An Open Office, and Dating Profiles

On Tuesday, happy meant prioritizing my peace of mind first and foremost while at work. In an open office environment, headphones proved to be a godsend throughout the day. With jazz in my ears, my workday became more about me, making distractions less imposing, and the calming effect of music made pacing my work throughout the day easier, preventing burnout.

On Wednesday, I gave Tinder a chance to satisfy my curiosity and boredom. In the end, it was a great way to remind myself of why I’m currently single. You might be thinking, “Duh, it’s Tinder,” but I know more than one example of introductions through that app that have worked out long-term. Every now and then I’m hopelessly optimistic.

On Thursday, I deleted Tinder. Mind you, 24 hours was more than plenty of time to realize that the ROI of this dating profile was minimal.

By Friday, I’d been on Match.com for a little over a month. No stranger to online dating, I shook it up this time, allowing a close friend to play matchmaker for me. I hardly ever got to see matches, let alone message them. This was a fun experiment at first, my friend married to her high school sweetheart, she was eager to see what it was like for me to be single. Over the span of the month, she had been insulted more than a few times, I was accused through her by total strangers of being incapable of good judgment if my friend had to manage the profile for me, and she had mostly been genuinely creeped out. After discussion, I cancelled my membership, about $70 in the hole, and viewed from the screens of over 200 men (I wish Match hadn’t given me a tally).

At least I can say I tried. The best part of the experiment is that now my friend, with kids of her own, is no longer so keen to pressure me into dating and settling down. In fact, her final words to me on the subject were immensely apologetic, and dripping with warranted pity. Needless to say, the benefit of the whole thing is that I no longer will be nagged about potentially being too picky, or not looking hard enough. In fact, marriage has yet to be brought up since.

I’ve been accused of being too cynical in this department, but it’s a truth I feel is best to accept: If I’m meant to be married and have my own children as my contribution to the world, I will, and if I’m meant to embrace what I do in life for the benefit of the world as my contribution, rather than kids of my own, it will be of no lesser value than if my contribution were embodied in children. I’ll leave it up to fate.

I’m noticing a pattern. I often find happiness in acceptance.

Advertisements

Colorado & Living My Truth


Friday: We flew to Colorado for a Celebration of Life reunion for my late grandparents. My grandmother passed in the summer, just before her 90th birthday. Back then, I was fortunate enough to be able to say goodbye in her more lucid, yet silent moments. This trip was actually pre-planned by my grandmother, with funds set aside to pay for the entire trip for our family and even included a day at the Spa. My grandmother lived by the saying, “Go big or go home.” The travel inbound wasn’t terrible, but I should clarify by mentioning that, as a rule, I expect travel to be terrible, so anything less than terrible is acceptable to me. Our flight was initially delayed by an hour, but our drive into the mountains from Denver was serene, my professional driver brother our chauffeur, and the weather humid and brisk, but not rainy. Mesmerized by the scenery, I would switch off between losing myself through the window, and taking blurry pictures of trees framed by mountains as we zoomed past, inspiring my brother to joke throughout the trip “Where are you, Katrina?” and “Earth to Katrina….”

Earth to Katrina, indeed.

Saturday: A day at the Spa awaited us courtesy of my grandmother. And, thank God it did. The morning started off by being greeted by my miffed aunt, and older cousin, gossiping about my mother while waiting for breakfast in the restaurant portion of the resort. A little background: The plan for this trip was not just a reunion, it was to spread the ashes of my grandparents together on their favorite ski slope, where they spent their golden, and arguably happiest, years together. And, like her mother, my aunt has a hard time going small. She had planned for a helicopter to fly herself, my two uncles, and my mother out to the top of the mountain to spread a share of ashes. The plan was poetic, dramatic, and no longer happening. The weather conditions were not conducive to flying and spreading ashes in this way, so the ‘copter opted out. This left my aunt understandably disappointed, yet undefeated. She insisted on repeating this trip next year, saving the leftover ashes for another trip to this same location in the fall. My mother took unpaid time off from three of her jobs (which is not uncommon for the state of our economy), and is already less than at ease with travel, though it was most-expenses paid, the trip was trying on her physically and emotionally. She wanted the grieving to end. She needed closure. She needed this to be the only trip. And, she said so.

