  But in my head, there are only two options: 100% success or 100% failure.  All I wear is black and white; in my first executive positions, I thought it made me look and seem sharp, crisp, unemotional.  And yet, it's a reflection of what's going on in my head.  I'm scared shitless that I'm going to fail.  For me, failure means a lack of responsiblity and that I'm unworthy of love.  Which, of course, is ridiculous, but this is the self-talk I am trying to overcome.    

I'm not one of those perfectionists who procrastinate because they want perfection.  Well, except for this painting I've been working on of Bono where I can't seem to finish it because I don't want to screw something up.   Professionally, I don't catch myself procrastinating.  I'm the opposite - I never freaking sit down until my to-do list is done and email box is empty.  Again, two unrealistic goals.  I'm truly seeking perfection, unwilling to admit that my goals are crazy (and unattainable) and that I will never be good enough.  

All of this came out Friday night, as I sat at 1:00 a.m. in our screened in porch, under glimmering Christmas lights we strung between the rafters.  Mrs. Vera must have heard me creep out there - she followed me and offered me an ice-water and a shoulder.  I talked for hours, feeling so grateful for the safety she offered me out there in the dark.  Unjudging, unconditional safety.  It was new for me.    

I'm not wired to trust people.  I've been hurt a lot.  My dad abandoned me as a kid and when I tried to reach out to him a few months ago (the Fourth commandment about honoring one's parents really haunts me).  My biological sperm donor did not even respond to the email.  I guess I'm off the hook.  But the feeling is magnified with my brother, who recently left our immediate family and despite our many attempts at reconciliation, doesn't want us either.  I've had friends abandon me throughout the years when our relationships seemed secure, safe, and trusting.  I know that none of this is my fault (it's going on in others' heads) nor did I "force" this to happen.  But my brain thinks "I made a mistake with someone and now I'm unlovable.  They don't love me enough to see me through whatever hypothetical crap arose."  

[PS, Kelly, if you happen to be reading this, I cannot find that statue you requested back.  I'm sorry.  If it appears among our stuff, I will make sure to get it to your sister.]  

There's just no reasoning with my brain.  Even in the last 48 hours, I've had to intentionally select my thoughts.  My brain and its wacky thoughts are not correct.  I have the power to change this. 

I worked so hard a few years ago, to always be the same person.  I didn't want a dichotomy where I was one person at work, one at home.  But what I ended up inadvertantly doing is creating one highly-stressed, rigid, intense woman.  Whom I don't really like now.  The executive self won out, not a mixture of both my professional presence and fun-loving gal who drinks beer and challenges the neighborhood kids to games of Knock Out and front yard soccer.  I'm uptight, always on guard, and, well, trying to be perfect.      

So here's my plan for change...each day, I am going to purposefully fail at something.  It will be inconsequential; I'm not going to email a big F-bomb to my CEO.  But I'm going to do something where I fail.  Maybe it's making a bad batch of broccoli.  Maybe it's spilling a drink on the floor.  Maybe it's not making my bed and not worrying about the crud on the kitchen floor.  The point is, I will keep aiming for excellence (not perfection) at work.  But at home and even at work, I have to supplant "perfection" with "good enough."  All of the effort of perfectionism is exhausting.  My heart and soul are just wiped out.  

Thanks to my wonderful husband and an excellent friend on a dark porch in Michigan in the middle of the night, I realized for the first time that I'm good enough.  Me, just being myself, is enough.  And that imperfect person is loved.  And even more - the mistakes give me experiences and color my life.  I will figure out how to love myself better and stop taking things so darn seriously.  I feel as though I've lost several years in this pursuit of perfection (especially at work), trying to make everyone think I'm professionally accomplished and worthy of my job.  They aren't the ones who thinking I haven't earned my job.  I am.  There, I said it in writing.  I'm the one I'm trying to impress and convince is worthy.  

I have a long way to go.  But I'm thinking about chronicling my funny failures in the coming weeks.  I'm not going to set an expectation that I blog daily (no more 100% failure/success thinking) but I'd like to document some of this here.  I know it's quite personal but anyone who knows about this blog is in my trusted circle anyway.  So just send me chocolates, Chardonnay, and jokes while I work through this.

My heart and soul are worth it.  

Like 98.4% of Americans

So what's your New Year's Resolution?  Are you going to lose weight?  Be more healthy?  Maybe go back to school or finally start that new hobby?

Yeah, me too.  Pretty cliche this year.  

I never really regained my sense of balance since upheaving my whole life (and Jack's) this past year.  I received the phone call on January 2, from the COO of St. Gonzo's, about interviewing for this big job he thought fit me.  I received that phone call one year ago today, just when I thought I was adjusting to the Chicagoan rat race, feeling decent about my career, and I had just finished glamming up our villa.

Two weeks later, I survived a six-hour day of interviews and was offered the job on the spot.

The next week, I submitted my resignation and settled upon a termination date.  February 20.

On Feb. 1, we traveled to Indianapolis to find me a house to start the whole distance-marriage thing again.  After looking at 9 unavailable properties, we dined with a friend from middle school who just happened to have a condo neighbor looking to rent their townhouse.  We ate at Don Shula's as part of "Devour Downtown."  It was 4 degrees above zero and we discovered that our new friends liked wine and bacon.

The next day, I signed for the condo while Jack started organizing movers and supplies.  We contacted a realtor to photograph our villa for listing.  

The weeks leading up to February 20 were a blur.  I cannot ever remember working so much.  They were not replacing my position and so I parceled my work out to 6 different directors.  On my last day of work, my colleagues threw me a going-away party and Jack surprised me by having my mom travel to Chicago by train.  He left momentarily and ushered my mom to my party.  I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw my mom waltz into a Chicagoan sports bar.  

On February 21, we power-packed.  Laced with caffeine, we packed up the entire house in about 12 hours.  I treated her to an Italian dinner that night, where we about fell asleep at the table.

