4th Time in 5.5 Years

I was extremely tempted to write something on New Year's (during my annual New Year's post).  I wanted to announce that I had the "illusion of control" at work and how I finally mastered my massive position at work.  I no longer felt pulled down by the vortex of work and politics.  I recounted this to Jack on the way home from Chicago on New Year's Day.  I kept telling him that I couldn't wait to return to work; I felt rested after a long winter's nap and a holiday season with family and friends.

Jack's reply?  "Dude, don't jinx it.  The minute you announce that you're settled and have mastered a position, well, then you get promoted."

I laughed at his superstition.  That's child's play.

I ran into the front yard and yelled "I'm settled!  I feel at home in Indy!  I love my job!  Bring on 2015!"

[Okay, I really didn't yell that from the front yard.  But I did yell it from the laundry room as I was folding white socks.]

And my CEO must have heard me.

Last week, it was about 6 p.m. and I was talking with one of my managers about an employee situation that arose.  My cell phone rang with an eerily familiar number.  I stepped out into the hall and it was the system CEO calling me personally.

Oh, crap.  Crap, crap, crap.  Here we go.

I had been dreaming of "the call" for the last year.  What would it be next?  Whenever that CEO calls me, it means a big move, a new job, and most likely a new city.  Or time zone.  Regardless, I thought I'd have a few years before he called me again. 

But this time was no different.  He floored me.  He asked me to oversee Ethics for the whole healthcare system AND lead an executive leadership program (that Leadership program I talked a lot about a couple years ago).  

It was...my dream job.  Landing in my lap.  The CEO and I talked for a while and all the while I had two thoughts alternating in my head, "I'm not worthy" and "They're PAYING me to do this?!"

Shell-shocked, I called Jack at work.  Upon telling him this newest revelation, the phone went silent for an easy 3 minutes.  Eventually, Jack cleared his throat and said, "huh?!"

We celebrated by ordering a pizza and cracking upon a bottle of Chardonnay (what else?).  Jack kept marveling at the blessings we've received - oh, and can we PLEASE not have to move again?  

There wasn't really much to discern.  I briefly thought about what it would mean to leave hospital operations and management of hundreds of people and millions of dollars.  But as I considered the offer, the weight starting falling off my shoulders.  My shoulders and outlook lightened with each hour that passed.  With each step I took, the stress I have been carrying for years now began to dissolve.  I expected to have to interview for hours and be raked over the coals by executives but the transition was sealed by an hour-long phone call with my new boss and a few emails with my system and local CEO's.

So there you have it.  As soon as I decided I was comfortable in my job, I get bumped up again.  We do NOT have to move from Indianapolis (at least not yet).  And they're paying me to do my dream job.  

Miracles do happen.  Prayers work.  God is good.  

The 2015 Playoff's...and the Flu

Are you a fan of the NFL playoff's?  

I suddenly became one a few weeks ago.  Well, in years past, I watched the playoff's but with half an ear on something more important.  Like, work email, the chili perkin' on the stove, or maybe the melting of the polar ice caps.  

But this year, it's different.  For a unique Christmas gift, I bought Jack tickets to the Indianapolis Colts playoff's game last weekend.  They played the Bengals and we had STELLAR seats.  If Andrew Luck worked up a sweat and then tossed his hair our way, we would have gotten wet.  The game was incredibly awesome and somewhat weird for us.  It was our first Colts games in actual seats.  We have grown somewhat accustomed to club level seats serving unlimited quantities of prime rib, brisket, nachos, and Miller Lite.  You mean we have to buy our beer?  For $9.50 each (before tip), we each nursed one beer the entire game.  

In Chicago, Bears fanhood was a general expectation; even if you lived 10 feet inside the Indiana border in the Chicago metro area, you were a Bears fan.  We never really knew who played for the Bears, nor did we care.  But in Indy, Colts fanhood is a religion.  Not only an expectation, it is a sheer obligation that if you live in Indianapolis, by golly, you're a Colts fan.  And you will sacrifice every Sunday from August to January cheering your home team to victory.  Our Colts playoff experience solidified our fanhood.  We accept the Indy obligation and consider ourselves devout.  

The Colts play tomorrrow at 4:40 p.m.  You know where we'll be!

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

Life has felt like a series of playoff's lately.  Or maybe another case of "be careful what you wish for."  After New Year's and a quiet January 2 at work (I got caught up again!  Yay, me!), Jack and I celebrated one last hoorah in the holiday season.  My brother Brady and his longtime girl (I need a nickname for her) recently decided they like sushi.  So Jack and I had to take them out for a sushi feast.  It was quite funny to watch my meat-and-potatoes brother choke down a huge piece of squid.  Yeeeck.  We had a terrific time at sushi, introducing them to the weirder side of sushi.  Our personal favorite is raw scallops.  Scallop nigiri is just wonderful.  Try it if you ever see it on a menu.  

