Nearly 15 Bags of Sugar

That is what I have lost this year ... nearly 15 of the five-pound bags of sugar (I am annoyingly close - less than a pound - yet oh-so-far from the actual 75 pound mark). I'll give you a moment to let that sink in, as I have to do occasionally.  I can't even lift 15 bags of sugar (not even close), yet somehow I was walking around with that extra weight on me. I cannot even begin to tell you, on this Thanksgiving Day, how grateful I am for the gift of health.

My weight loss was motivated by a desire to move beyond my limitations.  I was mentally exhausted from having to always think about how my weight might impact something.... whether that meant the activities I could choose on vacation with my husband (e.g., probably not even a moderate hike to get to a beautiful vista in Hawaii), to getting winded walking the stairs, to what I was going to wear to a semi-formal work event that didn't make me look horrible.  That's a pretty low bar, right -- not looking horrible.   Since when did my expectations get so low?

When I was overweight, my physical condition was literally almost always on my mind.  I was constantly thinking about how bad of shape I was in, berating myself for not making a change, feeling guilty for my inability to take action, and then trying to assuage the feelings of guilt by eating, of all things.  Every meal was a chance to remind myself that I was failing.  Nice downward spiral, as you can imagine. 

But that all changed late last year when a college friend (to whom I will be forever grateful) introduced to me to a weight loss protocol that changed my life. I started at the new year and have continued through cycles of loss and maintenance throughout the year.  I hope you will be kind to me when you see my "before" picture, as I really hate that photo of me.  But I also think it is important to show the change.  Especially those who have seen me throughout the year are probably less likely to remember how I looked last year. 

As you might imagine, I am thrilled with my progress. I am now in a different phase of maintenance such that I need to maintain my 74+ pound weight loss until the spring and decide whether I want to aim for just a little more.  In the new year, I hope to start a strength training regimen and even participate in my first 5K in May. 

What has been amazing to me is how much lighter I am not only physically, but psychologically as well.  I still may fret about whether or not I have the right outfit, but my goal is now "looking my best" instead of "not looking horrible".  I may not be able to do a long-distance hike, but I sure can do a lot more than a could just one year ago.  The psychological "lightness" seems to impact issues beyond weight, too.  Everything just feels a bit more within reach, whether that means getting our house in order so that we can put it on the market, or tackling a new project at work.  I feel like a huge weight, both literally and figuratively, has been lifted from me.

Thank you, God, for the gift of my health.

But For the Grace of God

Earlier this week, I witnessed a terrible scene: a body lying motionless on the ground while a Good Samaritan administered CPR.  Perhaps you heard about the event, where a woman was killed by a pick-up truck on West 130th while helping a bus to back out of a dead-end street in the pre-dawn hours. At first, I could not figure out why traffic was stopped so early in the morning. I'm sure I swore out loud for my rotten luck at getting stuck behind a bus.  It wasn't until I came upon the accident scene that I realized a by-stander was directing traffic.  Yes, a by-stander.  I must have arrived within minutes of the actual accident because no police or emergency crews had yet arrived.  I have to say that the adults on the scene were handling things with far more control than I would have been able to muster.

Yet at the time I did not quite know what had happened, or what the end result would be.  It wasn't until later in the day that I learned that the victim had passed away, while her child (some reports said two of her three children?) was on the bus that was backing out, and therefore witnessed their mother's death. I cannot even begin to fathom the horror.  Then the following day, I learned that her husband had passed away about a month ago, leaving their three children parent-less in the blink of an eye.  It is almost too much for my brain, and my heart, to process.  I pray that the children have family who can take them in and that God will bring them comfort and peace.

I do not know why the driver did not see the woman, though I can easily see how a number of circumstances conspired together to form this tragedy.  It was certainly dark, the street lights are not prominent in that area, the side street is not far from a crest in the hill (possibly creating a blind spot), and heaven only knows why the hell a bus is pulling down a dead-end street and requires any person to be in the middle of the road to get it back out.  And, maybe, just maybe, was the driver momentarily distracted?

