Category Archives: Musings

Alive

Posted on December 3, 2010 | 9 comments

Day 3 of #reverb10: Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year. Describe it in vivid detail (texture, smells, voices, noises, colors).

In addition to being awake this year, I’ve felt more alive than ever. I set out for a long run this afternoon with the prompt churning in my head (and quickly ran 8 miles instead of the 6 I intended).

The strongest “alive” moment happened on Memorial Day, as I was nearing the end of the Elgin Fox Trot, my very first 5k. It was an oppressively hot, sticky humid morning, even at 7 AM. On previous days like that, I’d delayed my run until the evening cool down, but I was so excited for that race. I stopped for water at both aid stations and drank it down, dribbling water over my chin and shirt as I realized I’ve never tried to drink while running. The water clung to my shirt and made it feel heavier and damp.

Fortunately, most of the route was through a historic neighborhood with large, mature trees lining the streets, providing some very welcome shade.

But as we came to the end, running downhill, down the middle of Douglas Street where it crosses Kimball – usually a very busy intersection I’d never crossed without waiting for the light – the trees ended and we were thrust into the full, glaring blaze of the sun. Right at that point, we passed the three mile marker. Both sides of the street were lined with thick crowds, cheering that we were almost there, so close, just another tenth of a mile. The crowds surged as we truly raced downhill towards the finish line, just a tenth of a mile, less than that, and I got caught up in it and ran like I had never run during my two paltry months of training. My heart pounded nearly as hard as my feet were slamming into the hot, steaming asphalt, and I tasted the salty sweat streaming down my face. I took longer strides than my short legs had ever been capable of, and I felt like I was flying. Just a tenth of a mile, then a twentieth where I saw my parents, beaming, then the finish was in sight. I ran, pushing myself to the end, and I wanted to cry. The fat kid was finishing a 5k on a hot, humid May day, just two months after running my first quarter mile in a decade.

I must have smiled for the next six hours. And that is why I run – to reclaim that feeling, to feel the blood pulsing through my veins, to know that, with discipline, hard work, and focus, I can finish what I started.

There have been other moments this year where I was acutely aware of being alive, awake and in control of my life.

The February morning I spent wading in the cold, gray Pacific in Coronado, CA when I made some very big decisions stands out. I can still feel the sand between my toes, which felt strangely free after months of being confined by the boots of a Chicago winter. I can taste the sangria I drank at a little cafe after that walk, and taste the fresh cilantro I ate with the fish tacos at that same cafe. I can see the Hotel Del Coronado lurking in the background, as it has for a century, the sunlight reflecting off the red roof and spoiling the pictures I tried to take. I can hear the quiet, how all noises were overruled by the ocean as the waves crashed into the shore. There were almost no people around, just a few kids playing and a woman sketching.

Or the August night when I biked to Wing Park for a concert with friends, laying in the grass on a blanket, staring up at the sunset as I sipped the wine we drank from water bottles, letting the music wash over me as I closed my eyes. As I left the park that night – after I turned down rides offered because of the ominous clouds closing in – the skies opened and it poured. I got drenched. The warm rain cool on my skin, and I got goosebumps as I brushed the strings of hair out of my face and wrung out the green tank top I wore. I raced down Edison Street towards home, splashing through puddles with abandon so my brakes no longer worked, and felt ALIVE.

There are other moments, which is a good dilemma to have. I would be worried if I had no moments of true life in  a single year.

How about you? When did you feel ALIVE in 2010?

This post is part of #Reverb10, a month-long project to reflect on the year nearly gone. Read all my #Reverb10 posts, or learn more.

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Overcoming Meh through Routine

Posted on December 2, 2010 | 7 comments

Day 2 of #Reverb10 brings this prompt from Leo Babauta:

What do you do each day that doesn’t contribute to your writing — and can you eliminate it?