After sushi, no one felt like going home yet, so we visited a brewery on the south side of Indy.  And because there were few folks around us at the brewery, we broke out the euchre.  It felt so 90's coffeehouse it wasn't funny.  However, I had this random throught when we left the brewery, that I had somehow dodged the flu so far this season and that it probably wasn't wise to tempt the gods.

And tempt the gods I did.  We went to the Colts playoff game on Sunday and then I crashed hard Sunday night.  What was wrong with me?  Why do I feel like I got hit by a truck filled with hot garbage juice?  Come Monday, I was under the weather AND under a huge, thick duvet.  

It was my rendition of the 2015 Flu.  Lemmetellyou, it SUCKS.  102 fever and body aches and a head so clogged up that I actually put granules of kosher salt on my tongue.  I could not taste them.  I wanted to sob.  At one point, I asked Siri from a fetal position under four blankets "What are some home remedies for the flu?"  Siri suggested that I drink fluids and take medicine.  Um, okay.  Thanks for cracking the code!

So I did the next best thing.  I sucked it up and went to work.  I know, I know, that's how the flu is spread!  But healthcare is one of few professions that never stops.  You're in this strange predicament of keeping everything moving while not infecting everyone.  I gutted through Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday morning before collapsing on my bed around noon on Wednesday.  I....just....couldn't....do....it!

NOTHING made me feel better.  TheraFlu inspired insane dreams where I ended up questioning reality.  Seriously, in one dream, I dreamt that Jack had the stomach flu and kept vomiting in our master bathroom.  I heard him retching and yelled, "Can you PLEASE go away and LET ME SLEEP?  We have two other bathrooms, go barf somewhere else!"  I woke myself up yelling.  It was so real that, the next morning, I asked Jack if he was ill the night before.  I felt like I had to apologize for yelling!

So anyway, I ended up calling my mom to ask for ANY home remedy that might decrease my discomfort.  She told me to get a good steam in the shower, slather my chest in Vick's, and fix myself a hot toddy.  Done, done, and DONE.  

Our house smelled like a sick room but the Vick's was magical.  After about 36 hours of Vick's, my sinuses threatened to let me breathe.  I went back to work on Friday and even though my assistant followed me around the office with Lysol, I felt somewhat human again.  It's not worth the gamble - stay away from large groups of people, do not drink from unsanitized bar glasses, and wash your hands as much as possible.  

Flu 2015 is not fun.  On the upshot, all I ate for several days was toast, broth, and OJ.  So at least my jeans are loose in the waist.  It's all in the little things, eh?  I'll take it.

Here's to a Colts victory, returning tastebuds, and a healthy week!

Annual Inventory

Happy New Year!

It's time for my annual post discussing how I need to work broccoli and brussel sprouts back into my diet.  Ugh.  I don't think I've had a green vegetable since December 20.  That is when Jack and I officially kicked off our holiday season.  I wouldn't really care about the veggies but even my Adidas pants are getting tight.  It's never a good sign when your elastic-waisted pants hurt you!!

It was a wonderful holiday season.  I know it's not technically over, but since Jack and I are working tomorrow, it feels like a Sunday afternoon.  But tomorrow's Friday!  A gentle re-entry to work.

Thinking back over it, everything went so fast.  Christmas was a week ago and it feels like it was 2-3 weeks ago.  I worked half the day on Christmas Eve (I gave my management team the day off but the hospital was crazy busy and I felt like I had to make a cameo).  I achieved a milestone on Christmas Eve - a milestone made of miracles and dreams for me.  I got caught up.  

Like, done.  

Like, was hanging out with employees and my assistant because I was bored with nothing else to do.  My email box was at 4.  My infamous to-do list had 3 items on it (down from nearly 100 in late summer).  My  12 inches' worth of filing was done.  I could have been wiped off the earth and wouldn't have left my successor any homework.  

It was the best gift I could have ever given myself.  I felt accomplished, competent.  I had complete control of my massive service line.  But on the other side of that coin, knowing I CAN get to a feeling of caught-upedness, I will expect myself to retain that success.  Yeah, riiiiight.  I'm trying to let go of that mirage before I drive myself back into therapy.  

Kidding.  Sort of.

So I came home from work that day and we kicked off Family Christmas 2014.  Our family traveled to Indy because I was the on-call administrator for several days and couldn't leave.  We baked and frosted cookies, attended Christmas mass, helped Jack create an Italian feast (you're supposed to prepare 7 kinds of fish on Christmas Eve), and enjoyed a gift exchange that we think went on for 5 hours.  Christmas Day, we schlumped around watching classic family movies like "The Christmas Story" and "Elf."  It's just not Christmas if we don't watch both movies at least five times.  Oh, and "Home Alone."  

My family members can all recite the lines to the Home Alone movie "Angels with Filthy Souls" verbatim.  "Who is it?"  "It's me, Snakes.  I got the stuff."

