I Should Mop the Floor

I'm usually not a procrastinator.  I'm usually one of those nervous types who does everything in the house, makes sure everything is perfect, then collapses in a heap to sleep.  "Do what you have to do so that you can do what you want to do" is my normal motto.  No playing until the work is complete.

However, my procrastination is rearing its awful head on this beautiful, 75-degree Saturday in Indianapolis.  It's my LAST Saturday of having to study and do schoolwork.  I have a four-hour moral theology exam on Wednesday night and I've been working on a 54 question study guide for the last several weeks.  I have 11 questions left and it might as well feel like I have to pen a Calculus textbook or some equally impossible academic task.  Plus, I have to study "Vertitatis Splendor" which is a mile-long papal encyclical.  

I've already cleaned the kitchen, started laundry, put a pork roast in the crock pot, and sprayed weeds in the lawn.  

[See?  I'm desperate.  I normally do not touch the lawn nor do I cook.]

But it keeps ringing in my head that joke about graduating doctors.  "What do you call the person who graduates last in medical school?"  

"Doctor."

"What do you call the person who graduates last in an ethics degree?"

"Ethicist."

I already have the job I have dreamed of since college when I figured out what "ethics" even is.  I only thought that distinguished PhD's and tenured professors could call themselves "ethicists."  And here I am, neither of those things and I just received my business card proof with my new title and additional degree after my name.  It felt surreal...I really don't feel smart and it caused a semi-identity crisis to see this person represented on a card.  

While my healthcare system has requested that I work towards a PhD in moral theology or ethics, I am definitely taking a year or two off.  I did the math the other day; with the exception of age 0-5 (when I started Kindergarten), I have been in school for all but five years of my life.  Part of that is because I had to take 1 or 2 classes at a time as I worked full-time (and in this ethics degree, could only take one class because of my insane work schedule and the heady subject matter that made me inwardly cringe and ratchet up the stomach acid).  

But man, I cannot wait to blare Alice Cooper's "School's Out" on Wednesday after I finish my exam.  Even though I have a comprehensive exam this summer, it does not involve the regurgitation of Aquinas' logic or biblical exegesis.  Thank the Lord.

With that, time to stop procrastinating and nail these last 11 questions. 

Hmm.  Maybe it's time to empty the trash and trim the shrubs in the front of the house!

 

Granola Bars from a Semi

Well, it's been two weeks since I found out my dad died.  It's still an odd thing to think, let alone say out loud.  I thought I would be "over it" by now but I will have random moments where it hits me all over again.  

Grief is a weird thing.  Just when you think you're okay, some important memory or song blindsides you.  The hardest part for me is that there was no funeral, no memorial service.  I'm realizing the significance of those events, even if just for the family.  Services end the "formal" period of grief and allow for some closure.  I don't think there ever will be a memorial service so Jack and I are going to hold our own.  I need that formal goodbye, that closure.  

I put my nose to the grindstone last week and was on the road for 8 days straight (between meeings in northern Indiana and Chicago).  My bestie, Vera, had a big birthday last weekend so Jack and I traveled to Chicago to help her ring in the new birth year with family and friends.  Monday morning, I made the all-stupid decision to travel from Chicago to SB in the "faux blizzard" on Monday.  1-3" of snow became more like 5" and after some treacherous travels on I-65 and 80/94 (and lots of Hail Mary's), I found myself marooned on the Toll Road onramp for almost an hour.  People were throwing snowballs and one truck driver walked up the ramp, offering people granola bars.  

Granola bars from the rig of a semi.  Yum!  LOL.

We eventually moved and I arrived in SB nearly four hours after leaving Chicago.  I was never so grateful for the ergonomic lumbar support I purchased a couple weeks ago.  And the non-trucker granola bars at my folks' house!