Each day? I don’t know. I run a pretty tight ship with my limited free time. There’s not a lot of time wasted. TV isn’t the time suck it used to be, as I’ve cut down quite a bit and don’t watch nearly as much. While I do while away hours on Twitter (and, less so, on Facebook), I find great inspiration and ideas from my networks and bookmark articles for later pondering.

School cuts down on my writing time, but again, it inspires ideas and isn’t something I’d give up. Plus, in the long run, it’s worth it.

No, I’m not really looking at any physical obstacles to my writing. So let’s go deeper.

I’ve gotten over some of the worst doubts about my writing. I even have a great trick to silence the inner editor and perfectionist tendencies. (Tip: change your font color to white until you’re done, THEN edit. Much more efficient than agonizing over and changing every word as you write.)

So really, I think the only thing that really gets in the way of my writing is my uneven desire. Sometimes, I’ll be gung-ho, guns blazing, and crank out two or three or four posts in a sitting, then do light editing over the next several days. (This often happens late at night, when I feel like I must capture words on (electronic) paper before I can sleep.)

But other times, I’ll go a couple weeks – or worse, months – without writing anything for me. It’s not that there’s nothing to write about. I’m constantly sending ideas to Evernote and adding to a note in my phone. Rather, I just feel very meh about the whole endeavor. Eventually I get over it, but it can be a hard funk to snap out of.

I think exercises like #Reverb10 will get me back in the habit of writing daily, no matter the topic, so it becomes just as part of my day that I no longer think about. I never think about brushing my teeth, or decide it can wait until the weekend or when I have more time. I just DO it. It’s not even on my to-do list.

Writing needs to become the same type of habit for me. While habit and routine can’t fuel true desire, they can carry you through the meh patches. Like winter in Chicago.

This post is part of #Reverb10, a month-long project to reflect on the year nearly gone. Read all my #Reverb10 posts, or learn more.

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Reverb 10: Awake

Posted on December 1, 2010 | 19 comments

This morning, I saw a new hashtag in my Twitter feed: #reverb10. I clicked through and read PaigeWorthy’s fantastically eloquent post, and knew I wanted in.

Every year, as we hurtle into December, I start thinking about the year nearly gone, revisiting resolution lists and figuring out what I might still salvage. Typically, it’s three or four weeks into the new year before I feel adequately prepared to start fresh.

Reverb’s mission is “to reflect on your year and manifest what’s next.” I love the idea of a daily prompt to reflect on a given point. It will be a challenge to write daily, so some may be short, but it’s a more realistic goal for these harried times than NaNoWriMo (which I did in 2006 and 2008). Here we go!

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One Word

Today’s prompt, from Gwen Bell: Encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. Explain why you’re choosing that word. Now, imagine it’s one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you?

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It’s tough to pick a single one to do justice to an entire year. That’s even more true in a year of so much turmoil and change. “Turmoil” implies bad, and this year was anything but. And the simplicity of “change” has been altered by the Obama phenomenon.

Maybe “more,” as that has become my reality? My life is fuller than it’s ever been, and throughout the year, I was asking for more. More responsibilities, more friends, more roles, more creative time and energy. And I got it.

In that same vein, “busy” might work, but again, it’s become an American cliché, a pat response when asked how things are going. “Busy” doesn’t really mean anything anymore if we’re all busy, all the time.

I like “ascending,” because it’s what I’ve been doing – moving on, moving up, both figuratively and literally, as I conquer my fear of running uphills.

But I think “awake” or “awakening” is most apt. 2010 is the year I really woke up to the reality that you only get what you ask for, what you push for, what you work for. And getting anywhere requires being awake, aware, alert and engaged.

So I woke up. I started running regularly and getting more sleep, eating better and really taking care of myself. While in 2009, I focused on losing weight and getting in shape, in 2010 I went further and really took control of my health and all that goes into it. And I’ve begun to find a balance I never knew I could have.

And despite the late nights of class and cramming more into my day than I ever thought possible, I am truly reaping the rewards. I am more engaged in my community and in my own life – and all because I woke up.