Don't you wish you were cool like we are?  Ha!

The traditional Polish trappings ensnared us on Christmas Day.  Turkey and sausage, cheesy potatoes, GBC, etc.  You know, the fat-free, heart-healthy stuff.  

The day after Christmas, we hit the annual Hobby Lobby after-Christmas sales.  For $50, I am completely stocked for next Christmas.  Wrap, bags, tissue, tags, and even 100 Christmas cards.  My neuroses kick into a frenzy if I don't have everything for next Christmas by the previous New Year's.  It's my OCD.  Obsessive Christmas Disorder.  Add in a quick trip to Margaritaville and we were ready for another round of movies and naps.  

How much can a person possibly nap?  I left a "Dorrie-shaped" imprint on our couch as I barely budged between Saturday night and Monday afternoon.  Every year, I seem to need two full days of sleep to recover from Christmas.  It's not just the heavy food and booze but I put a lot of pressure on myself to achieve Christmas perfection.  Perfect gifts, wrap, decor, and even linens.  When we are hosting holidays, add the pressure of perfect food.  No one really remembers the "perfect" holiday food but everyone remembers that one year you made the crappy ham that made Dad sick!

I lovingly refer to this 48 hour hibernation as my "holiday hangover."  But I was off work and thoroughly relished my sloth-like behavior.  

On Tuesday afternoon, we headed up I-65 to Chicago to ring in the New Year with our dear friends.  Any time the four of us are together, it's a party.  Even if we're sitting around in sweatpants drinking Bailey's-spiked coffee.  

It's always a party.  We're actually going to Italy with them in October (on pilgrimage).  While I can't wait, I'm not sure how the Italian atmosphere will affect our friendship.  I mean, we already share massive amounts of antipasto, salami, cheese, and wine.

It was another great New Year's Eve.  New Year's is so emotional for me and usually difficult.  The gauntlet of emotions between sadness that another year is over and blessings that another year, a clean slate, is about to begin.  I think I'm somewhat autistic on New Year's; I'm acutely aware of the passage of time.  

But we just returned home from Chicago and are settled back in our house.  I packed away most of the Christmas clutter and left our tree and lighted mantle garland intact  I just can't part with the white Christmas lights yet.  I even logged into work email on the drive home and I only had 100 emails from Christmas Eve.  While it's not 4, when I take a week off during other parts of the year, I have 1000.  I'm not a huge fan of "staycations" where I take time off without at least visiting a beach - but it was an ideal, restful time.  

I'm ready to go back to work tomorrrow.  I'm ready for normalcy.  I'm ready for broccoli! 

  

Writing about Writing (about Writing)

It's  been a while since I've posted but I have been writing a lot lately.  Most of it has been stream-of-consciousness writing where I type what comes to mind, that whiny crapola that clutters mymind-space throughout the day.  Some of it is in the form of letters to people with whom I'm not happy or even letters to God.  I find that my thoughts unfurl when I put them on paper and things that seem scary or overwhelming in my self-talk lose their power when out of my head and on paper.  

Yesterday, TIME magazine posted an article challenging stressed out, anxious people to write for 20 minutes, for four straight days.  Just write about what's bothering you.  Then last night, in a weird moment of inspiration, picked up my copy of "The Artist's Way" that has been sitting on my nightstand since literally last Christmas.  My housekeepers dust it every two weeks and put it back in its pile!  But last night, I felt free enough to "go there" (I'm not sure where exactly "there" was, but I was willing to be challenged).  The book fell open to page 176, on a quiz about whether to tell if you're a workaholic.  Chuckling to myself, I skimmed the questions and suddenly realized that this might not be a coincidence.  

Busted.  

It was a sobering mirror into which I viewed my disordered work habits.  One sentence after the quiz put my struggle into words and is helping me articulate it...Workaholics only think they are worthwhile if they are working.  And so we work all of the time, without ceasing, without ever looking up from our email or work-based communications.  

So that's my confession here...it finally dawned on me that I am a workaholic.  I've been joking about it for ages and my family would probably laugh to read this.  They're going to be like, "finally!  Crazy girl!" I've been sensing this for a while and even asked one of my good work friends (I only have a few people I trust at work) to schedule me in yoga with her so that I am obligated to go.  My boss even told me a couple of weeks ago that I should really get out of the office no later than 5:30 p.m.

5:30 seems so early...

But I'm willing to work on it.  What's one more step in my identity tour? 

That's why I'm writing more, working all of these things out in my head.  It's funny; my aunt and I were talking about my crazy existence at Thanksgiving and she asked what I REALLY wanted to do (sensing that hospital admin might not be my forever path if I'm already this stressed).  I answered without even thinking, "a writer who writes at my beachhouse after a morning walk on the sand."  So I'll keep writing...just without the sand!