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The weird thing about losing my father is that my stepdad is truly my dad now.  My Dad.  Capital "D."  When I visited them for the 2 hours during dinner and before bed, things had markedly changed.  My stepdad was no longer in competition with my father.  "Competition" is not the right word but for the last 25 years, dad was threatened by Dad and Dad by dad.  I've been calling my stepdad "Dad" for the last 15 years (at least) and meant it when I called him Dad and purchased Father's Day cards.  He loves me without condition and provides a caring example for our family.  On one hand, I feel as though I'm doing my father a disservice by honoring my stepdad as Dad.  But conversely, there is no longer division.  No longer the competition for my love.  

Things feel peaceful and no longer divided.  Divorce is a rotten thing and in my family, it became a necessary thing.  While annulment may heal the spouse and allow them to retain life in the Church, it makes the kids feel as though they have no "real" parents.  If the marriage doesn't exist, you're technically a bastard.  Not to be crass, but my bastardism is healing.  Or at least alleviated.  I'm back to having two parents like those "normal" kids.  It's a strange psychology.

The upshot to this whole thing is that I have reconciled with my aunt, my father's sister.  My grandpa was a stunning artist (I wish I inherited even 1/1000th of his talent) and instead of inheriting riches (or debt - haha), I am inheriting two very intricate charcoal drawings that grandpa did more than 50 years ago.  I will have to restore them but will display them in a place of honor.  

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It's finally holy week, too.  Today is Palm Sunday and I saw several colleagues at mass.  Maybe it's the job change, but for the first time in recent history, I wasn't impatient during the 1.5 hour service.  I'm hoping this sense of peace and patience carries me through this week.  

Speaking of holy...a strange phenomenon has been occurring at work.  I pretty much only work with priests and nuns these days.  It is a benefit for my moral life; you can't even dream of dropping the F-bomb in the presence of dozens of Sisters.  It makes me realize how much of human sin is just habit.  But the funniest part is that I somewhat-frequently dine with religious at secular restaurants.  I feel comfortable doing out to dinner with priests and nuns and don't even realize I'm the only lay person at the table.  But the people around me stare like crazy...try sitting in the middle of Bonefish Grill with a bunch of religious.  You become a spectacle.

I don't mind being a spectacle.  Just don't spill my wine as you whip out your iPhone to photograph the Sister to my right. 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

And finally, I applied for graduation from my master's degree since I finish my coursework this May.  They sent me the list of 50+ crazy hard comprehensive exam questions.  Like, "Explain the Trinity in 500 words" and "Why is the book of the prophet Isaiah important to salvation history?"  Ugh.  At least this degree will be finished soon and I will have my weekends back...until I have to start the PhD.  But I'm trying to put that off for another year.  I always thought that if I went back for yet another degree, I would go to law school.  Guess not...but darnit, I'm taking some time off to breathe.  And get back in shape.  And read something other than theology! 

Flood of Grace

The last two days have been the most peculiar of my life.  I guess this is my first big loss in my life.

Before this, I didn't know how to grieve.  Not that I really know now.  But I have two days' experience.  I worked for about 5 hours today, getting necessary things accomplished, and then came home.  I put shorts and a tanktop on and carted my lounger out to the back patio.  It was 76 degrees in Indy and, if I closed my eyes hard enough, the breeze made it feel like a day on a Floridian beach.  Or a Lake Michigan beach in the middle of summer.  I relished the breeze, letting the sunshine heal my broken soul.  

Yesterday, I recorded some of my recounting of Dad's last few hours.  At the time, "Sitting on the Dock of the Bay" kept coming on Pandora.  seeemingly mocking my emotions.  But it dawned on me that it's one of my favorite memories - sitting on the docks in New Buffalo with him.  With Dad.  Watching the boats come and go out of the harbor.  He introduced me to that existence, "beach life," if you will.  

I'm one of those crazy diamonds that feels their emotions even more acutely with alcohol than without.  Most people lock up their emotions with alcohol but a couple drinks make me feel mine even more acutely.  As such, ready to face the gaunlet of emotions, I had a glass of wine on my Indianapolis-turned-Florida/Michigan beach patio. 

UGHHHHH.  Here we go.