Sometimes I’m tired and weary and need the extra-large latte that makes me toss and turn when I know I need the sleep, but overall, it’s so worth it.

A year from now, with a whole year of this “new busy” under my belt, I hope to sum up 2011 with a word like “enthralled” or “mesmerized,” as I hope to be somewhat settled into the lifestyle to the point that I can really enjoy and embrace all I’m learning and doing. I never want to be “content” or “satisfied” because that would imply I can stop!

What word would you use to sum up your 2010? How do you hope to describe your 2011?

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Hall Passes for Grown-Ups

Posted on November 17, 2010 | Leave a comment

Remember hall passes from high school? The bearer was entitled to a few fleeting moments of freedom during class time, usually to use the restroom or retrieve something from a far-away locker. Some teachers had simple slips of paper – ostensible golden tickets – but others tried to make some point by scrawling “HALL PASS” on a 2×4 or hubcap. Regardless, that token was like a get out of jail free card, letting you slip into the forbidden, delicious quiet of the empty hallways while everyone else was slouched at their desks.

A grown-up golden ticket

When inbound Metra trains are delayed during the morning rush hour, they print the grown-up equivalent of hall passes. These slips of paper, which always include the current date and one of several pat excuses (track construction, signal trouble, freight train interference, or, the most ominous, “pedestrian incident”) are available as you leave the platform.

I know some people need these hall passes to excuse their tardiness, especially when the delays are lengthy. The “pedestrian incident” delays can stretch an hour or longer, depending on circumstances. But some of the track construction or signal problems are relatively short – just 10 or 15 minutes. I haven’t figured out what the tipping point to generate an excuse note is. Must a delay be more than 10 minutes? 8? 12?

There’s a certain feeling of freedom that comes with arriving downtown at a different time. Metra so regiments suburban commuters’ lives – you live and die by the time tables, adjusting work schedules, meetings and social engagements to catch the most optimal train – that on the rare occasion when you arrive off schedule, it feels very odd.

When you arrive at exactly the same time as every other day, you’re walking among the same crowd, at the same pace, watching the same people duck into the same coffee shops. The crowd has a cadence, a rhythm that is familiar to the daily commuters. But arriving fifteen minutes later upsets that delicate routine.

Inevitably, it’s on these days – when my train was late and I’m scrambling to get to the office  – that I run into someone from a past life. A high school classmate I haven’t given a second thought to since graduation or a college confidante who has drifted away will suddenly cross my path. Of course I stop and say hello, exchanging hugs and email addresses, thrilled to run into a blast from the past.

And then I wonder – who else is roaming the streets of the Loop in the early mornings, just slightly earlier or later than my normal train?

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Must Everything Go?

Posted on November 13, 2010 | 1 comment

This morning, I attended my first estate auction, held at a house just a few blocks away. Built in the 1880s, the house has been vacant since its owner, Bernice, died 7 or 8 years ago. She had grown up in that house, then married and lived there with her husband. They had no children, so after she passed away, it sat, full of antiques and a lifetime’s worth of accumulated stuff.

The online advertisement talked of how rare it is to find a house with its contents so intact, and surveying the rows and rows of tables filled with everything from beautiful antique furniture to the minutiae of life – pots and pans, tablecloths, Christmas ornaments – made me kind of sad.

It took only three hours to auction off an entire lifetime of things. Each of those items had a story behind it, and I’m sure Bernice could have told you that the large platter was a Christmas present from her husband or she wore that broach to her best friend’s wedding. Maybe the books and books of stamps, so lovingly collected over the years, were a hobby shared with her husband. Did she receive the china as a wedding gift?

Even sadder were the photographs. Those were auctioned off in lots, and when interest waned, they started combining boxes, so three boxes of assorted family photographs – for a family whose line has ended – were going for a bid of $10. There was a pair of old photographs of the house itself, dated 1887, that should have stayed with the house, but instead they were bought and carted away.