The other two reasons that I am considering all of this is because I received a high blood pressure diagnosis the other week.  My doctor is giving me three months to shape up and get my BP under control or else.  "Else" means another prescription.  My diet isn't that bad and we're not too heavy on the salt shaker...so 98.3% of my problem is stress.  

The other reason is because I finished Aquinas!  The last year has been awful, terrible, frustrating, and so time-consuming.  As I sat in church for mass this morning, I realized how much more I DO know about Catholic dogma from my friend St. Thomas.  I know why the Church teachings are structured the way they are and how the early Church fathers shaped them.  But MAN.  I lost a year of my life.  As I completed the 4-hour final essay exam early this morning, I felt a tremendous burden lift from my shoulders.  I have not done anything on Saturday's for the last year since that was Aquinas Day!  Yesterday, my studying complete, I exercised and went shopping.  I kept marveling, "Wow, this must be what normal people do on Saturday!"  Ugh.  But it's over.  The exam was not fun and I am not feeling wonderful about it, but it's complete.  

Adoro te Devote.

Thanksgiving was a beautiful holiday this year and the best in recent memory.  We did most of the cooking on Wednesday night and packed away the food in disposable aluminum pans.  On Thursday, all we had to do was make the green beans and heat up everything else.  The family who wanted to be there was present and there was no drama.  We laughed until our stomachs ached when we broke out "Cards Against Humanity."  Oh, don't judge; it's a horribly inappropriate game.  But with a glass or two of vino, it becomes more acceptable.  I haven't laughed that hard in years.  My family just cracks me up.  Jack and I drove back to Indianapolis with full hearts and joyful spirits.  

Wonderful holiday, Aquinas is complete, and I've got three months to fix my BP.  Hopefully, the joy I'm trying to allow into my heart will temper the BP a bit! 

Creativity in Leadership....and Biking

I'm sitting in my cozy recliner, bundled up in my fuzzy Colts sweatshirt.  Yep, fall is here.  It arrived at exactly 5:53 a.m. Saturday morning.  

Holy cow!  It was 78 degrees Friday morning when I left the house at 6:35 a.m. to start setting up for the annual leadership retreat for the department.  We have 22 leaders within Imaging and they look forward to it every year.  I do, too...but only because it's my primary chance to challenge them for the year ahead.  

This year, I opted to hire an external speaker for the morning sessions, to talk about proper interviewing techniques, awkward conversations (how do you tell an employee they have BO?), and what the law communicates in EEOC expectations.  But in the afternoon, I ran the show.  I had to.  I had a creative ax to grind.  

I first asked my leaders to picture their jobs.  What do they deal with each day?  Then I asked them to think of an animal that illustrates that feeling.  I got everything from meerkat to hippo to Bloodhound to squirrel.  Then I challenged them to think of all of the bad, stressful, frustrating things in their job.  Now what animal/image comes to mind then?  The responses were broad: porcupine, the scene in I Love Lucy where Lucy is trying to eat all of the chocolate in the Candy Factory, to the Tazmanian devil.  It was very vivid and descriptive...people used words like "drowning," "spinning," and "dark."  

After this discovery of the negative feelings in our jobs, I then challenged them to think of the positive, uplifting things in their job.  What feeds them?  Makes them feel fulfilled?  Motivated?  Encouraged?  Several hands went up immediately and I asked them that, rather than speak these uplifting things out loud, would they be willing to paint them?!

I then offered each leader an 8x10" canvas, a selection of paints, and paint brushes.  The room was almost painfully silent as each leader tried to picture and then capture their uplifting moment.  At first, I wished I would have brought my iHome so we could pipe in some relaxing music.  Then I realized that the team desperately needed quiet.  Silence.  The sheer amount of information and noise inundating them each day is exhausting.  They wanted quiet.  And so did I.  

After 30 minutes of artful painting, the room had a very different energy.  It was peaceful, quiet, and many peoples' blood pressure seemed to have dropped by several points.  A very weird experience to paint 'at work,' we saw several emerging artists.  At least 4 people said, "I have thought about buying paints and a canvas and never had the courage...I will do that now."  

Which was just wonderful to hear.  The point was "creativity in leadership."  I invited the leaders to share their paintings and what the "uplifting thing" was that fed them each day.  I made a list of these uplifting things and then challenged the leaders to identify these things in themselves....so that they can identify and pull them out in their employees.  And now they had paintings to remind them of the uplifting facets of their jobs.

After the artistic session, the retreat continued as scheduled.  But the leaders kept looking at their paintings and discussing them with their colleagues.  It was an inspirational moment.  Leadership, especially in healthcare, requires creativity!