My last communication last night was with my new boss, Fr. Mark.  He told me that he would say a mass for me and my father today.  Then he asked if he could inform the chairperson of the board, Sister JD.  Of course I said yes, for she is my boss, too.  So my first call this morning was from Sister JD, crying, explaining that she lost her father in the same manner.  I shared with her some of the discord and regret I felt over the lack of true reconciliation with my father.  She simply listened and then cried along with me.  

Who has a chairperson of the board of a huge corporation call you personally, to cry with you, when your father passes on unexpectedly?  I couldn't believe it.  And yet, I was so grateful.  Her love was palpable over the phone. I FELT loved.  It's one thing to know you're loved.  But it's another thing to be so surrounded by love that you feel it.  You feel you are surrounded by guitar strings and can "pluck" that love so that it reverberates in your soul.  I think it changes your soul's chemistry.  I suddenly felt what it was like to be truly vulnerable, one human connecting with another.  No pretenses.  No judgment.  No expectations.  Just one person being totally present to another in need.  

Then Sister JD sent out a message to all executive leadership and my fellow Franciscan leadership colleagues.  I received something like 148 messages in an hour, all expressing sympathy and prayers.  To work in an organization with such loving outpouring of support is a blessing I never imagined.  And I'm going to let them wrap me in their love and support.  

In times of sorrow and grief, I am so grateful for the love of hundreds of other people.  People who only know me professionally and yet, they shower me with their love and support during this most difficult time.  Rest in peace, Dad.  And thank you, God, for my most loving family, friends, and colleagues.  

Sittin' on the dock of the bay

Already, there is more to the story.  

I just hung up with my aunt, my dad's sister.  It turns out that she did not have a contact number for me and called my parents to have them contact me or to get my contact info.  My aunt called my parents' house twice....and they were in Indianapolis at my house.  

So my parents received those two voicemails today around 2:30pm, when they got home from visiting us in Indy.  That makes me feel better...the Facebook thing was because no one could seemingly find me.  

The other details are pretty marked...he had a massive stroke at some point Thursday evening.  His wife found him slumped over in a chair and barely able to mumble anything.  By the time the paramedics arrived, he was unresponsive.  It went that fast.  They rushed him to the hospital and all the while, he was unconscious.  He was in ICU from 12:30 a.m. Friday morning and they began the range of Imaging and neurological tests to determine brain function and the depth of the stroke.  It was a terrible stroke, massive, in the deepest recesses of his brain.  No surgical intervention could have helped and the stroke was progressing.  His brain was full of blood and it was getting worse.  

There were only two options...to trach him and keep him on a ventilator with a feeding tube until his heart gave out...or to discontinue the vent.  I'm so grateful, from a human and ethical perspective, that they discontinued the vent Saturday morning.  Palliative care nurses made him comfortable and he passed away peacefully within two hours of them discontinuing the vent.  It gives me such peace to know he passed quickly and peacefully.  

I'm still mad that we had to lose 15 years of relationship (or whatever it was) because he didn't want me or need me in his life.  My emotions are ranging from anger to sadness to a sense of helplessness regarding my own mortality.  But all things considered, it could have been far worse.  I do hope he is resting in peace.  

The song "Sitting on the Dock of the Bay" always reminded me of him.  I hope he's sitting on the dock of the bay in heaven.

  

A Eulogy...or Lack Thereof

I was going to journal this writing but thought blogging would be (at least for me), a freeing, honest experience.  You're about to get some very raw Dorrie here.

Here's the thing.  I found out my dad died yesterday.  My biological father.  He had a massive stroke and it went very quickly.  I don't know many details because I haven't been intimately involved in his life in about 30 years...and I found out about his sudden passing on freaking Facebook.  An aunt posted the news as her status.  Bleary-eyed this morning at 7:25 a.m. and still laying in bed, I scrolled through my newsfeed.  It's my tradition.  First thing I check is the weather.  Then Twitter for news headlines.  Then Facebook for other updates.  Then usually work email.  Usually, by checking these feeds, I learn who has recently had a baby or what ISIS is up to now.  