Not surprisingly, my aunt was miffed, and baffled by my mom’s steadfast refusal of her new plans. So miffed, in fact, that she made the complacent mistake to speak in dramatically hushed tones about my mom’s obdurateness to her first cousin. In front of my brother and myself. As we waited for breakfast. My head got hot, and I took a breath. I couldn’t let this fly. I interrupted her hushed tirade mid-sentence. “I need to remind you that my mother is taking unpaid time off from three jobs to be here this weekend,” my tone eerily stern. (I’ve been told I’m scary when I’m angry, which leads me to expect that my eyes must have been wide, my brow severe, and my cheeks gray with anger). My cousin responded nervously, “Oh, we understand. We do.” And the conversation dropped like a stone.

Growing up, it wasn’t a secret that my mom was different. She was and still is a dreamer, a poet, a humanitarian. She became a counselor, and made far less money than my non-social working relatives, who went on regular trips to countries they’d never been to before, golfed, and took up Scotch tasting as a hobby. As a child, I didn’t want to see the reality of how my aunt and uncles treated her. I had heard stories from my dad, but wanting to see the good in people, especially in my relatives, I tried to reason it away, and play dumb. As I got older, I noticed the cliquishness, and naively tried to befriend the clique, hoping that my acceptance would promote hers. On this trip, I learned the pathetic truth. My relatives are relentlessly elitist, and will find any excuse to criticize, exclude, and belittle my family, especially my mom. Little did I know that speaking my truth wouldn’t stop at breakfast.

After a tense breakfast, the timing perfect, I was spoiled by luxury I’d never known, and a massage including a cranial sacral treatment. Afterwards, the cares of breakfast seemed as far away as my day-job, and I recouped my patience for  dinner with the family, catered at the hotel. As though planned, my aunt’s son proved that no matter how old and accomplished you get, you can still choose to remain a child. Married, with his wife at his side, he sat not a foot away from the makeshift bar my aunt had prepared. I walked past him to refill my water, when he lifted his empty scotch glass to my shoulder. Without a word, he gestured for me to take it. “Scotch,” he said, and specified the brand. I took it, unimpressed. He was unkind to me as a child. And, when I was about four, made a point to emphasize that we weren’t really family, as his mother is a stepchild to my maternal grandfather. A true and bonafide ass on a number of occasions, this gesture was unsurprising. What surprised him, however, is that I am no longer four years old, timid, and pining for his worthless approval. I looked down at him, his petite wife staring, “Hmmm,” I paused, “I’m looking for a word….” He stared down at the floor where he sat, wordless. “Starts with a P….” I waited. “Ends with an E….” I waited. His wife’s eyes widened. “Okay, I’ll give you a hint. Second letter is L….” He continued to stare. I did not waver. Finally, he relented “You can have a sip.” Knowing I’d made my point, I cheerily quipped, “Why, thank you!” filled the glass with two fingers, and took a polite sip. I’m beginning to notice a trend.

Sunday: The day of the Celebration of Life. Now, it was my brother’s turn to be on the receiving end of my cousin’s favorite pastime. My brother was very close to my grandmother. More so than I was. They’d do everything together once they moved back to Illinois. He’d go swimming with her the most often at the neighborhood pool, and spent nights watching movies with her when he was little. They shared many memories, and were a lot alike. This was not an easy occasion. A grown man with a career, and not a man with a physique you’d want to cross, I was his life-vest. Embarrassed at the likeliness of overt emotion, he asked me to sit with him at the far back of the banquet hall of the ski resort, next to an unfortunately placed trash can. We sat in silence, watching the friends and family pour into the room, with golden aspen leaves flickering in the wind outside the picture windows. We were silent, together, in a moment, starting to grieve. This was until I saw the jarring display my cousin put on. Gesturing loudly, eyes wide with a jeering smile, he pointed his long and bony finger at the two of us, laughing. He motioned to his mother to come over to us to correct our antisocial behavior. She patronizingly grinned at the two of us, and came over to the table, insisting that we relocate closer to the front. My brother tried to explain he was emotional, and as she started on didactically about how everyone’s emotional, I told her that I agreed we’d need to move forward eventually. We sat down towards the front, and soon were joined by my uncle’s wife, an artist, and in a friendly disposition. She started to chat with my brother, which presented a fortunate opportunity for me to get up and make a beeline for my ridiculous cousin and his enabler wife. They were giggling inwards to each other. Once I reached his back, I spoke into his neck, “Excuse me.” He turned around, their eyes wide. Sternly, and clearly enough to spook him, “This is a difficult day for my brother. Go easy on him.” I didn’t wait for agreement. His eyes were enough for me to know I’d made my point. With a beat, I turned around and walked back to our new table.