So anyway, when I left for that retreat on Friday morning, it was almost 80.  When I got up yesterday morning (Saturday), it was 38.  With a high of 49 in Indy.  Jack and I signed up for a bike challenge through St. Gonzo's and, of course, it was this weekend with the 40 degree temps.   We had to leave our house at 7:30 Saturday morning to reach the race course in time.  It was 41 degrees with 20 mph sustained winds!  The challenge consisted of 2 hours of open course time during which the participants were unleashed on a 1.4 mile loop around a gorgeous state park in southern Indiana.  When Jack and I signed up for the race, we assumed it would be a flat course.   It...wasn't.  The course had a small, steady uphill climb, a racing descent into a ravine (full of sunshine - which we all relished because it was freezing!), and around back into the autumn leave-filled paths to the back of the park.  The problem was that the back part of the course included two steep climbs.  Less athletic folks were walking their bikes up the hills on the first lap or two.  

I'm so not athletic. I used to be.  It's hidden in me somewhere.  But I would not consider myself "athletic" right now.  

But the race's goal was, how many 1.4 mile laps could you complete in one hour and 50 minutes?  110 minutes?  

I started the race hard.  So hard I wanted to barf.  I completed 2 laps in 8 minutes and I KNEW that was not sustainable (especially if I barfed.  LOL).  I started to pace myself and it reminded me of the stair climb I did a few years ago in Chicago.  It's all about pacing oneself and lasting to the end.  I did not want to go too hard and have to quit because I was cramping or ill.  So I slowed down.  Not by a whole lot, but enough to keep my bearings.  I started my positive self-talk, that I could do this.  Just keep pedaling, just keep pedaling (yeah, that's what I was telling myself).  

I met up with a guy who was pedaling at my same pace (by this point, I lost Jack.  I had no idea where he was on the course).  This guy kept saying, "Wow, those hills suck!  It takes me a long time to recover from climbing the hills!  During that one big sunshine descent into the ravine, I feel like I'm on vacation!"  

From that point on, I kept thinking of the descent hill as "vacation."  It's all about perspective, eh?

With each lap, the race emcee would announce your name and the number of laps completed.  At one point, I heard my name and then "13 laps completed!"  This was about halfway through and I got all excited...I ROCKED!  I could cycle!  Holy crap, I freaking rock!  Then the next lap, the announcer said my name again and then that I had completed 10 laps.  Yeah....that's more like it!  

But the lesson in this experience was that I GOT to do this crazy race.  I would never have found myself riding through hilly southern Indiana if I hadn't taken this job and moved to Indy.  I would never be pedaling through a beautiful autumn landscape with several colleagues if I hadn't taken this risk.  And secondly, it's all about pacing oneself.  I can't sprint.   But I can pace myself better so that I can finish the race.  My only goal yesterday was to sit on my bike and ride for 2 hours without touching the ground.  Without stopping.  Without giving up.  [Without barfing].

But I did it.  17 laps and 23.8 miles.  I finished my final lap with 4 minutes to spare.  Looking around for Jack, I saw him finish with 1 minute to spare.  Between the two of us, we rode 48 miles for charity in 110 minutes!  We earned our pizza and beer during NCAA football.  Heck yeah!

Flying Zombies

I have a lot of thoughts swirling in my little head this evening.  

...I just finished an intense travel season of 12 flights in 16 days...

...Three trips to Florida in 16 days...

...I was offered a job in Florida.  Jokingly.  But sort of seriously, too...

...I was asked to speak at an event at my Alma Matter, Saint Mary's...

...Tonight, I starred in a zombie movie with my staff.  It was the stuff of memories.

...I had the harsh realization just this morning that I LOVE my job.  Like, I adore it.  I throw absolutely everything at it because I have already burned the ship.  I think that's why I have this love/hate relationship with my career.  It drains me and yet still motivates me to live.  More on that later.  

So, yeah, lots of flights these last couple of weeks.  Lots of airports.  I've been on every type of aircraft Boeing makes.  As a kid, I thought air travel was SO COOL.  That only the serious, serial business professionals and international jetsetters flew a lot.  I realized I somehow became seasoned at flying when, the other day, the plane taxied and took off without me even noticing.  I was deep in a really interesting book and suddenly looked up to see the quilt-like surrounds of Atlanta on the horizon.  At one point on Tuesday, I actually had a "where in the US am heading?" when passing through the Charlotte airport.  My favorite drink on airplanes is Mr. and Mrs. T's Bloody Mary mix.  Not with the vodka, just the mix.  Which bodes well for business travel!

But I had a little Bloody Mary mix on the rocks this evening with Jack, sitting in the driveway, soaking up one of the last few great evenings of late summer.  At tasting the BM mix (even in a disposable cup), my mind wondered where I was heading and when I would land.

Conditioning is for real.  Cue the Pavlov.

Anyway, all of the travel was well worth it; the trips helped illumine our biggest-to-date purchase of a CT scanner that will surpass all of the existing scanners in Indiana.  We will become The Destination for CT Scanning.  We will be That Hospital That Rocks All CT Scans.  With a $2.5M budget, of course we have to test drive the Ferrari before we purchase it.  It cracks me up how all of the site visits are the same.  The top vendors match you to a hospital with similar operations, management structure, and strategy, fly you to the destination (sometimes it's even in Europe), wine and dine you at a lavish dinner where the national sales VP comes to woo you, put you up in a posh hotel, feed you a fancy in-room breakfast, shuttle you to the hospital of your site visit for 4-5 hours, whisk you away to another fancy lunch with yet another sales VP, then shuttle you back to the airport so that you can catch your 3pm flight and make it home by maybe 8 or 9 pm.  