But this morning, I found out that my dad died.  

I had to read the status twice.  

My first thought was "God rest his soul."

My next thought was "I don't know what to feel."

I laid there for a minute, just sort of wondering.  Should I be sad?  Relieved?  Guilty?  Apologetic?

Rolling over, I woke Jack up to tell him the news.  He seemed dumbfounded, like he was trying to make sense of my words, teasing out whether he was still in a dream.  

We each got up and headed downstairs to the coffee pot.  It was then that I was able to name the emotion I was feeling: Numbness.  Jack and I sat in our recliners, beautiful sun streaming through the windows on a bright Sunday morning, just staring at each other.  Jack's dad also left him at a young age and neither of our dads really care about us.  My stepdad and Jack's stepfather-in-law has become our 'real' Dad over the last 25 years.  By some grace of God, my family was in town this weekend, celebrating my other brother's graduation from the police academy here in Indy.  They attended his ceremony on Friday and went to lunch to celebrate.  I had to chair and speak at a conference and Jack could not get out of work....but we were with him in spirit.  After the ceremony and lunch, they all descended upon Chez Dorrie and Jack for a weekend celebrating family.  And Dad's birthday.  All he ever wants in the world is his family together.  So by getting together, having a few beers and a lot of laughs, we give him the best gift possible.  

Friday night, we all needed to laugh, so I cracked open a bottle of wine and we all threw several scenes in a bag...to play "Scenes from a Hat" from "Whose Line is it Anyway?"  It was "Scenes from a Bag" and I laughed so hard I thought I was going to vomit!!  Saturday, I had to write a paper and the guys went to a new brewery nearby.  Jack made corned beef, cabbage, and homemade soda bread.  We cheered the Irish men's BB team onto victory last night and turned in early for once.  

Our house guests usually sleep in when they visit.  It's fine, it tells me their beds are reasonably comfortable.  However, my mom came down first this morning.  I couldn't even look at her with telling her the news.  As soon as she sat down with her coffee, I broke the news.  My voice cracked when I mentioned it.  She immediately apologized for my loss and I wondered how the news would affect her.  My dad was her husband for 11 years.  A lifetime ago.  She was more worried about me.  

I just needed to be alone.  While I was so grateful for the surrounding love of my family, I needed space.  I didn't know what I was grieving or how you grieve someone who didn't want you.  So I stuffed my emotions down my throat and started doing laundry (because that's important, right?).  My stepdad (who has been "Dad" to me for 25 years now) found me in the laundry room and just hugged me.  He didn't say anything, just held me.  He eventually just said, "I'm sorry."  

To which I replied, "Well, you've been my real dad for 25 years now."  He only hugged me tighter.  He could have said so many things..."sorry the bastard is finally gone" or "good riddance" or something to that effect.  He chose to just love me.  

That's all I wanted from a dad anyway.  Someone to love me without judging.  Someone to just meet me where I am and love me for that.  In that singular moment, he truly became my Dad.  I'd never loved a dad as much as in that moment.  Which felt extremely ironic because I was starting to greive my "real" dad.  

Celebrating my dad's birthday on the same day that my father died.

At that point, I knew I had some serious reflection and unpacking of my thoughts before me.  My family sensed this and soonafter, packed up and left for home.  I just needed time, space, and silence.

Which brings me to this point.  After talking with Jack for about an hour and a lot of internal thoughts over the last 7 hours or so, I have a few key points of grief

When I die, I want my friends and family to celebrate my life.  Me.  To relish their memories of me, our laughter, my presence in their lives.  I really want it to be a relatively happy event.  But in this case, I don't have many memories of my father.  I initiated an email exchange last year and he seemed like a bitter, angry old man.  He left me when I was 6, we had a strained relationship throughout my adolescence and teen years and our last real contact was just after my wedding in 2001.  I wouldn't have minded having lunch or dinner with him to reacquant but he didn't want to.  After all these years, all my education, and accomplishments, he still didn't want me.  Fine.  After a few days of grieving that, I let it go.  I can't force someone to love me or want me in their life.  