The movers arrived early on February 22.  Jack followed them to Indy while mom and I stayed back to perfect the remaining items for Jack's return after the weekend.  The semi and Jack traveled down I-65 without a problem.  By the time mom and I left an hour later, a massive pile-up occurred on 65, leaving us stranded on the highway for almost 5 hours.  The 3.25 hour trip to Indy took 8 hours.  We arrived in Indy dead tired (again); by the time we got there, Jack and my dad had all the furniture set up and beds made so momma and I could crash.

I started my new job on February 25.  It was intense and I worked 12 hours even that first day.  My commute was 35 minutes one way and I quickly resorted to my "I'm alone" diet of Lean Cuisines and/or granola bars.  Jack kept his job in Chicago and commuted to Indy for the weekends.  We spent our weekends alternating between total couch-surfing and exploring downtown Indy's restaurants.  

March was a blur of long days, long commutes, and long loneliness.  I was in a grad school class and I remember March being yucky, paper-wise.  I also had a lot of homework for the Franciscan leadership program.  We listed our house on the market and it sold in 3 hours.  At a huge profit.

In April, the long days finally caught up to me and I came down with a hacking cough that turned into walking pneumonia.  I didn't even have a doctor yet, so I had to trouble my VPMA for an antibiotics script.  He also gave me codeine so I could sleep and that's when I wrecked my reputation forever with Jack.  I hadn't taken codeine in 25 years but I was desperate.  I took a healthy dose, curled up in bed, and flipped on Showtime to catch a flick.  When Jack arrived from Chi that evening, he discovered that I had somehow put "Mean Girls" on repeat.  You try explaining that, in your codeine haze, you considered Lindsay Lohan to be a decent actress. 

Easter fell on April 25 and when I had to leave Jack behind in Chicago (I travelled up there for the holiday), I fell apart.  I couldn't do the commuter marriage anymore.  I asked Jack to submit his resignation that Monday and move to Indy permanently.  He did and did.  His boss was awesome and let him work remotely from Indy.

May introduced us to race month in Indy.  From our condo, we could hear the race cars practicing at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway.  We're not exactly racing enthusiasts, but it was really cool to sit on the back patio and hear all the "vrrrrrooom!  Vroom, vroom, vroom!" from a few miles away.  We also discovered Broad Ripple in May and Sakura sushi.

In June, I spent $5M on three new MRI scanners to completely upgrade the hospital's equipment.  I finished crafting the deal from my bathing suit on the beach.  We continued our tradition of vacationing with Vera and Mr. Vera on Lake Michigan.  They've transitioned from friends to family and we love them.  The week consisted of laying on the beach, cycling the lakeside, and sipping local wines.  Doesn't get much better.  Except that I fell down 9 steps and heavily bruised my backside.  I was heading down a 100 steps to the beach and in the morning drizzle, didn't realize that the bottom steps were coated in algae.  

That bruise lasted 3 weeks.  Charming, eh?

In July, I found myself on several airplanes, doing business in Minneapolis, Chicago, and Milwaukee.    Jack and I celebrated our 12th wedding anniversary by dining at St Elmo's Steakhouse.  The $17 shrimp cocktail is totally and utterly worth it.  I'm making it more important to do something meaningful on our wedding anniversaries.  I hate sitting back, not remembering what we did to commemmorate such great days.    

While the summer was decent, hanging out frequently with our next-door neighbors (the ones who found us the condo), my skin started itching.  Our condo was so small and my commute so long.  It's not that I wanted to jump into a house but I had condo fever.  I couldn't take it anymore and had several late, hazy nights where I honestly couldn't remember driving home.  So in August, I called the bank, was approved for a mortgage, and then hired a realtor.  Jack organized several interesting properties in our price range.  After three days driving around Indianapolis, we found a stellar home.  We negotiated a terrific deal on the "inventory" home and our offer on a new house was accepted.  Moving day was set for September 28.

Work exploded after Labor Day and Jack earned more "hero" status by single-handedly packing up the entire condo.  I'm serious - he even packed my dresser drawers, purses, and jewelry.  I did nothing but pathetically cheer him on from the couch when I came home to crash each night.  He'd give me a menial chore, like packing this one frying pan, so I could say that I contributed.  

Moving day was suddenly upon us.  Again, Jack took charge by setting up all utilities, installing the security system, and organizing the movers (seriously, if you ever need help moving, call Jack).  I took a couple days off work to unpack and buy out JC Penney Home Store - all while wandering around the house, not sure it was really my home.  I only set off the new security alarm three times that weekend.  The ADT lady started laughing at me.    

October flew by with my Franciscan leadership program graduation (the reward for completing the program is a week in Rome this May.  Apparently, we get a special tour of the Vatican Museums and an audience with the Papa.  I've been scheming to revisit Italy and can't believe this tremendous opportunity with work colleagues).  We also went to a Notre Dame game and threw my folks a big wedding anniversary party.  They acted like cute kids in love and the party was a great success!

November seems to be the month of depositions for me and I found myself embroiled in a lawsuit from an event that occurred before my arrival.  The COO who recruited me announced his departure from the state for another job and I suddenly realized that I had one lightly-scheduled week after Thanksgiving.  So I booked it and we flew to Florida for a week of grouper, Vitamin D, and seashells.  We ate most of Florida's fresh fish and came home with wonderful tans.  We also discovered Sanuk's.  

My insomnia started getting pretty bad again, even on vacation.  I took my doctor up on her offer to prescribe Ambien.  I hate taking such things, but it's truly better living through pharmaceuticals.

I spent December in a vortex of terror at work.  Several big patient safety and HR issues came blasting to the surface, occupying hours and hours of time.  I stopped working out each evening in honor of more time on the laptop before my eyes involuntarily crossed and I couldn't form coherent sentences.  The week before Christmas was gnarly and I lost my first patient.  An outpatient had a bad reaction and didn't make it.  I watched in disbelief as my own staff led the chest compressions before the ER doctors arrived.  It was a nightmare and the first time I actively watched someone spontaneously die.    