I know that, with no heirs to speak up for the items, an auction is the logical way to dispose of it all. But I wonder if Bernice could have ever thought that the entire box of mementoes from her career at the Elgin National Watch Company would fetch just $20 from a stranger some 30 years later. And when I got home, and surveyed the items I’ve collected in my travels, I wonder if the silver Turkish coffee set I haggled for in Istanbul or the hand-painted clay puppets from Greece will some day be part of a similar auction.

I never raised my bid card, though I wish I would have on the Lady Elgin pendant watch, gold-filled, that went for $25. And the green Depression glassware was so pretty, but I had no real use for it. A friend won a couple lots of quilts and goofus glass, and gave me a pair of Japanese plates that had been thrown in. They’ll look nice in my built-in china cabinet.

Overall, it was an interesting morning, standing in the pouring rain under umbrellas, watching an entire houseful of items be inspected and carried off. (The mimosas and hot coffee definitely added some joviality to the affair.) I think I’ll go to more auctions in town, if even just to see the old photos of Elgin as it used to be. And maybe I’ll find a watch, or a photo of my house, perched up on the bluff.

 

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Tingly Toes – Or, Goodbye Heels

Posted on October 23, 2010 | 8 comments

I just assumed I’d spend all my adult years wearing heels. After all, I’m not that tall, and that’s what women do, right?

Over time, I’ve built up quite a collection of “grown-up” shoes, in colors from black and pink to red and lime green. When I lived in Chicago proper, I wore stilettos for my standing commute on the El, walking blocks, sometimes miles, in heels and never thinking twice.

Since then, I’ve lived my theory of commuter shoes, which stipulates that the easier the commute, the more comfortable the shoes. I typically wear a relatively comfy pair of atheleisure shoes or sneakers for my commute, then switch at the office.

But this fall, I’ve encountered a couple big obstacles.

First, now that I’ve started grad school, my work bag is stuffed beyond capacity. By the time I haul my laptop, giant packet of readings, lunch and dinner, travel mug and notebook, I have no room left for leisure reading material (not that I have time for such a thing!) or shoes. And in my own vanity, I don’t want to wear the ugly commuter shoes to class. So I’ve been stupidly wearing pretty shoes for walking to the train, to the office, around all day, to class, to Union Station, and finally up the hill to home.

Second, now that I’m running, my feet just can’t take the heels anymore. This week made that especially apparent. After an eight-mile run last Saturday, I developed a small blister on my toe, and my feet were sore. Fair enough. Then Tuesday, I wore relatively low heels all day, including to/from the off-site meeting a few blocks away. Normally, this wouldn’t be any big deal. But the combination of already-sore feet, a blister, and more walking than I intended left me limping by the time I got off the train late Tuesday night.

Wednesday, I woke up with feet that were downright numb. They screamed as soon as I put weight on them. The numbness persisted through a five mile run that evening, all day Thursday, and finally began to ease a bit by mid-day Friday – just in time for today’s long run.

A couple years ago, I sprained my ankle and had to go out and buy flats. I wore those two pairs daily for about three months, then returned to heels. I’ve been wearing those two pairs again (and again) and think it’s time to expand my collection.

Plus, even my old shoes – the ones I’ve worn faithfully for years – suddenly cause problems. They almost feel too small – as if my feet have grown since I started running.

I won’t swear off heels entirely. Sometimes I like the boost of height, and for special occasions, they just seem right. (And what if I meet a really tall guy?) But I’ll start treating my feet – and myself – better.

Besides, thanks in part to running, I feel taller than ever before. So goodbye, heels. It’s been fun.

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Squelching the Lizard Brain

Posted on September 29, 2010 | 2 comments

A couple weeks ago (my, how time flies!) I had the distinct pleasure of seeing Seth Godin speak at the Harris Theatre.

I’ll admit I wasn’t all that familiar with Godin prior to this session. I knew who he was, and I’d bits of Tribes and Linchpin. I thought I knew some of his basic concepts. He’s the guy who talks about innovation and marketing, right?

I was blown away.