I am clearly speculating, as I don't know, and won't ever know.  Yet it is that split second that haunts me. How many times have I looked down to find my cell phone, access the snack in the console, or perhaps check out the mapquest directions on the passenger seat?  But for the grace of God, any of us could easily have been the driver of that truck, who is also most definitely in need of my prayers.

Frights like this tend to make us all diligent for awhile, into we are lulled back into our bad habits.  My final prayer is that we all do our best to be attentive, defensive drivers.

One Small Voice

Writing about 9/11 can be a risky business.  Especially today, on this most solemn of days, you run the risk of extremes - inadvertently saying something that offends and riles passions (never my intent) or being seen as piling on with nothing original to add to the discussion.  I suppose that of the two choices, I'd far rather be seen as boring because I avoid confrontation like the plague.

But my brother-in-law wondered when I was going to post to my blog again because he missed reading my posts.  So now seemed like as good a time as any to jump back into the writing game.  Yet writing about anything BUT 9/11 today seems to add insult to injury, as if one isn't paying the proper respect to those who lost their lives, and all the survivors still suffering.  So I add one small voice to those who speak out, so that collectively, we may never forget.

I must first say that I did not personally know anyone who died on 9/11.  My experiences are much more tangential - and for that, I am profoundly grateful.  I cannot even imagine the trauma and the heartbreak that others are experiencing.  For you, I pray.

The day started like any other work day.  I was in the office early, on the upper floors of the Huntington Building in downtown Cleveland.  I was on a conference call for some training when we received word that a plane had hit the World Trade Center. The concept of terror never even entered my mind - I simply thought it was a small plane, like a Cessna, and I hoped that it wasn't that big of a deal.  I merely wondered what a Cessna was doing in Manhattan, and how it could possibly have flown so off course as to crash into a building. 

Then we learned of the second plane, full passenger jets to boot, and I remember being stunned.  Simply stunned, as if my brain was incapable of processing the information that America was under attack.  I immediately thought of my Ernst & Young colleagues - luckily our offices were not in the WTC, but that did not mean some weren't visiting clients there, or weren't on those planes.  I also thought of my high school friend Perry.  I knew he worked in Manhattan, but I didn't know exactly where.  I figured out from other co-workers that he worked nearby, but not in the WTC.  I emailed him, and he said he was okay, though I'm pretty sure he said he saw one of the planes hit.

I remember that the host of the conference call wanted to keep going and I thought she was absolutely insane.  Maybe she was under orders to keep things as normal as possible, and that's okay.  But I informed her that we were evacuating the building and unfortunately I was going to have to drop off.  It seems almost comical to type that, as if I was merely excusing myself from the call to run down the hall for coffee, but that's the way it was at the time.  Almost surreal. It was also incredibly unnerving to realize that Cleveland had the tallest buildings between New York and Chicago - would we be next?

I honestly don't remember whether we were allowed to use the elevators, or we took the steps down to the ground level.  I do recall being stuck in a traffic jam to get out of the parking garage and out of downtown Cleveland, though I suppose it could have been much, much worse.  However, I'm not sure how much safer I felt at home, because my house was located within minutes of Cleveland Hopkins airport.  In fact, something similar was occurring in DC.... I found one of my E&Y colleagues on instant messenger.  He said he was in the office and I asked why.  He responded that he was safer in the suburban Virginia office than he was at his home, literally a stone's throw from the Pentagon and Washington Reagan Airport.  What a helpless feeling that must have been for him ... at least I had the comfort of home to bring a sense of normalcy, even if its proximity to the airport heightened the tension I felt at the time.

The rest of that day is really a blur. I honestly couldn't tell you whether I watched the towers fall live or on replay.  With the photographic recall that some have of the day, how is it possible that my mind is playing tricks on me?  Was I in a traffic jam or wasn't I?  I'm starting to doubt myself, because I would have sworn to you that I sat for at least an hour in traffic to get home AND I saw the towers fall live.  However, that timeline doesn't add up.

And I'm almost embarrassed to admit that, because somehow it feels like I'm not doing the day justice if I don't recall what happened every minute.  Is it because, while the day was important from an historical perspective, it is not of personal significance to me since I did not experience the events myself, or lose a loved one that day?   I still think I can pay my respects to those who lost their lives while admitting that the day was not one of the most momentous in my own life, can't I? 