Sometimes I forget I work in a hospital....

But Christmas delivered with its usual promise of family laughter, copious amounts of Bailey's, and reconnecting with people we don't see nearly often enough.  It's exhausting to travel so much but I'd never miss Christmas with the people we love.  I ate all the carbs in South Bend.

So this was all going through my mind the other night, as I prepared for New Year's.  Vera and Mr. Vera visited us in Indy for New Year's (it's a tradition to ring in the new year with them) and we all reflected on our successes and challenges.  We toasted each success and comforted fears and perceived failures.  We boosted each other up for more successes and fewer failings.  Vera and I went downtown for lunch and to shop while the boyz brewed a batch of beer.  After a later "Thanksgiving-esque" dinner, we discovered that our neighbors organized a block party, complete with pudding shots (Oh, the pudding shots.  Why are you so yummy, dear pudding shots?).  

Post pudding shots, we had the success/challenge/failure conversations.  That's when I realized that I never really regained my balance this year.  New job.  New city.  Two moves.  New house.  New friends.  My treadmill has NOT seen enough action this year and I don't drink nearly enough water.  I'm dusting off 20 year-old hobbies such as painting and drawing and I'm resuming this last master's degree here in a couple weeks.  Got. To. Finish. It.

So I'm going to be like 98.4% of America and probably stop working out by January 9th.  But I'm going to take better care of myself and enjoy this life we worked so hard to build.

Happy New Year!

It's a Wonderful Life

I'm trying to get into the swing of blogging again (seriously helps to do so from my ipad- and the picture function isn't working well) and might jump around from topic to topic.  My apologies.  

Anyway, I've been in this weird land of Radiology for 10 months now, where I'm the leader of 12 hospitals and outpatient facilities and 500 employees.  I still vacillate between having a complete grasp on my position and its awesome demands and sitting in my office, sort of zoning out to old Duran Duran songs on Pandora while I stare at the piles of radiology "stuff" needing attention.  How do I even edit a Nuclear Medicine Isotope policy without having to google things?  Eek.  

I was out of the office for 11 days and in the Tampa airport, on the way home, I caught up on email.  Yet, by the end of today, I was tapped out again, dreaming of our 85 degree pool at night, with Christmas lights draped on our Floridian railing.  

That didn't take long.  

I *loved* those Christmas lights.  I always travel with them now. 

Anyway, a few things shake me from my relative security or downright stagnation- and it's the huge generosity of the radiology staff.  A few years ago, the department started sponsoring some families and charities for Christmas.  They would raise $1000-1200 for the families and it was such a striking gesture.  This year, the "Christmas Committee" came to me in August, requesting a formal meeting.  They wanted to start a "12 weeks of Christmas" program across Radiology, where each department would take one of the weeks of Christmas.  The departments would create baskets for raffles or sponsor potluck luncheons for modest fees.  Then, as we spaced out the requests for money, we might get a better response for the charities.

Why would I object?  Of course this sounds great.  The management team was assigned "Four Calling Birds" and we created an Alfred Hitchcock-themed Birds basket.  With Christmas movies included!

Gotta include Kevin MacAllister with your Hitchcock movies!

So this whole "12 Weeks of Christmas" idea started in October and so far, with 2 weeks to go, has raised $5800.  It's stunning.  We actually had to find MORE charities to support this year; what a novel problem to have.  

We very well may surpass $7000 raised and it's so humbling to me because this is all staff-driven.  I've learned that I have employees who volunteer at soup kitchens in the city every Saturday night.  I've learned that I have MRI staff who gather at 5:30 am each Wednesday morning for Bible study.  I found out that the Diagnostic Xray department does spontaneous blanket drives throughout winter.  

The sense of charity, generosity, and kindness is truly humbling.  I look around and all these people want is perrmission to keep doing what they're doing.  And they refuse any kind of recognition.  They are spreading God's presence around the hospital and other departments outside Imaging and Radiology are starting to participate because they are so moved.  

It's so humbling.  I can't believe I work and with for such wonderful people.  

What a blessing.  For us all.   

  

Celebrating the Normal

Right now, I am sitting in the big, cushy chair in my den, looking out on a strangely sunny, spring-like sky in Chicagoland. The grass outside never quite lost its green and if I didn’t know better, I could think it was mid-March- maybe approaching Easter. The lack of snow and freezing temps fool even the most thorough participants in seasonal affective disorder!

The last month has just been wonderful. A lot of time with family and close friends, time spent hurriedly (but joyfully) baking, shopping, wrapping, addressing 100’s of Christmas cards (I need to scale back on this- I love giving all my employees a hand-written Christmas card, but it becomes a significant burden as the clock ticks closer to Christmas). For the first time in recent memory, I felt completely joyful throughout our Christmas preparations. I didn’t road rage. I didn’t swear under my breath at the woman in the express checkout lane with 98 items in her cart. I didn't yell when I heated up chili in the microwave, neglected to cover it, and came back two minutes later to find that a "chili bomb" completely coated the inside of the 'wave. I tried to cultivate a spirit of patience and hospitality, practicing those very difficult skills!

I suck at patience. It's easily my biggest weakness.

And of course, I wasn’t perfect in my charitable thoughts. Not even close. But small choices of charity really mitigated my holiday-related stress. The absence of stress made room for even more joy and fun. Great friends spontaneously popping over with wine and cheese; gracious family visits filled with hysterical laughter; and a couple laid-back, “nothing will get done around Christmas anyway” weeks at work ushered in late, jovial evenings. In short, we lived the heck out of the holidays this year!

But as I sit here, reminiscing over the holiday season, a pit of depression threatens to suck me in. The extravagance is over. All the extra time with family and friends is over. The Christmas carols? Gone! Last box of Chocolate Charley? History. The time of celebration seems like it’s over. But does it have to be?