But I can't really celebrate dad's life.  I don't know who he is.  Hell, I don't even know if he was alone when he died.  I don't know if he has a will, an estate, or whether there will be a funeral.  I assume their will be but one never knows.  I'm grieving the lack of memories and good times.

The second thing I am grieving is the loss of a parent.  My mom always tells me it's awful.  She changed the day she lost her mom and I see it.  It makes me hug her tighter each time I see her and relish the goofy stories she often recounts.  I am now in a new category...a child who has lost a parent. Even though I did not have a relationship with dad, I am still, biologically, half his.  I am pretty much it on my paternal side... A half-orphan.  

And selfishly, I pick through this new territory of having lost a parent.  Sociologically, it's significant.  I am the next generation now.  And yet, I selfishly keep wondering about his health history.  Do I need to worry about dying from a sudden stroke now?

The last thing I am grieving is what could have been.  As I said above, I have a few memories of him that I hold close to my heart.  A few moments where I felt loved for being me.  When I was accepted to study abroad in Ireland, my mom said we couldn't afford it.  Dad said to GO!  That the money would end up okay and that I should never miss a chance to spread my wings.  He was right...I did study in Ireland and ended up traveling the world as a result.  At his prompting, I also backpacked South America in college because the money would end up okay.  It always did and I'm glad he encouraged me to take those risks.  

There was one winter day when the two of us took off for New Buffalo.  I was maybe 12 or 13 and I remember staring out at the barren, icy landscape of the lakeshore.  He had his camera and was taking pictures.  I was just staring out at the frozen scenery, letting the cold wind sting my eyes.  Even now, when we travel to Lake Michigan each summer for our week at the beachhouse, I think of that wintry day with dad.  I think he took me out to lunch that day and I felt special.  I felt like a daughter.  It stuck with me.

I'm sure I will have more to reflect upon in the coming hours, weeks, and days.  But so far, this experience is teaching me yet another thing I shouldn't do in my life.  In short, don't NOT have a life.  Live your life in a way that others will celebrate when you depart from this earth.  

Even though you didn't want me, dad, I never wrote you off.  Maybe now you will experience freedom and release.  Rest in peace, Dad.

Far Niente

So I've had an unexpectedly quiet weekend.  Jack came down with the flu (like, the mother of all viruses) Saturday night.  It's Monday at 5:30 p.m. and he still hasn't come downstairs.  He's in quarantine.  I think it's the sickest I've seen him; if it's anything like the flu I had a few weeks ago, he has to feel like absolute crapola.  

I planned to have a quiet weekend.  As though I jinxed myself, we had a huge snowstorm on Friday night and into Saturday.  I didn't go anywhere and happily stayed on my couch in Adidas pants, roaring fire in the fireplace.  I gave up wine for Lent but with the circumstances at hand (done with job and truly unemployed for a few days), it was time to open a bottle of 2012 Far Niente.  

Far Niente: "the art of doing nothing."  

And I truly did nothing.

We sat and watched the snow fly, drinking beautiful chardonnay, listening to Louis and Ella.  Louis and Ella is like audio valium.  My already lightened shoulders began to relax even more.  

Then Jack got sick that evening.  So I moved out of the bedroom and into the guest room and bath.  It's kind of like a get-away.  In my own house.  

So I've pretty much been alone in the house even though I can hear Jack walking around upstairs.  The ghost of Jack.  Ha. 

I just can't tell you how grateful I am to be out of hospital management.  I had to talk myself into it back in 2009, where I convinced myself I was all badass and could play ball in the big leagues with the big guys.  And I could and did...but it was at a price.  It certainly took its toll.  The other day, I tried to think of who I was before I took the Chicago gig and had I really changed that much?  I took today and tomorrow off to rest...I've been running this marathon for years now and my legs are exhausted.  So is my heart.  