I think I might also be afraid to let the day in any further than it has penetrated thus far.  I already feel others' hardships to a degree that can become detrimental to me.  My life might be peachy, thanks, but if a family member is experiencing something traumatic, I will take on their pain psychologically. I will lose sleep with worry and become distracted at work, among other symptoms.  Some may simply think I have a heightened sense of empathy, but when it begins to interfere with my own life, then I think greater boundaries need to be drawn.

I think I have mentally drawn a boundary around 9/11 - I don't want to delve too deeply for fear I may never climb out.  Yes, I respect and honor the day, along with so many other Americans.  Yes, I mourn those who lost their lives - from those on the planes, to those in the buildings, to the first responders, the military personnel, and more.  But I'm also afraid of the pain .... so many thousands of lives, each with their very own story.  When I listen to a mother recalling the last conversation she had with her daughter, I am moved to tears.  When I learn of the priests hearing the confessions of the firefighters before they are running into the burning buildings, I am moved to tears (even now, as I type it).  I feel helpless. I cannot save them.  I cannot even comfort them, strangers that they are to me.

Yet maybe I should just embrace it all ... the pain and helplessness that I feel are nothing compared to the feelings of those who are so many degrees closer to those actual events.  I am a mere bystander in the day ... who am I to avoid the pain?  I should be stronger than that, though I don't quite know how. 

When I finally arrived home on that fateful day, I simply sat on the couch hugging a pillow and cried.  I could not turn away from the haunting images I saw on TV, though I desperately wanted to.  I knew we were in the middle of a moment of collective consciousness, yet I felt profoundly alone.

I know, despite my unwillingness to immerse myself in 9/11, that I will never forget.  My safe little world, or rather, my mistaken perception of the world as safe, was shattered forever.  I remember being nervous about long-distance plane travel even within the US; I remember some trying to talk us out of going to Europe on our honeymoon in case of terrorist activity; I know that others are very nervous about our future trip to the 2012 Olympics, as it could be a terrorist target.  But the truth is, anything could be a terrorist target.  While I don't subscribe to recklessly putting myself in harm's way when prudence demands otherwise, I do subscribe to the notion that I have to live my life.  That is how I can add my one small voice to the chorus shouting "no".  We will not stop truly living in an effort to merely live. 

I pray to God, and to St. Francis to intercede, for peace - for the souls in heaven, for the survivors on earth, and for all of mankind to find a way to live in harmony.

A Milestone Moment

I am pleased to announce that I have crossed the 50-lb mark of weight loss.  While I still have more weight to lose, I am definitely excited about my progress.

It was interesting to find the genesis of this weight loss journey in my pilgrimage to Assisi last summer, though I did not know it at the time.  On the anniversary of my trip, I decided to retrace my steps by reading the journal I had kept.  I relived some wonderful memories, punctuated by more painful ones which harped on my limitations.  Many entries talked about how hard it was to keep up with the group, how I had to opt for the cab option instead of the hike option, and how I was so frustrated with myself - knowing the challenges of the Assisi landscape, I still had been unable to get into shape to take the fullest advantage of the trip.  I found myself writing about how I needed to either get my ass in gear and get healthy, or fully accept myself "as is", but quit this in-between crap of hating myself and what I had become, while the motivation to change continued to elude me.  Trust me, my friends, that is no way to live.

I've done this dance before, and the second time around felt exponentially worse.  I actually lost 50+ pounds in 1999 - I looked and felt great, and, like many others in the same boat, vowed I would never go back to my "old self".  As you might suspect, not only did I go back, I exceeded my old "worst weight" by a fair margin.  I have never been so profoundly disappointed in myself than when I had to re-buy all the sizes I had given away.  Getting fat sucks, there is no mincing words on that front.  I hated how people looked at me and silently (or not-so-silently) judged me.  I hated how a relative once thoughtlessly commented that "You used to be pretty (before you gained weight)."  I hated how I was physically limited - in big ways (e.g., what to do on vacation) and small (e.g., walking up stairs).  I hated how I was undermining my own health, particularly with my asthma, but felt powerless to stop it.  I hated how I avoided taking pictures - including precious ones of me and my husband - because I loathed how I looked. 