While I love preparing for Christmas and carefully decorating the tree, the cautious placement and spacing of outside lights, and intentional arrangement of nativity scene figures, I am just as excited to pack the Christmas decorations away once January 1 comes. I know the Christmas season doesn’t really end until Epiphany (technically, the Baptism of the Lord), but I feel this crazy need to CLEAN. After the craziness of Christmas and the emotional hangovers of New Year’s celebrations with the best of friends, I always have to start the New Year with a clean house. A clean closet. A clean mind. I throw open the windows, dust the oft-forgotten corners, bleach the heck out of the white towels so they are radiant white, and I work all day to organize my goals, priorities, and suits for work.

This is when we buckle down and scarcely look up until May. Every week has a robotic feel to it; the routine usually soothes me. From lands of too many sweets and not enough broccoli, I relish the dependable schedule of hard work, carefully planned, nutritious meals, allotted exercise time, and football-free Saturday's.

Each season has its perks. Autumn welcomes falling leaves, sweatshirts, new school years, and Notre Dame football. Thanksgiving ushers in a solid month of merrymaking and high-carb treats. Winter excites the snowbunnies, skiers, and soup fanatics (another one of our goals- have a pot of soup/stew perkin’ every Sunday). Spring reminds us of new birth, growth, and days that are finally light past 6pm. Summer promises fun times at the lake, bonfires, cook outs, and al fresco eats on the patio.

But for me, January 1 starts a whole new season: the season of routine and discipline. After the extravagance and overindulgences of the holidays, a predictable existence is sometimes okay. Sometimes it’s preferred.

So we’re going to buckle down, scale down, and celebrate a return to normalcy. It’s all a cycle- soon we’ll be sick of all the long hours and we will be dreaming of Jimmy Buffet-esque beaches and umbrella drinks. But if the still-green grass has anything to say about it, spring will be here before we know it.

Make it a great New Year.

Phelps

I just love me a good Olympic race. I jump up from the couch and cheer on my favored athlete to victory. For a few moments, I shoulder their competition, their frustration, their joy.

[Then Jack calmly reminds me I'm in the presence of other human beings and can I please keep it down?]

I heart the Olympics. Every two years, whether in summer or winter, we get to watch athletes who have sacrificed EVERYTHING to reach the pinnacle of their physical fitness for their chosen sport. I cannot imagine the sacrifice; although, that Visa commercial (broadcast 296 times) talks about how so-and-so hasn't ordered dessert in two years and hasn't watched television since 2001.

Okay, point taken. But why are you making the television-watching masses feel guilty since you haven't watched tv in years?

(insert "LOL" here).

However, it's so inspiring to me to watch the Olympics. I involuntarily tear up when someone like Missy Franklin wins the gold in swimming. I cringe when the medal favorites blow it in the gymnastic all-around. I celebrate when Kerry and Misty May roll over their opponents as though they're playing middle school teams.

Yes, I even cheer for Michael Phelps, who, to the untrained eye, looks a little cocky. Dude, we know you are worth millions and have broken all records for the number of medals accumulated by a single athlete. But you withdrew from the integrity bank because of your 'last dance with Mary Jane.'

I'm just sayin'!

He's a tremendous athlete. And a savant in swimming. We won't see another Phelps in our lifetimes. But he motivates me. Word is, he swims every single day of the year. On Christmas morning, when I'm snuggled up in my jammies and robe, sipping some flavorful coffee, he's swimming laps in some gym across the country.

It makes me realize that I really can make time to go to the gym during a busy week. If these people can train hours a day, I can squeeze in a half hour workout. No excuses!

It also inspires me to strive for excellence. Second place means nothing to most of the athletes. It's "go Gold or go home." I watched several athletes cry on the medal stand, having come within .001 of a gold medal.

We all want to win the gold, right?

So I challenge us to this question...what is your gold medal race? What race will you enter in the next year where silver will not satisfy you. You want gold. You need gold.

What are you going to do to become the gold medalist?

I Have a Bartender's License Now

Everyone kept telling me I needed some hobbies.

I have hobbies! C'mon! Going to grad school again? Memorizing Top 40 hits during my commute to work? Flossing? Paying bills? Drinking wine? Watching Jack cook? Those all count as hobbies, right?

Ehm, no.

So Jack has recently re-taken up the guitar. He's good and is mastering a lot of our "beach hymns" by people like IZ and Jack Johnson. And he rocks "Hotel California," my favorite acoustic song. That counts as a hobby, but he also added cycling.

Luckily, when Jack decided to buy a bike and start riding, he took my measurements and bought me one, too. AND he bought me rollerblades to replace my neglected, dead rollerblades. He reasoned, "you like this. And you need a hobby."

Back to the hobby talk, eh?

So anyway, we've become weekend warriors on the cycling front- he organizes "boy dates" during which the group rides 20-30 miles and stops a brewery halfway through the ride to "refuel." I get sick of the treadmill and agree to try to keep up with him on these epic rides.

Well, they're really not epic, but for this wannabe-cyclist, they're pretty rough. Last weekend, we rode about 30 miles. This weekend, we did 36.

My calves are huge and threatening to burst out of my pantsuits.

[Charming image, no? I'm, like, the Hulk. A non-green, female, non-cyclist Hulk-ess.]

But it's been fun. Every weekend's been fun because we always ride somewhere.

Yesterday, we served at our annual parish festival. It's actually a requirement as parishioners, that you serve in some food tent, game, ticket sales booth, or carnival ride.

Us? We were bartenders. Would you expect anything different from us?

SO Jack got carpal tunnel from pouring about 300 cups of beer and I did the stylish-trying-to-be-cute-bartender and had lots of the guys seeking me out and flirting. I was getting this! I could get everyone the right beer and pour a mean margarita! Yes, plan D! If the hospital administrator gig doesn't pan out, DQ isn't hiring, and my dog-walking business fails, I will become a bartender! I'm GOOD at this and customers are SEEKING me out!

Then my colleague and fellow parishioner came up to say hi. Then she said, "did you realize your fly's down?"

#(*&$@^&^!

Serves me right, I guess, for thinking I was just that popular of a bartender!