I had a massage this afternoon, a two hour massage with my all-time favorite massage therapist.  I swear, his fingers get in between the very vertebrae of my back.  It's very painful but after a hot bath when I get home, I feel like a new human.  Couple that with the feeling that I have, for the past six years, been carrying around a huge camping backpack (picture Reese Witherspoon in "Wild") and left it behind.  In leaving the job, I left that massive backpack by the side of the road.  I left work on Friday and felt a million tons lighter.  

My wonderful staff threw me a huge going-away party.  They gave me so many presents - my favorite was a huge poster board card that all 500 people signed.  But they also chipped in to get me a stunning Pandora bracelet (my two favorite charms are a Notre Dame football helmet and Franciscan cross), a 12-pack of Easy Mac, several pounds of M&M's, caffeinated Crystal Light, and wine.  It dawned on me that that's pretty much what I lived on at St. Gonzo's: mac and cheese, M&M's, and crystal light (and wine!).  My staff cracked me up and at least 30 of us crowded into one frame for a fantastic selfie.  

But as my assistant helped me pack up my car with my loot, I felt joyous.  Excited.  Very relieved.  I was tempted to blare Alice Cooper's "School's Out" when I drove away from the hospital.  Even though I will be back for meetings (in two weeks), I won't have to run part of the place.  

I'm thrilled to be able to be "me" in my new job.  Not that I wasn't me in my last few jobs.  But there was a forced-ness to it all, where I felt as though I had to sell my authenticity.  Isn't that the funniest concept ever?  In my new position, even though I really don't know what it entails yet, I have a feeling I will get to be myself.  They want me to be myself.  Not some badass Big League executive.  Just me.  

I no longer have to work really hard to become what I should be.  I just get to be that person now.

It's a relief.  A tremendous relief.  

Insomniacs Unite

It's 1:30 in the morning and my usual insomnia has struck again.  My friend Vera (from Chicago) and I text during the night because we both frequent the insomnia train.  Tonight, though, she must be able to sleep because she didn't text back.  

I'm in a weird place.  I usually lose sleep because my brain is racing a zillion miles an hour and I lay there, trying to will myself to peace and to sleep.  My to-do lists mount in my brain and my strangest anxieties rear their annoying heads while my body is trying to replenish itself.  That's when I worry about some stupid mistake I made 10 years ago or how a colleague may have perceived a facial expression that day.  Whatever the space junk floating around my head, that's when it manifests itself.  

I was exhausted tired on Sunday.  It may have been from the long weekend but it felt like more of a work hangover, from my body trying to get over the fact that I wasn't stressed to the point of breaking. Monday, I barely woke up all day and drug myself to bed at 7p.m. (only to sleep a solid 11 hours...on a weeknight!).  Yesterday, I had a massive migraine and was nodding off even as I got my hair cut at 6pm.  By 8, I was in bed and already passed out cold.  So imagine my surprise when I woke up at 11:39 pm, completely rested.  It was as though my body was saying, "Okay, we're good now.  Please proceed."  

So now, I have similar physical feelings of anxiety and restlessness.  But it's almost as though I'm going through a withdrawal from work.  A physical withdrawal from hospital operations.  It's not a bad thing; these type of DT's are totally worth it.  They're a sign of healing.  

For the first time in six years, I don't care if we get a huge snowstorm.  I will get to stay home, in front of my fireplace, and watch the snow fly from the comfort of my Snuggie.  I will no longer have to be on-call to run a hospital, to open a command center for overnight staffing, or worry about a dozen offsite facilities and who would make sure they are safe for patients.  When huge storms hit in the past, I would visit the news apps and marvel at the number of schools and businesses closed for the weather.  Hospitals never close...so I'd get up and with a slight feeling of bitterness, fight through monsterous storms to help keep said hospital open.  But now, I will welcome the snowstorms.  Bring it on.  Now I'm stayiing home, too.

For the first time in six years, employee concerns will no longer worry me.  There were some weeks that I spent more than 40 hours just dealing with people.  And their shenanigans.  While I will still have personalities and perceptions to manage, I will have people to manage the people.  I will welcome quieter days without Human Resources issues galore (and the requisite documentation that accompanies them!)