The Celebration was cathartic, and bittersweet. I even managed to speak through my tears, mostly in grief at what I didn’t get to experience with my grandparents, and gratefulness for the poignant little that I had. I was proud to be a legacy of theirs, living my life on my own terms, carrying on their most important legacy: the resistance to conformity, something some of their own children could hardly understand.

One of my elder cousins and my uncle split the ashes among plain white dixie cups so that everyone who wanted a hand in spreading the ashes could. We all walked onto the slope, some of us pursuing spots under the ski lift, others finding spots overlooking the aspens, and mountains in the distance. I took the moment to lose myself in the view, learning that my grandparents and I had more in common than I ever realized, with the same appreciation for the Earth, mesmerized by the same interminable beauty.

The event concluded with a formal dinner that included the whole family, which was lovely, and even my less than amicable family seemed happy and friendly. I even had a fantastic talk with my grandfather’s closest friend, who even gifted me a copy of the book he wrote, hand-writing in the front page a dedication to me. I felt my grandfather would be pleased at our connection. I slept well that night.

The following day, in spite of the unifying experience, my family reverted back to their old ways. Right before boarding the plane home, my aunt posted a status about the experience with the entire family, thanking everyone who came out, with an accompanying photograph of the mountains featuring the family. Pictured were my aunt, her husband, my two uncles, and their wives. My mother was nowhere to be seen.

Sick to my stomach, I commented, unable to stop myself, “Nice…. Look at the whole family….”

The plane ride was uncharacteristically intolerable emotionally, and in reality. We were stuck on the tarmac after landing for an hour. Without hesitation, I made the most of the extra time. I checked in to Facebook. No acknowledgement of my comment had been made, but more pictures had been added, again, none featuring my mom, or my brother, or me. I felt the need to clarify.  I began typing in a private text to my aunt:

“Did you take any pictures with my Mom?” Sent. A pause. “I hope you post them.”

She replied instantly, “You mean her and i”

What a question, I thought. I replied monotonously, “Or any with the fam. I’d like to see them.”

She replied skillfully, “I have lots of pictures of the weekend and I am going to get people to send me theirs and share as soon as I can. Are you home yet”

Confident that I had my answer, I replied, “We’ve landed. Looking forward to seeing them.”

To which she replied, “Ok”

It has been a week since that conversation. No such pictures have been uploaded. No existing posts have been edited. Fortunately, my mother took pictures for herself, and my brother had one of our cousins take a lovely picture of us on the slope.

My Mother is a noble woman. Who loves fearlessly, and is the most forgiving person I know. She has transcended a lifetime of hurt, and still made sure my aunt made it home safely.

My Mother may not be accepted by her family, but with family like hers, this rejection is an honor.

We did right by my grandparents. And my Mother did right by herself. She did not let a single emotional or social infraction stop her from finding her peace on this trip.

My Mother taught me to live in my truth. On this trip, I finally did.

 

 

Return to Normal, Actually Try Mindfulness, Tie Up Loose Ends, & Avoid Internalizing Others’ Emotions

Return to Normal

Monday: Returning to work finally after a two weeks of being out sick, actually felt like relief rather than ‘back to the grind.’ I was eager to catch up on projects I’d had to neglect, and return emotionally to a sense of normality. Fortunately, my coworkers were happy to have me back, and my boss voiced such appreciation of me that left me stunned. I’m lucky enough to believe that the fondness for me in the office was healthy to begin with, but my reception back recalls the adage, “absence makes the heart grow fonder,” and fortunately, the feeling was mutual.

Actually Try Mindfulness

Tuesday: Dealing with the all too physical manifestation of stress for the last couple weeks, I’ve started trying to actually practice mindfulness exercises I’ve read in magazines, or heard about on TED Talks. The one that I recalled the easiest today was to ask myself where I am in the moment as a practice to stay grounded. I found it most helpful while driving, or when I got too engrossed in a project that I’d begin to find myself tensing up physically in my desk chair. Whenever I found myself mentally either too engrossed in a task, or tripping over one worry and landing into another in my solitude, I would stop mid-thought, and ask myself silently the simple question, “where am I?” I’d answer something like “I’m in the car. I’m driving to rehearsal. The moon is barely visible. It’s a pale blue.” Or, “I’m at work. I’m writing an article for the E-Zine. My back aches,” and I’d stand up and stretch. The practice was very useful, in that it made me focus on my needs, and see whatever inconsequential worry I was allowing to take hold of me, in a new, removed perspective, realizing the majority of them likely wouldn’t matter in a matter of days, let alone in five years.