We had a great night at the festival, but after being soaked with beer and ruining my favorite pair of fancy sandals, Jack and I left to celebrate our anniversary.

Our anniversary! 11 years of marriage. We celebrated with a big, fancy dinner a few weeks ago because we knew we had to serve at the parish fest. The first year of marriage is celebrated by paper, the second year as cotton. The eleventh year? Bartending at a parish fest, I guess!

For the record, the 11th year is steel and we're investing in the best knives we can find. With Jack as Head Chef, his chief complaint about our kitchen is our dull knives. I cannot have a chef disgruntled by poor knives.

Otherwise, work's been going well. Summertime always ushers in a slower pace, solely because half the world takes vacation and progress stalls every time I receive an "out of office" reply on urgent emails. I've been feeling like the administrator again lately, working through patient complaints, patient safety issues requiring immediate intervention, and collaborating on system-level projects that will, some day, make a serious difference for our patients. It's an equal mix of short-term and long-term projects that keep me hoppin'.

And when I'm not hoppin', I'm cyclin' now!

Dancing

Getting

I’ve been lighthearted this week. Part of it was a choice, part of it just a gift. I realized I was trying to scale out of this deep, 20-foot tall, slimy, muddy hole (in vain, I might add) when all I had to do was turn around. The opposite wall was only 12” tall, allowing me to hop out of that dark place. So instead of trying to scale a 20 foot wall, I did a high step out of that pit.

Weird how that happens. One half attitude, one half grace.

I’m looking at work in a “get to” perspective instead of a “have to” mentality. Instead of complaining about my nutty schedule, I think, “I get to work today.” Or, instead of whining about teaching a class at 8 a.m. (before the normal time coffee fully kicks in), I tell myself I GET to teach this class. Sometimes those mind games really work.

Honestly, the week started off rather rough with back-to-back (to-back-to-back) meetings Monday morning. Already tired by 10 a.m., one of the 70+ year-old volunteers who helps my assistant tentatively approached my office. I must have looked cross (or exhausted) because she timidly handed me a gift bag. Inside, a beautiful plum crocodile purse that she "saw and thought of me" over the weekend.

I'd been admiring her plum crocodile purse all winter and when she saw another one, she bought it for me. Humbled at her kindness, I thought, "Wow. I GET to work with some amazing, thoughtful people."

I was doing a lot of that on my morning commutes this week, telling myself how lucky I am because I get to do this job and work with these people. I GET to teach a class from 8-10. Then I GET to visit a very cool, live disaster drill where the hospital handled 120 “victims” of a hazmat spill. The “victims” were high school seniors from the local high school who got out of class for the morning to serve the hospital- helping us practice our decontamination skills. We were shocked to see two news outlets and one newspaper reporter show up to document the event! Our hospital’s hazmat crew (who came in on their unpaid days off) looked so proud when interviewed and photographed. As they took the hazmat tents down, I ran to the nearest pizzeria and picked up 10 pizzas for the crew. I GET to buy those awesome guys pizza.

Then I GET to see those guys on the front page of the paper. Talk about morale boost for the hospital!

Later that day, I received a phone call asking me to serve as a panelist for an upcoming ethics conference. Not sure about the schedule requirements, I quickly talked myself into it, on my premise of "Holy cow, I GET to do this."

Last week, I challenged one of my managers to excel in class. She’s doing her master’s in nursing and had a terrible stats class. In joking, I told her I’d buy her lunch if she passed stats. This morning, she emailed me one sentence…”I passed stats, you owe me a drink!” I remembered offering her LUNCH, not drinks, but hey, that could be interesting bonding. I hope she’s not planning on tequila shots…

Regardless, I GET to take a manager out for lunch.

Finally, I've way over my head in my quasi-black belt Lean training. I GET to shepherd nine green belts through their yellow and green belt training, helping to make sure their projects are appropriately scoped and completed. I get to remove obstacles when they arise. I get to sit through the green belts' training, so I can make diligent notes about parking lot items or project ideas. It's completely overwhelming, for we have so much work to do.

However, we GET to be the change agents to help improve healthcare. That's enough to inspire me to jump out of bed each morning. It's tiring to face my life with the "get to" mentality, but it sure does make things more optimistic.

A nice side perk? Optimistic days require far less caffeine!

Masks

"Real integrity is doing the right thing, knowing that nobody’s going to know whether you did it or not."

— Oprah Winfrey


In a week full of heated meetings with various directors, physicians, and VP's, this quote really struck me. Are we the same people all the time or do we put masks on when we want to be perceived in a certain way? In my own journey, this is something to which I aspire- to be the same person all the time, inside AND outside of work.

I used to talk about how I had several hats. My "home" hat, my "executive" hat, my "moral" hat, my "I'm a cool person, see?" hat. Etc.

It's time to consolidate the hats and stick with one "all-time" hat.

One of my colleagues provides a stellar example of this. We don't work for the same organization but our ongoing mergers often bring us together in difficult, high-stakes meetings. I watch her behave in these meetings and she just is who she is. There's no fluff, no masks, no ego. It's so refreshing and so weird.

I've got to learn how to do this.

Conveniently, this colleague and I go the same church and cross paths often in the community (you know, when you run out REALLY quickly for eggs and bread and you haven't showered yet after just going for a run and/or doing 2 hours of sweaty yardwork and see someone important? Yeah, like that). I took a risk and feeling like that geeky kid in middle school asking the designer jeans-wearing, popular, student council president to ride the school bus home with me, I invited my fascinating colleague to lunch.

I waited until I had an business reason to call her and then popped the question. She was gracious and lucky for me and my pride, immediately accepted.

It's funny, I'm not really sure how to make friends anymore. The friendships I have just sort of happened. There was no explicit effort involved; they just evolved. This was different, though, it was the first time in a long time I've seen someone in action and just wanted (needed?) to know how they do what they do. It was an interesting foray out of my comfort zone...but it would help if people operated with fewer masks and less pretending.