The timing was perfect, just days before I began my graduate program in integrated marketing communications. Godin does talk a lot about how marketing has evolved and how the rules have changed. But really, it’s so much more than that. It’s a complete shift in mindset.

Technology has completely revolutionized the very core of our society. We now own the means of publication and promotion, of ideas.

So why are we wasting it on following processes and procedures, policies and pabulum? True revolution and change doesn’t reward such compliance. Instead, we are at our best when we accept challenges and take risks.

Godin talked extensively about the “lizard brain,” the evolutionary holdover that controls our most primal emotions: fear, anger, revenge and reproduction. The lizard brain is that voice that tells you something’s too hard, or too out-of-the-ordinary, or too daring. Godin essentially advised using the lizard brain as a sort of compass – and then doing the opposite. When something seems scary, embrace it and do it.

So how do you trick your primal lizard brain? Godin advised to play by its rules and schedule time into your day – the lizard brain embraces such structure and scheduling – but use that time to start with a blank sheet of paper and work out ideas.

Of course, they won’t all be winners. For every good idea, there are dozens, scores, hundreds of bad ones! (We talked about this in class the other night – how about Maxwell House ready-to-drink coffee – just heat and serve – or Frito Lay Lemonade?)

But he’s right about the blank sheet of paper. For years – since high school, maybe longer – I’ve struggled to start writing anything. I’ve always found comfort in having something, anything on the page before I have to start adding to it, whether it’s copying and pasting the assignment or outline onto the virtual page or scribbling down notes. And really, it’s been a crutch that has limited my writing. Rather than coming up with something completely original, it grows based on what I planted on the page. While this is fine and dandy for mundane tasks, such as a summary or to-do, what happens when you start with blank paper?

Go on, try it. (But finish reading this first!) Open up a new Word doc (or Symphony – pick your poison) and maximize the window so it fills your entire screen. If you can full screen it so you can’t see the clock or taskbar, or email notifications, even better. Turn off your wifi, if you can.

Now write the first thing that comes to your mind. It doesn’t matter if it’s good or bad or half-baked. Just get the idea out there. Poke that little speck of an idea and see what happens.

I spend so much of my time flipping between multiple tasks that my brain never really settles on anything long enough to make a real impact. In between thoughts, I flip to Twitter or my email, as if concentrating on that will help tease out the idea on the tip of my brain. No matter how “focused” I am, the ding of a new email sends me rushing to my inbox, where I delete yet another newsletter.

The day after I saw Godin speak, I hopped a plane to New York for a friend’s wedding. 30,000 feet up, with no internet, no phone, no texts, no Twitter, no distractions, I wrote like I haven’t in a long time, and it felt magical.

I’ve toyed with the idea of having one “unplugged” day per week, with no internet time. No hours of browsing, no checking my friends’ Facebook statuses. I’ve been inconsistent with it, but now I think it’s an even better idea. It clears the head and shakes loose all the clutter so, in theory, the good stuff rises to the top. (I think I’ve embraced running for this reason – it’s time to process things without interruptions.)

So thank you, Jenn, for the ticket to see Godin. I can’t even imagine where I’ll go from here. Though maybe some blank paper time will reveal a direction…

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An Evening at Rest

Posted on September 24, 2010 | Leave a comment

I’ve been hurtling through the last few months and loving (nearly) every minute of it. (I’ll admit – scrubbing the floors? No love lost there.)

Between work, neighborhood commitments, friends, family (loving the increase in family time), cooking, grocery shopping, running – it’s been a breakneck couple of months.

This week I started grad school, so things are looking even busier.

Even my weekends have been packed, especially as I try to finish some outdoor projects while the weather holds. And I traveled to New York last weekend for a friend’s wedding, which threw me off even more. I haven’t gone grocery shopping in two weeks, which has made for some interesting meals the last few days!

But tonight, I’m at rest. I have a DVR that has been accumulating season premieres, and I’ve spent some glorious time on the couch. It’s just cool enough that a hoodie is perfect, but the window is still cracked open.