For the first time in six years, I will enjoy the month of July.  July is budget month in the land of hospital management.  Last year, it was particularly gory and I don't think we saw the light of day from July 15-August 10.  Then we all had the post traumatic stress of having to catch up on everything from that month in the dungeon (a.k.a. conference room).  Once July 4 comes and goes, I know it's pretty much over until Labor Day.  But no longer!  I will welcome summer months that do not end in something called a "budget hearing."  Well, that's not entirely true - I will have two budgets to prepeare.  Not 110 like in 2014.  I will have a July!

For the first time in six years, my personal wellbeing and "centeredness" is an expectation of my position.  Wellbeing and work/life balance are the first things that go out the window in healthcare.  It's always "do more with less" and sometimes, there just isn't enough time, energy, funding, etc. to go around.  You cut corners.  You cut budgets.  You cut staffing.  You end up giving yourself massive eye strain as you answer dozens of emails from your cell phone or laptop after dinner.  You're forever checking your phone for new alerts because healthcare never stops and dammit, neither should you.  I will welcome a lifestyle change that, while certainly stressful, is expecting me to take care of myself.  Instead of managing nit-picky details and following up on countless tasks, my job will be the implementation of philosophy.  A doing of ethics.  Teaching execs how to lead.  Higher-level system activities.  It has the potential for huge stress but the expectation that I practice presence.  I will welcome this change in philosophy.  I will take care of myself.  Caring for myself is no longer an indulgence...

Isn't it funny the concessions we make along the way?  My "normal" became a constant job that never stopped (even during snowstorms), where I spent countless hours managing people, tasks, and strategy.  I dreaded (and I mean DREADED) the months of July and August.  And where it felt so self-indulgent to take care of myself and sleep when I needed to sleep.  Or go to the doctor for a physical.  Or get my glasses adjusted because they no longer fit my face.  Or to exercise to feel better.  I put off nearly everything I needed to function as a human, much less a successful leader.  I somehow made it through...but now I'm putting the pieces back together.  

And I got my glasses fixed.  

This new world is unsettling and wonderful.  I check my email after dinner and instead of seeing 30 new messages since 5:00 pm, I see 3.  And one might be junk mail.  It will surely pick up next week when I officially start the new gig...but for now, I'll take it.  I'll welcome the pause.  Maybe we'll have a snowstorm blow in so I can have my first snow day in a very long time.  

I'll welcome the heavy eyelids now and go back to bed.  

  

Baggage (and boxes)

I took today off because I've worked something like 184 days in a row.  And I have a moral theology paper due in about 36 hours and all I have is a couple of useable quotes scribbled in the margin of my notebook.  Normally, I'd be spazzing that I wasn't going to finish the paper, I would flunk out of grad school, and have to wear a big scarlet letter "F" on my sweater.  

But now, I don't care.  I had senioritis at the end of every degree - but is it even called "senioritis" when it's your third degree??  Maybe I have a case of "degree-itis."  ?  I just need a B to graduate but I get into this moral debate with myself about the ethics of slacking in a moral theology class for one's ethics degree.  Just. Keep. Swimming!

Anyway, I spent the last couple of days packing up my office, organizing files, making to-do lists for the incoming director, and pitching files that I have carted around with me to every job.  As I glanced around my trashed office on Wednesday, I marveled that I could have accumulated so much junk in two short years.  And why was I keeping a file from a corporate meeting that occurred in 2009?  I'm guessing those meeting minutes have been updated since then.

Because I was intimately involved in a lawsuit a couple years ago, I have learned to save everything if there's ANY chance I might need it again.  I'm a file hoarder.  This caused me to end up with a 1.4 Terabyte shared-drive and three drawers' of files that needed to be pitched.  It was extremely liberating to throw stacks of files into the shredding bin.  My shoulders keep getting lighter and lighter.  I can't believe I carried so much with me, both physically and mentally.  