So that's what I'm going to work on next: dropping masks I know I wear and trying to expose those I'm not even aware I'm using. It might be geeky and I might be that unpopular kid still riding the school bus, but I don't care.

Acceptance

I cannot ever recall having had a decent sunburn in March.

And I absolutely love how the arrival of warm (hot!) spring weather coincided with the time change. It was as though summer literally arrived overnight and we went from furnace action to A/C in 24 hours.

But I'll take it. I think we all will!

This past week ushered in 400 miles of cross-system driving, as I had two out-of-town meetings on Monday and then on Thursday. It's inspiring to see things actually happen in these meetings; you get that recurrent sense that you're spinning in circles, just to break through it and realize the team's really made some success.

The other days consisted of light meeting schedules affording me the chance to stealthily escape from work in the late afternoon and happily work from favorite chaise lounger on the patio. It's the supreme deal of multi-tasking...getting something accomplished *while* sucking up some precious Vitamin D.

With temps still in the 80's, our friends Vera and Mr. Vera called us randomly yesterday and invited us over to play. Vera had corned beef and cabbage in the crock pot and homemade Irish soda bread in the oven. Bailing on our plans to work, read, catch up on homework, we joined our friends at their house on the farm.

Seriously. They live on 120+ acres. Wonderful, panoramic views!

We lazed around on their deck, sipping light, fruity wine and noshing on olives and cheese. Suddenly, Mr. Vera jumped up and went in the house, only to return with two shot guns and a carton of clay pigeons.

Wine + guns = two happy boys. You'd think they were 16!

After dinner, a storm started rolling in, way off in the distance. The guys, content to jam on their guitars, serenaded the shattered clay pigeon pieces in the field. Vera and I, however, went out into the middle of the orchard to watch the storms build. The unobstructed views took my breath away.

So *this* is why people live in the country!

It really made me think about my perceptions of events. It's tempting to think about the negative implications of the coming storm...it's scary, uncertain, and with its horizontal lightning, probably dangerous. We could get hurt if we stand too close. Are the risks, danger, and uncertainty worth it?

But afterward? The rains made all the fields and lawns green. Even though it's still technically winter, good times are here. We're exactly where we're supposed to be, doing exactly what we're supposed to be doing.

Swiffer

Does anyone else heave a dramatic sigh of relief when time changes in the spring? As soon as it's light outside at 6pm (I'm in Chicagoland, so we're on CST), I know I've made it.

We survived the cold, dark winter!

My folks came up to visit last night and after lots of laughter, stories, and a legendary stuffed, deep-dish pizza crafted by my chef hubby, I ran around with unabashed glee as I flipped every clock in the house forward an hour.

[In my head, I was singing, "it's the most wonderful time of the year!"]

[Wait. Maybe I was singing it out loud.]

Appropriately enough, the time change last night ushered in unseasonably warm temps, begging us to throw open the curtains and open windows for the first time since October. It's rather sad, I rarely see my own house in the daylight. Between the short hours of daylight in winter and the long hours at work, it's unusual to be home when it's bright and sunny outside.

So today, when temps in the upper 60's rolled in, I threw open all the curtains around our house and immediately coughed at all the dust I inadvertently stirred up. Isn't it funny how you notice all the cobwebs and dust bunnies when sunshine flows in every window and illumines the dirt?

It was embarrassing. I grabbed the Swiffer and went to work on those cobwebs.

I have to wonder if our inner habits aren't much different. We get in our grooves, doing the same thing every day, and functioning without really seeing our houses in the daylight. It's humbling to throw open the curtains in your own soul and notice the cobwebs that formed during your inattention to the important things.

I think I need a Swiffer for my soul.

I'm in this place of introspection as I have my first coaching session with the leader of our Leadership Enhancement program tomorrow. We were given ten pages of spiritually-based questions about Christian leadership. The questions are tough and yet it's very easy to figure out where you're missing the mark.

It's as though this leadership program is pulling the curtains back in the dark rooms of my house before I know what's happening. I come home to my proverbial house and it's blazingly full of light...and I can see all the dust bunnies and cobwebs in the neglected corners.

I'm trying to become comfortable with being uncomfortable. And I'm still endlessly grateful for this program, even if it does force me to ride without the training wheels when I'm still feeling wobbly.

What do you do to welcome spring? Do you Swiffer your cobwebs?!

Quote Journal: Truthful

To be persuasive we must be believable; to be believable we must be credible; to be credible we must be truthful.

–Edward R. Murrow

Great quote and I've never heard anyone say it better.

Humbled

Long post alert. Go grab a sandwich and xanax. I'll wait for you.

**************

I had a bad couple of weeks.

There, I said it.

I pride myself on my uncanny ability to push through anything. I can work with the stomach flu. I can bulldoze through extreme exhaustion. I can push through seasonal affect disorder, just boning up on Vitamin D supplements and listening to Jimmy Buffet. I can email until my vision goes double from foggy contacts and I finally graduate to my glasses until my work is done.

Except that I really can't.

It's humbling to realize that you're a mere human and somewhere in between working a zillion hours and taking care of everyone and everything else, you suddenly realize that you're one breath away from walking away from everything and taking a job at the neighborhood Dairy Queen.

Okay, it's not that bad. But I haven't been completely honest with you- I have been struggling, using all my energy to put one foot in front of the other.

This past weekend, I drove to SB to spend time with my beloved aunt. Starving and on the expressway at dinnertime, I was overjoyed to find a candy cane in my glove box (it can't be *that* old, I bought my car in 2010).



Would it make it more palatable if I told you I had low blood sugar?!

Time with aunt was fabulous. She knows me better than my own mother and as a former executive, just gets it. She's one of my life coaches where I lay out my situation (positive or negative) and she gives me some objective wisdom befitting crystal ball status. This past weekend, after listening to my stories and delicately questioning me about work, she deduced that it was time for a change.