I know tomorrow I’ll be back at it – I’ve got a full day of volunteering with Habitat for Humanity scheduled, and I’d like to sneak in a run before I go. Plus, the Elgin Pub Crawl is tempting me for the evening – is anyone going?

But come Sunday morning, when I get to sleep in unfettered for the first time in three or four weeks, it will be glorious.

It had better be – I’ve got lots to do!

Truly, though, I wouldn’t have it any other way. While I need the occasional night like this, I’m happiest when I’m doing a dozen things.

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Faster, Please

Posted on August 27, 2010 | Leave a comment

Everything seems so much faster lately. Summer has raced by, each individual day blurring into the next.

And yet it feels like I’m not moving fast enough. Walking the sidewalks in the Loop, I’m easily impatient with tourists and dawdlers, and women walking three abreast, not paying attention. I grow annoyed with the people trying to text while walking (though they deserve some scorn), and I find myself weaving in and out of (sidewalk) traffic, rushing to the next light, where I wait impatiently before sprinting across the street.

I’m not sure what has happened to speed up my pulse, to make me anxious to move, move, MOVE.

Is it running? Since I started running this spring, I’m literally moving faster, if only for a couple hours a week. Has this subliminally affected my pace at other things?

Is it my newfound need to do even more? I feel like I’m trying to squeeze every last drop out of every day, to leave no stone unturned, to push and go as hard as I can.

Is it my increased caffeine intake?

Regardless, the world’s just not keeping up with my pace.

But I think that’s okay. It’s good to have some tension to push you harder and faster.

Though I do wish those tourists would stay to the right.

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A Softer Light: Summer’s Not Over Yet

Posted on August 19, 2010 | 3 comments

It’s happening: we’re rapidly losing our long hours of languid summer sunshine. The last few mornings, when the alarm goes off at 6, it’s still sunrise rather than nearly-full daylight. This morning, the sun loomed as a big red ball to the east.

And at day’s end, the light is coming to an abrupt halt much quicker. A month ago, I could wait until 7:30, even 8 PM before heading out for my run, assured of plenty of daylight. Last night, I got home from my run at 7:45 and the front porchlight was already on. (It’s on a timer that automatically adjusts for sunset.)

The other night, leaving work at 5, a coworker commented on the light. “It’s different,” he said, looking at the way the sunlight ducked between the skyscrapers. “Has it always been like this at 5?”

“It’s nearly fall,” I replied. “Not long and it will be dark when we leave.”

I hate the darkness of the winter. I hate leaving the house in the dark and returning home in the dark, when entire workweeks can go by without ever feeling the sun on my face. But in some ways, I’m more focused in winter. When it’s light out, I want to be outside, running or biking or just lounging in the yard with a book. As long as it’s light outside, the day seems full of possibility and promise. There’s no rush to get things done. In winter, I don’t feel as if I’m missing out on the gorgeous, fleeting weather. Another gray, slushy day? I’d rather be inside working, thank you.

But now, as the sunlight softens and falls farther to the horizon earlier in the evening, fall is coming. The free evening concerts at Wing Park are over, the last one rained out. Kids are already back to school, and I just learned I’ll be joining them in a few weeks. We’ve had a few cooler nights when I’ve had to wake in the middle of the night to close the bedroom windows.

Several years ago, the Tribune’s Mary Schmich quoted Mary Oliver’s “The Summer Day” in a column.  I clipped it and stuck it on my fridge, and notice it many mornings as I’m waiting for the coffee to brew. (Schmich quoted it again in a recent column, but I’ll stick with my yellowed, brittle copy.)

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

This summer’s nearly over, but there’s still time for a stroll through the fields or a trip to the farmer’s market. It’s already been a great summer, but let’s go out on a high note.

What’s left on your must-do list for summer? I still have to break 30 minutes in a 5k, and I want to spend more time in the backyard, with wine, after dinner. I may need to invest in some anti-mosquito tiki torches to make that one happen.

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