I honestly cannot tell you what changed in me, but some switch flipped and I vowed "no more".  Perhaps prayer had something to do with it - I have asked God very frequently to give me the personal strength to take control of my health for the better.  I know it is all on me - I cannot wish the weight away, or pray for a miracle. But I can pray for the will power to make better choices, daily. 

And that is all I can really do right now - make choices day by day, and be accountable to me, day by day.  This is a life-long struggle that I need to manage with diligence - bite by bite, and weigh-in by weigh-in.  I can tell you that I never want to go back to feeling the way I did when I was at my all-time high, this time for good.

The Things We Do For Love

My husband Scott is a space nut. The boldly-go-where-no-man-has-gone-before kind, not the I-need-my-space kind. His web browser opens to space.com, he's done an internship at Goddard Space Flight Center, and he planned our honeymoon around a lunar eclipse. Well, I suppose that's not entirely true because I set the wedding date. It just so happened that the eclipse coincided nicely with our plans – and Scott is the type of man who would bother to know that it did.

In an effort to cater to Scott's space passion, I explored Space Camp for Adults, which allows the young-at-heart to be astronauts. Participants simulate shuttle missions, eat astronaut food, and experience lunar gravity, among other activities. That all sounded great, right up until I saw the picture of the multi-axis trainer. It is as bad as it may sound – spinning upside down, round-and-round, and sideways. After some hesitation, I chided myself for avoiding a task that kids one-third of my age revel in. So I booked the trip for two and revealed his birthday present well in advance.

Scott was as giddy as his scientific mind would allow, but he knew that training was in order. Motion training, to be precise. What better way to get such training than through passes to Cedar Point – known to coaster enthusiasts as the home of the tallest and fastest thrill rides around. As a kid (i.e., under 30), I would have joined in the fun. But I was convinced that my body fundamentally changed as I entered my fourth decade. Unfortunately, my lying-on-the-bench, soda-cracker-eating episode after riding The Wicked Twister was convincing proof. My aunt remarked that I must love this man, or I wouldn't subject myself to such torture. Truer words were never spoken, particularly when I faced the shame of watching the stage shows at a world-famous amusement park. Aren't they only for old people? We made it to Cedar Point twice that summer, just enough to get Scott worried about our adventure.

Not one to back away from a challenge, I embraced Space Camp with gusto, vowing to attempt every task presented to me. In a stroke of luck, a scheduling snafu sprung the multi-axis trainer on us on the first day. I quickly volunteered to be the guinea pig, knowing that I'd back out if I watched someone else. There was no turning back. The last thing the instructor said as she strapped me in was, "Keep your eyes open!" And open them I did. In fact, my fellow astronauts were amused by how wide my eyes got during the ordeal. I clung onto the handle bars as if my life – or at least the contents of my stomach – depended on it. At the end of the longest 30 seconds of my life, I was thrilled that the worst was over and I had come out grinning.

Above is a picture of me hanging out in the multi-axis trainer and below is one of the trainer in use (though not by me).

Mandatory Fun?

I'm pretty intrigued with my husband's company right now, which mandates an annual day for all employees at Cedar Point (1/2 on Tuesday and 1/2 on Wednesday of this week). What this means in practice is that an employee must either show up at work, or show up at The Point (i.e., it is not a vacation day).

The company certainly makes it easy to say yes to fun, including free tickets, food vouchers, and parking passes. So unless one really hates amusement parks (or, I suppose, really loves your job), I suspect most people will take advantage of the offer.

If I'm not mistaken, the last time I was at Cedar Point, Scott had me in "training" for Adult Space Camp, but I shall save that for another post. In the meantime, I am grateful that the chance for rain is diminishing while the projected temperature seems to be rising modestly. With luck, I shall avoid motion sickness and enjoy the carefree day. Have a great Tuesday!