Racing back to Chicagoland on Saturday, I called my bestie Bewley for some friendly catching up. She is actually publishing a book about women executives and she reminded me to "play" more.

In an aptly-timed email, Nurse Starbucks offered to tutor me in massage therapy. In exchange for stock in Teavana and twice-daily dog-walking.

{Dog walking! My first client! Who hoo!}

As the weekend concluded, everyone's words rang in my head...is it really right that I'm working so hard and it continues to feel as though in vain? I tossed and turned all night, anxiously and spastically charting my week, meetings, and responses to political arguments that I will receive.

I didn't sleep a wink.

Before sunrise, per my usual routine, I showered and dove, headfirst, into a monster mug of coffee. But I couldn't face my 12-hour day, knowing I would finish the day with a longer to-do list than I started.

I'm so not a quitter. But I breathed a sigh of relief when Jack, studying my bloodshot eyes and panicked demeanor, reminded me that, in management, I get a degree of flexibility. So what if I stay home on Monday? He quickly offered that I could work on Saturday and he'd occupy himself, freeing me from the guilt of going in on a Saturday.

With that, I texted my boss that I was flexing my time and tuned into some Cities of the Underworld that I DVR'd over the last month.

The rest, as they say, is history. Two great friends (you know who you are) donated time out of their work days to pepper me with questions about why I'm doing what I'm doing. And what's truly going to serve God and not kill me or my spirit? Deep questions to which I still don't know the answers. But at least I now have the courage to ask them and fumble through the hodge podge of emotions they stir up.

My friend Vera then reminded me about her "hippie healer" that she sees in Kankakee (a long, stinkin' drive!). I called and, surprise, they had an appointment. So I embarked upon the journey to Hippie Hangout, which was really just an old-school chiropractor. Who played me some awesome acoustic guitar.

What, your chiropractor doesn't play the guitar for you?

This one was a wiry, old-school guy who, after relaxing you with some fabulous strings, cracks your back 18 ways from Sunday. So much cracked that it was sickening.

I saw stars. And not the Hollywood types. But...I can stand up straighter and feel far less pressure in my neck and shoulders.

I know, I know. I'm a skeptic of chiropractors, too. Maybe it was the guitar that won me over. But, in the words of the Monkees, I'm a believer.

The title of this post is "humbled" because that's how I feel this week. My friends' coaching and listening and relaying of general life wisdom was so uplifting these last few days. I'm humbled to have such great people in my life. I hope that I can return the favor someday and offer you all some of the same great perspective with which you've graced me.

Tomorrow's a new day.

Oxymoron

"Perfection is not attainable. But if we chase perfection, we can catch excellence."

—– Vince Lombardi

AND




Yowsa. My two favorite quotes this week are polar opposites. Oxymorons. One says to strive for excellence and one says to let go. The genius is somewhere in the middle....how to strive for perfection (excellence!) and still unplug and let go occasionally.

I have a hard time letting go. Letting go means (gasp!) I cannot control the situation or its outcome.

So where's that sacred line between pursing excellence and doing what you can? If you figure it out, can you please enlighten me!?

Adele

As I drove to work this morning, all the morning radio shows talked about Adele and how she swept the Grammies. They played her live performance, snippets of her interviews, and in general, discussed her awesomeness.

Of course, I've known Adele was great since I 'discovered' her back in 2009 with her "Chasing Pavements" single. I was wandering around a Floridian grocery store, vehemently vacillating between key limes and regular limes in the produce aisle when I first heard Adele's sultry voice piped in over the industrial speakers. The song stuck in my head that entire week.

Ever since then, Adele's voice has reminded me of Florida. And vacation. And limes.

Nonetheless, I thought about Adele a few times today. Exactly what does a 23 year-old who has just conquered the music world with six Grammies do?

Does she eat a cheeseburger, a la Hillary Swank?

Does she get drunk, a la Lindsay Lohan?

Does she put Mrs. Doubtfire in the dvd player and sing along with Robin Williams' lines?

What would you do the day after you completely conquered your chosen field?

Daisies

I'm taking a quick break from drafting my first paper for my Synoptics class. We are to research some element of Greco-Roman culture and explain how it influenced the formation of the Gospel of Mark in AD 70. I'm greatly enjoying this and am expounding upon the traditional Passover sedar and how it gives context to the Last Supper.

My blog posts this past week have been light. SO much happened at work, with ongoing meetings, operational reorganizations of departments, and ongoing HR issues. I had to write up one of my managers and it was not good. He actually cussed at me when I presented him with the reasoning for the write up and form to sign.

He's 59. It was like writing up my dad. Difficult, but necessary. It was a humbling experience because there's still so much I don't know about the HR side of things at work. I do know you probably shouldn't cuss out your boss, though, and that presented a whole other opportunity!

So it was a little hairy this past week, but I knew that another Franciscan Leadership retreat was coming up on Friday and Saturday. This is the one where they make us ditch our cell phones and pause enough to reflect on our duties as Christian leaders. The first retreat was very enlightening and relaxing and I couldn't wait to return to the convent for more sanctioned (required?) reflection and relaxation.

I left work early on Thursday to drive up to the convent, a two-hour drive. Exhausted from everything, I crashed early after enjoying the welcoming, hospitable snacks and beverages the Sisters left for us. The retreat started at 7 a.m. on Friday morning and lasted through 2 p.m. on Saturday. I'm not at liberty to say much about it (what happens at the convent stays at the convent!), but it was a tremendous, soul-baring experience.

All twenty of us were so exhausted and, well, spent after the retreat. There was a lot of intimate Bible exegesis, small group sharing, and introductions to various types of prayer- everyone is getting to know each other well and feel comfortable sharing personal details from their journeys. If you've ever been on a really good retreat, you know the feeling well...you need to go home, have a stiff drink, and then sleep for 14 hours straight!

The retreat ended with a poignant reflection. Each participant was asked to take a flower from a plate of carnations and daisies and a small square of glass.