It's exhausting.  And also down to a science.  That's been the fun, philosophical angle of this whole journey.  Every vendor's process is the same and it's sort of hilarious.  No wonder their sales budgets are so high!  

So yes, three trips to FL in 2.5 weeks.  One of the trips was for a fun long weekend away with Nurse Starbucks (hey, Nurse Starbucks!  Whadddup?!  How's Gussy?! ).  But I still feel like I should have voting rights in FL because of my recent visits.  And yes, the University of Florida offered me a job. Jokingly but seriously.  It was my equivalent position but with a larger department.  I can't leave my current job yet but it was flattering.  Gainesville was strikingly similar to South Bend.  If FELT like we were on the campus of Notre Dame, just without the golden dome and, well, in Florida.  The Swamp was definitely the Swamp but Gainesville is a happening college town.   Loved it.  Wish we could have been there for an SEC football game!

I guess that brings me to my upcoming speaking engagement at Saint Mary's this November.  It's totally surprising and I feel so completely unworthy....it's about executives who have made their study abroad experiences part of their professional identity (oh, so philosophical).  My year abroad in Ireland did change me and I've been trying to percolate just how it changed my innermost of guts.  But I chose to accept the invitation and return to campus.  I can't remember the last time I was on campus. I told my mom the news the other day and she was like, "Can Dad and I get tickets!?!  We want to cheer you on!!!"  It's so cute and heartwarming.  They'd probably start The Wave during my talk.  Haha!

But overall, things feel as though they are going so well.  I have had the illusion of control at work for the last week or so.  I hate to admit it, but the perspective I'm gaining lately has helped immensely, in not succumbing to peoples' power games and weird ploys for power.  People seem so wanting of power and I just don't get it.  So I'm taking a break from the game for a bit, to regain my strength.  

Tonight really helped me regain some strength.  A few months ago, I asked my management team if they'd be willing to have some fun and go crazy for a video.  They agreed (not really knowing what I was asking).  For national radiologic technologists' week, we filmed a short movie tonight...dressed as zombies performing a choreographed dance to Michael Jackson's "Thriller."  

I've never laughed so hard in my life.  

Seasoned managers, younger supervisors, even people with bad backs came together to carefully learn and synchronize the Thriller dance we group-choreographed last week.  People texted each other to remind them of the chronology of the dance moves.  The girls huddled together in one of the hospital's bathrooms, hogging chunks of open mirror space, to perfect their gray face paint and black lipstick.  

I did a "Jackie Z" look for the movie.  My usual black suit, white shell, huge Adams Family bump in my hair, with a white face, sunken eyes, and black lips.  I took a selfie and sent it to Jack who promptly responded, "Hey, did you take that when you couldn't sleep that one night last week?!"  

One of the male supervisors actually glued bits of linen to his face and had to leave early when he started breaking out in hives.  Amateur mistake!!!

The team practiced our Thriller moves so well that we got the scene in three takes.  Even the Creative Media Director filming the movie was shocked at our synchronized dancing.  What my staff DO NOT KNOW is that I will be organizing a flash mob in the department next week and we'll all break out our dance moves in real-time.  We'll so be on YouTube.  

So that's the moral of my story tonight. I have written about how I've hated my situation and felt totally overwhelmed by the scope of my ever-increasing job.  But I decided to "burn the ship" years ago.  The theory behind "ship burning" is that settlers to a new land would often "burn their ships" so they couldn't go back.  They HAD to be all-in, there was no other viable choice.  By moving to Chicago, I burned my ship and knew I could never go back.  But I think I always sort of looked back, wondering what my life would be like if I was not on this particular path.  Through all this travel lately (and the resulting exhaustion), I hope the ships have finished burning.  I can't go back.  This is my calling and recent revelations suggest that I might actually have fun some days.  The road is hard, rotten and awful at times...but I really don't want to give up or go back.  

This is what I do.

Just keep swimming.  

Zombies swim, right?!

Weirdness. Um, yeah, it's just weird.

Okay, so it's time to divulge something.

I've been seeing a therapist for the last 6 weeks or so.  My therapist, whom I will call "Steve Jobs," is totally amazing and I am rescinding my traditional disdain for therapists.  I always had this pre-conceived notion that therapists just work to create co-dependent relationships with you so that you can't do anything by yourself and are tied to the respective therapist forever so that you keep paying for the pool he just installed in his mansion.  

Kidding.  Well, sort of.