I sort of assumed that this transition was going to be easier than the others.  No packing up of a house, moving cities, finding a new Meijer, selling a house, moving Jack, Jack's new job, etc.  My transitions are usually huge disruptions that unsettle us for a calendar year.  So I was surprised at how much work it is to just relocate my office one mile south.  

I have one week to go.  Five more get up's until it's over.  Then I get to officially start my dream job.

Word of the Day

I took over Jack's big leather recliner.  Beside me, a glass of Franciscan Equilibrium white wine.  I discovered this wine two weeks ago when we went to mass and dinner with my friend and her surgeon husband.  We all ordered our drinks based on their names and what we were feeling that evening.

I ordered "Franciscan Equilibrium" based solely on its name.

Check it out.  It's a very subtle white wine, non-assuming, non-offensive, with a peach finish.  I struggled to explain it beyond "it is equilibrium."  That word itself is very nebulous - what does "equilibrium" even mean?  Balance?  Normalcy?  Peace?  

For me, it was more of a wish than a feeling.  I am two weeks into my job transition; I have two weeks left in Imaging while I survive the new ethics position.  Things are flying at me so fast that, for the majority of the week, I didn't know if I was coming or going.  My assistant, tuned into my rhythms and weirdness, also felt the stress.  Oh, how I wish I was able to take her with me to my new position.  We are like an old married couple - we rarely have to talk.  An expression or glance communicates all we need to say.  

This past week was killer.  Holding down two huge jobs sucks.  I should censor that word; as the ethicist now, I probably shouldn't use the word "sucks."  Oh well.  There is no better word. 

Imaging was crazy - I completed a multi-million dollar purchase, fired several individuals, and had several safety situations arise.  I was in complete chaos and had about 25 emails coming in every hour.   In meetings from 7 a.m. to 5 p.m. each day, I sat down to do my "real" work after everyone went home.  I made it until 7 p.m. and finally went home to eat whatever my wonderful husband cooked that evening to keep me going one more day.  I addressed concerns in the new position after dinner and Jack tolerated the constant presence of my laptop until I drug myself to bed.

But it's over.  The worst of the transition is over.  My awesome assistant (see above) cleared my pretty much cleared my schedule for the next two weeks.  Thank you.  Praise God.  

My new boss is a perfectionist.  We work well together and, as far as I can tell, are cut from similar cloth.  It will be fine once I can leave the 500 people and $350 million dollar budgets behind.  My new office is in a different building, separate from the hospital.  I am able to keep living in Indianapolis but have several road trips coming up in the next few weeks.  But peace is on the horizon.  Equilibrium, if you will.

In a way, this new position is returning me to my youth, to my "ideal state" being, before I was tarnished by the crap of hospital administration and big city life.  I now get to lead retreats for executives.  I'm leading the programs to help them become ethical leaders.  I'm leading a pilgrimage to Rome.  I am basically responsible for the soul of the organization.  

It's still terrifying.  [Gulp]

But I have to write a Lenten prayer service for an upcoming exec retreat.  Seriously?  They are paying me to do this?  My new job description is not just "other duties as assigned," but "things you did while in ministry and oh, you are a ministerial leader now.  Act like it."  

My new boss (whom I will have to name here) actually admonished me for my stressed appearance.  I was asked to lead an exec retreat exactly 9 days after finding out about this new position.  I still had everything from Imaging on my shoulders PLUS I was administrator on-call for three hospitals and there was a huge snowstorm bearing down in Indianapolis.  Of COURSE I was going to be stressed!  My aura was probably black.  I was anticipating having to run three hospitals in snow crisis yet again.  [Luckily, the storm missed us.  But it was a terse couple of days.]

But it dawned on me...Now I am expected to demonstrate presence.  Peace.  Tranquility.  Dare I say, equilibrium.  It is now in my job description to be a stable and centered.  I'm really, really good at being a stressed-out turkey.  It will truly require some growth to find peaceful equilibrium.  

Equilibrium.  I'll take another glass of that!

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.