We were asked to first examine the glass. What do you see through the glass? Everything. What is hidden? Nothing. We are being called to live like the glass does...totally transparent and honest. Actions should match words. Walk the walk. Don't withdraw from the integrity bank. Etc.

Then we were asked to study the flowers we chose from the plate. I grabbed a small, purple daisy. When I studied it in depth, I thought to myself, "Man, this flower is wilting and is probably dying...what a bad omen for my career in leadership!" Its petals were small, the leaves on the step tiny. The flower was on its way to Flower Heaven.

Then I studied it closer. I noticed that the petals and leaves weren't dying, but that they hadn't really sprouted yet. The petals were small, yet firm. They had not reached out all the way yet and needed more time for growth. Same with the tiny leaves on the stem...Curling with a firm, dark green color, the leaves had a lot of potential. With a little nurturing, sunshine, and water, they could sprout into something beautiful. However, at the time, the purple daisy was small and not trying to be a full-grown daisy yet. It was just being its own self- small, developing, and still a little green. And that was okay with the little daisy.

I still feel way, entirely out of my league. I have no idea what I'm doing with this group of people. However, there couldn't have been a better daisy for me. I'm still young, green, and developing. I need time and experience to become that full-grown daisy. But, for right now, it's okay to be the undeveloped, young daisy and be at peace with my station in life right now.

Every flower has to grow through dirt. Every flower needs time to develop and grow.

Snow*

*Appropriately titled post here. Creativity is running low!

It dawned on me last night, in the throes of a nightmarish commute through southern Chicago, during the height of a snowstorm, that I'm taking life too seriously again.

[You're thinking, "is this a duplicate post?!"]

The week was, well, one of endurance. The treadmill was kicked up to high speed and I ran my little heart out, eyes set on Friday night, when I could finally step out of the craziness and slow the dizzying pace.

Another sexual harassment charge...another employee playing games (requiring me to draft a certified letter calling him out on his game-playing)...another doctor causing problems...here we go again.

I felt so powerless over my situation. The treadmill whipped by faster than ever and I could do nothing but try and keep up.

Right?

I talked to to my mentor early yesterday morning. She's a hospital CEO in Arizona and always has some interesting tidbit from hearing about my experiences in hospital life. I filled her in on my events this week and related the exhausting efforts required for unit closures and the human resources issues that keep cropping up.

It's nothing new to her. She listened sympathetically for a while then said, "Good work. Now when are you planning to take care of yourself?"

Hmm. Well, the treadmill doesn't really allow for that kind of wasted time.

And yet, I realized I control the speed of the treadmill by how I react to the stresses of my life. If I don't take it easy, nature forces me to slow down...as evidenced by the cold I just contracted on Wednesday/Thursday. I've been sick for most of January and I don't think it's a coincidence.

Drat.

So yesterday, I intended to leave work by 2:30, as the snow had started to fly. Rush hour is bad enough. Rush hour with 6-8" of snow boggled my fragile mind!

A couple new employee issues crept up and as I breezed by a window, I noticed the snow coming down hard. It was the type of snow that made you think of fireplaces and hot chocolate! Several support departments had closed early. I took the initiative to close all our outpatient clinics early. Patients had canceled and staff hung around, waiting for 5:00. 5:00 came at 3:00 for them.

I finally left the office around 4:15 and upset at the 6" of snow that had already accumulated on my car, I hurriedly brushed off the snow with my entire arm. I joined the line of traffic creeping through the suburbs. It took me 30 minutes to go half a mile. Fuming at the delay (I was trying to get home, the symbolic act of stepping off the treadmill), I finally reached the site of the bottleneck and I understood...a school bus full of children was lodged up against a guardrail, unable to gain traction forward. Several people had gotten out of their cars to help the flailing bus, putting themselves at risk, too.

Humbled by others' generosity, I realized I needed to chill. Rifling through my glovebox cd collection, I found a Jimmy Buffet mix that we had created for a Florida trip. The rest of the two-hour trip home was great, once I changed my attitude. Plus, the snow made me feel like I was playing MarioKart.

Watch out for those banana peels!

Funny, isn't it? Just how much attitude can affect how you feel?

So I *will* take care of myself this weekend (I made a spa appointment for 1:30 today!) and changing my perception and attitude...instead of HAVING to work to catch up, I GET to work. It means I'm gainfully employed and making a difference.

And if my nose stops running long enough to go outside, I might just challenge Jack to a snowball fight!

Steps

"Success consists of a series of little daily victories."

— Laddie Hutar

...or maybe success consists of daily survival. That old adage keeps ringing in my head: "80% of the struggle is just showing up."

It's been a tough week with the unit closure, surrounding public relations storm (whenever we have a lay off or closure, everyone immediately jumps to the conclusion that the hospitals are for sale), and staff grieving this change. Plus, ya know, everything else keeps moving along!

My cousin, Yoshi, shared some great wisdom about these small steps, whether they be positive or negative. Basically, few people get where they are because of the "big" decisions. It's usually a series of little decisions that pile up and lead us to "how did I get here?" because "here" is a place you would have obviously said no to had it been one decision. The idea that no one sets out to be a drug addict, but a series of little decisions puts the needle in your veins. Of course, it can work the other way, too, with a bunch of small decisions lead people to success, God, happiness, etc. It's not usually one huge jump of the cliff leap kind of thing. If it were, no one would do it because the hardships involved in it aren't really all that appealing.

So if you make one or two iffy decisions, you're not throwing yourself off the bridge of happiness, there is still time to straighten your course and shape up. But happiness, peace, and success all emerge from a life of small decisions.

It's similar to weight loss. Weight loss takes conviction, commitment, and time...lots of little decisions to eat better or exercise more add up to the weight loss. One Snickers bar isn't going to throw you off the wagon forever, but a Snickers bar every day could.

Our habits make us who we are...those little actions add up and tip the scales positively or negatively. How are your actions adding up?

Quote Journal: Wisdom

"When you come to see you are not as wise today as you thought you were yesterday, you are wiser today."

— Anthony de Mello