Seriously, though, I always quickly dismissed the idea of therapy.  It felt like defeat, like admitting I couldn't handle my own life.  But when my parents found tremendous solace in counseling (about my brother who choosingly went MIA and basically sucks.  But not to judge him or anything) and my cousin started pursuing a third degree in counseling, I started to think that maybe it wasn't a sign of defeat.  I wasn't crazy.  I wasn't out of control.  I wasn't about to abandon my life and go live in a nudist colony and build grenades out of discarded gum wrappers.  I just craved a "creative interruption" in my life, someone who would listen to my story and ask me different questions.  Jack is wonderful and truly serves as my armchair therapist.  But I needed a pro to help me pick at some old wounds, to hopefully expose the infection so that I can finally heal.    

Life is full of wounds.  As unique as I feel my story is, I know I'm pretty textbook.  Overachieving leader, divorced parents, child of an alcoholic, etc.  Steve Jobs has been a therapist for executives for years and years and, like a priest in the confessional, has no doubt heard EVERYTHING.  Here I am, thinking I'm all unique and special, and I show up with all the same problems everyone else in the world has.

Hey, some perspective isn't a bad thing.  I'm the most unique textbook case he's ever seen.  Ha.

I AM realizing that our childhoods and formative years have a huge influence on us as adults.  The messages that are "baked into" us as kids keep reemerging in our adult lives and decisions.  That self-talk is learned early and it's very hard to change those patterns.  By the time you're 30 or 40, those patterns are in the chemicals of your brain.  

The journey has been pretty great.  Hard and weird, but great.  After my first session, I drove home feeling weirdly vulnerable.  I wasn't used to revealing things about myself that weren't within the sanctity of my marriage, within the safe boundaries of friends and family, or protected by the seal of confession.  I felt raw and exposed, weirded out that I was telling a perfect stranger about my insecurities and worries in life.  I felt as though I was betraying the pact of secrecy that I had with myself (see?  Weird!)  Yet, with each subsequent session, I find myself hungry for the new questions Steve Jobs was going to ask me.  

Tonight, it was all about trust.  He is thinking that I do not trust myself (hence my fears about incompetence at work).  My homework this week is to percolate some thoughts about trust and authority and why I do not always trust myself (and the times during which this happens).  This is actually easy homework.  When I first started seeing Steve, he asked me things like, "where does your fear originate?" and "what makes you happy?" and "are there any areas of tension in your life?"  At one point, I actually caught myself saying "I have to sell my authenticity."  Which is just hillarious.  It's deep stuff.  Jack and I spend hours rehashing these questions and what they mean to us both.  We drank a lot of wine because it's weird to explore these questions.  It's weird to explore your inner conscious and early life history with someone, even if they are your spouse.  You end up with strange conclusions and unsettling questions that further encourage deep reflection.

Deep reflection hurts like hell.  But it's akin to digging out a lingering infection - of course it's going to smart.  Reflection, and the prayer that tends to result (at least for me), is like Chapstick for my soul.  It helps soothe the damage and protect against further hurt.  Jack has been wonderful because he puts up with my incessant chatter about Steve Jobs' homework but also because he encourages me to go further, to make more connections.  He joins his story to mine and our marriage becomes even more awesome because this process invites another whole realm of vulnerability.

Vulnerability is attractive.  When you're vulnerable, you admit that you're not God.  It is highly recommended in healthy relationships.

The other thing I've realized is that deep reflection has to be rationed.  I can't do too much or I find myself totally exhausted (or worse, in a huge bathtub of bubbles, chugging herbal tea, eating ice cream sandwiches by the fistful).  So I'm taking my homework "on vacation" this week, as I visit Fort Lauderdale tomorrow for a mere 26 hours for a hospital site visit.  Part of me needs to remind myself that I *get* to jet off to Florida, all expenses paid, to check out a CT scanner.  How freaking cool is that?  I have an ocean-view suite tomorrow night on the beach (and yes, I will be sneaking off at some point for a late night swim in the ocean).  I will be returning to Florida next week, when we visit yet another hospital site.  This time we will be in Gainesville.  I never thought I would be one of those people in the airport, dressed in a suit, pacing while I talk on my cell phone about purchase orders and physician issues.

Ugh.  If you see me doing that, please bonk me on the head, hand me a People magazine, and tell me to chill my ass out?  Then ask me if I've completed my Steve Jobs homework.  I'm on a journey here.

Things will get better.  Things HAVE to get better.  Hey, at least I'll be in the ocean tomorrow night.  

Execu-Yankee

...as in Candle.  Not a New Yorker.

Isn't it funny how smells and scents can take you back?  The smell of turkey cooking inevitably reminds one of holidays and impending family time.  Cookies baking away in the oven smell like home. For me, the smell of bleach reminds me of a clean house, Coppertone of the beach, coffee of another morning in the boardroom, of the daily grind.  Autumn Wreath Yankee candle reminds me of my year in Chicagoland by myself, sans Jack.  Every night in fall, I'd light that candle, hoping it would transport me to my "real" "home."  Back in SB.  "Home" at that point meant "familiar."  I sat alone in my Chicagoan rental house, pondering my new life, deep into hospital management - continually vacillating between a strange bewilderment that people actually thrived on this stuff and a weird attraction because I belonged.  I fit into this strange breed and found myself eager to accept its acceptance of me.  