Tie Up Loose Ends

Wednesday: I’ve been fortunate enough to be tasked with a couple new gigs recently, One little writing gig, contributing to an author’s promotions for his published book, and starting up with a company that does HR Consulting and Training. Having been immensely busy, I needed to finish up the first project before embarking on the new. So today, happiness meant working overtime to tie up loose ends. I began at a Panera, which got increasingly crowded closer to the dinner rush– guess I’m not the type to be able to work in a cafe just yet. So, I took advantage of having rehearsal directly after, and found a quiet spot at the theatre to continue my work. I finished the project that night after rehearsal. Relieved, I was ready to start on the next.

Avoid Internalizing Others’ Emotions

Thursday: Being more prone to empathy than the average person can be a gift, but often is something I’ve had to learn to temper and minimize. I am easily affected by another person’s stress, bad mood, or anger, and with lifelong practice, I’ve improved slowly in not internalizing others as much. When I was younger, the practice applied to friends, and, lately, I’ve had to learn to do the same with my coworkers. In such a small office, the tiniest snafu is felt throughout, and the teeniest sigh of exasperation echoes. Today, I tried to become more aware of when this happens to mentally remind myself that I cannot solve other people’s problems for them , as much as I would like to, and that my own responsibilities come first, which are a weight that is already heavy enough. Rather, what is in my power is to be kind and supportive, and to help once my own duties are accomplished, which are my first priority. In analyzing this problem at work, I realized how it permeates throughout my entire life currently, including my life working with other artists in my off-time. I’m going to start applying this helpful perspective regardless of setting. I need to focus more on the health of my own inner life, which is really the only one I have any control over.

 

There’s an App for That, Temperance, & Set Building


There’s an App for That

Friday: After dealing with my recent health issues, and learning that they are all rooted in stress, I started to pay more attention to the daily activities I thought were indulgence, which are in fact actually stressing me out. The no-brainer was my inability to unplug from social media, the news, and the endless mindless clutter that engorges my phone. I had a thought– what if I changed my habit from doing something mindless into something productive? My habit flared at night before bed, which is horrible, even with my phone in night mode, because my head would end up spinning about the ills of the world right before I was supposed to be sleeping. I thought about how I might better spend that time in between saying goodnight and actually sleeping. I thought about what I’d like to accomplish. My family is Greek, and is hoping to visit Greece in the new year. It’s been nearly a decade since I’ve been last, and in each time I’ve been lucky enough to get there, I haven’t spoken hardly a word of the language. Being less self-conscious to make mistakes compared to eight years ago, now seemed like a good time to try. I decided to look up any apps to learn Greek casually on my phone. Fortunately, I found an awesome app that is very user friendly, starts out as free, and then charges for upgrades (hopefully it’s less expensive than Rosetta Stone). I figured, with approximately a year before I’m out there again, I could at least be able to say Good Morning. Fortunately, learning a couple words before bed means I remember them in the morning, and conveniently, it helps me fall asleep.

Temperance

Saturday: Today we had an unconventional rehearsal for the playhouse, rehearsing in our set designer’s back yard, in bathtubs, in the 90s, due to the fact that our surrealist set is comprised of three claw-foot bathtubs, which are too large to store in the theatre during a production in progress. We rehearsed under a party tent to shield us from the sun, and ran around the set, in and out of tubs, wishing they had water in them. After the rehearsal, the cast was invited to a mutual friend’s house for a welcome-home get together. Realizing I was in desperate need of a night out, I couldn’t refuse. Having just been diagnosed with IBS, I knew that drinking would have to be minimal, minimal by the extreme. So today, happy meant practicing temperance. I spoiled myself with one full cocktail, made special by our host with homemade honey simple syrup, called a Brown Derby, a prohibition-era drink associated with speakeasies past.  I sipped on that derby the entire evening, and indulged in a sip of a friend’s cocktail for a taste. Temperance paid off tenfold that night digestively, and again in the morning, which could not be wasted.

Set Building

Sunday: Up bright and early to contribute to doing what I love: A Set Build. From ten in the morning til three in the afternoon, we hauled, lifted, dragged, stacked, and dumped everything from the closed show into it’s designated place, and then hung, screwed, pulled, lifted, and pushed everything for our next show onto our stage. Our show is starting to get its feet!