Was this really where I belonged?   Was I destined to be a salmon swimming upstream for my entire career?  The one who wasn't in this game for personal power, advancement, or wealth?

Smells are powerful.  I bought another Yankee Autumn Wreath candle last week, when I got home from work at 7:32 and after changing into my yoga pants, dove into that Yankee catalog.  I'm re-examining the concept of "home"

Today, I'm grappling with a new game.  A dear friend and fierce competitor of mine (same person) is trying to play me like a game.  I see the game, their actions, and am trying to interpret the game's rules.  I can almost predict the reactions to certain moves.  I realize that I am responding to them in a similar manner, guarded and on edge.  I'm careful of each word, each reaction, making sure my actions portray the perfect combination of cunning and trust, belief and skepticism.  

When did this happen?  When did my friends at work become games?  One more thing to strategize about, plan my actions, and eventually conquer?  I'm not sure I like this.  

Things are different lately; people who "befriend" me in the professional sphere are in it for some other gain, some other reason.  Have I reached that point where my "friendship" is a commodity for the free market, something to be sold when the market is most lucrative for profit?  It's a scary place - I am accustomed to friendships (and relationships in general) being genuine and honest for each party.  I cannot imagine opening my heart to another person, even in a platonic collegial relationship, just to be harvested when that person decides the pickin' is right.  

The friend thing is tough because you want to trust the people with whom you work.  I don't want to become that guarded, scripted person because those are the people *I* steer away from because they seem fake.  They *are* fake.  If you're acting differently than you normally would, then you're putting on some lofty veneer, shiny and filtered enough to impress whomever you decide needs impressing on that particular day.  

I hate that.  It's adding to my exhaustion at work.

The other thing sorely weighing on me right now is, yet again, the question of whether I'm in the right profession.  Last weekend, I visited my dear friend, Nurse Starbucks, at her Floridian retreat center on the ocean.  At least that's what it felt like - a respite.  She fed me well, with lots of fruits and veggies but also excellent cheeses and gourmet tailgate eats for the Notre Dame game.  I slept like a dead woman each night, in my own room, and with her proximity to the ocean and screened-in pool and hot tub, think she should seriously open up an Execu-retreat place.  Where people's cell phone signals are scrambled and they get a measure of peace, especially when they play with and borderline terrorize the two awesome Boxers.  Dogs heal so many wounds.  They're magical.

But what's been eating at my soul for the last few days is Nurse Starbucks' husband.  He seems to LOVE his job.  As the three of us played in the ocean waves for several hours last Sunday, he mentioned that he no longer has to work for retirement because this is the life he wants.  Near to the beach, able to visit the ocean on a random Wednesday night if he wants to, and doing a job he loves.  

It hit me squarely in the gut.  I am having a very difficult time with my job.  I don't want to divulge too many specifics, but I feel as though I'm in a fight for my very soul...do I become a slimy Execu-robot, with the perfecly-scripted verbiage and filtered veneer?  Or do I remain as I currently am, being myself in each and every moment, not really filtering my words, in a desire that my staff see authenticity in my actions and decisions.  You're never liked or popular in management, but it means a great deal to me that my staff respect me and believe in me.  I try to lead from the back, by encouraging people to move forward and spread their proverbial wings.  I love management because I love cultivating new talent.  I love helping people develop their own leadership style and approach.  But the politics, sliminess, entitled employees, and sheer busyness of the job is really getting me down.  

Despite all of my writings about vocation, it's the healthcare piece I am really questioning.  It never slows down and, frankly, healthcare really sucks right now.  You have to do far more with markedly decreased resources and the burden ends up falling on the healthcare managers' shoulders.  I could work 24/7 and not ever be "done" with my work.  The treadmill is whirling by faster than ever, smoking and threatening to short out.  I've worn out my tennis shoes, my knees are aching, and my breath labored.  But to step off the treadmill admits defeat.  Hospital management is built upon Darwinian philosophy, of the survival of the fittest.  I feel as though I haven't come this far, to prove myself to the world, just to give up, to step off the treadmill because I'm tired.  

There's no crying in baseball.  There's no tired in baseball.  Or hospital management.

But on this sunny Sunday in early autumn, I'm going to keep going.  While the neighborhood kids play and yell in the backyard, I'm writing an Aquinas paper.  Because I'm going to graduate in May.  If I can just get through the next 12 months, maybe I will love my job (because I'm "just working" and not worrying about school).  If I don't, I will need to re-evaluate a lot of stuff.  I'm sure I will keep you posted!

  

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.