Not Really Worth a Million

Last weekend my husband and I visited the Medina County Parade of Homes. For those who are unfamiliar, a Parade of Homes is typically sponsored by a particular Home Builders Association and involves local builders showcasing new (or fairly recent) home construction at various price points. The purpose is publicity for builders, of course, and to show the public what is new and exciting in home-building. Parades can either be single site (where all builders focus on a particular street in a development) or scattered (anywhere in a county, for example).

This Parade was our first scattered-site event, so we spent two afternoons traveling to various parts of Medina County. We hit 7 of the 17 homes on the tour and felt it was time well spent both to introduce us to builders we might like to work with, and to refine our opinions of what is and is not necessary in a new home.

Which brings me in a roundabout way to the point of this post - how a million dollar home can be merely "okay". Note, of course, that this judgment is both a matter of personal taste and is relatively speaking. To someone who is living in a very modest two-bedroom bungalow, any of the homes on this tour would be considered a fabulous upgrade. However, we've been visiting model homes for more than five years now and have come to realize a few things:

1. Million dollar homes aren't necessarily any nicer than $400,000 homes (for example) - they merely contain the same finishes applied to more square footage. If it is space you are after, then that might be the house for you. But if you want better finishes applied to a more intimate space, then you have to go a different direction.

2. Sometimes million dollar homes have a lot of money sunk into other features which aren't really our own cup of tea. For example, we've now been in two homes which contained a double depth basement (meaning the basement itself had a lower level) in order to accommodate a sports court (e.g., basketball, racquetball). The wow factor is certainly there, but unless that lottery pans out, perhaps that's not the best use of my personal house budget (which doesn't come close to a million dollars, thanks!).

3. Four and five thousand square foot homes can, indeed, feel small. This has to do with design and layout, and trying to cram way too many rooms and functions into the space. Some people may find a 10x10 bedroom acceptable in the midst of 4,400 other square feet, but we don't.

Who knows where our own home-building process goes from here - we are still in the middle of costing things out and determining what we can live with, or not. Luckily we know what we want and we know what we can afford. If we cannot come close to achieving both of those visions, we have the strength and fortitude to walk away.

In fact, if you pressed us for an answer this very second, we would say that we are NOT building. Once most people have gotten this far in the process, they are too caught up in the idea of a new home that they heavily compromise either their vision for the home or their financial peace of mind. We are willing to do neither. This does not mean we are out of options - we are exploring some alternatives that still might meet our criteria. But that is a slow process that will take time to pan out. Until then, we will have a bit of fun critiquing others' design choices!

Woulda, Coulda, Shoulda

I am at the Ohio State Bar Association Annual Convention, which is a gathering of lawyers, not bartenders, so it is not nearly as fun as you might think (though it is amusing in its own right, to be sure). I am a 1996 graduate of the CWRU School of Law, though I do not make my living practicing law. I do maintain my license, however, for both intellectual reasons and so that I would never be subject to a claim of "unauthorized practice of law" (no matter how remote). Thus I keep my license current, which includes a requirement of continuing legal education. The Convention offers the cheapest CLE credits around (a whole year's worth for about $300 not including lodging), and so here I sit, every spring.

Interestingly, the Convention always surfaces conflicting emotions in me, though some background might be in order. When I first graduated from law school, I went to work at Ernst & Young in a client-serving role. I was not "practicing law" per se (for legal reasons I don't need to explain here), but I was serving in a tax technical role performing most/all of the same tasks as a "real attorney". Sadly, I hated it.

Perhaps I didn't give the law enough of a chance (e.g., would it have been different in a law firm vs. an accounting firm? would it have been different with another area of law?), or perhaps I didn't have enough confidence in myself to trust my work (see my earlier post about the Imposter Syndrome).

Despite the attractiveness of the profession, I simply could not get around the fact that I was uncomfortable dispensing advice (which is pretty much the nature of legal work, don't you think?). Even with caveats and disclaimers, someone was paying my company - and, by extension, me - to tell them what to do. I found I was so much better at identifying the exception to the exception (that helps you do rather well in law school) than I was in making a recommendation to a client based on what really happens the vast majority of the time.

Think about it this way: if you get 90% right on a law school exam, you get an A. If you get 90% of the client answer right, that is malpractice. Puts it in perspective, doesn't it? The pressure on myself to be perfect was too much to bear, though admittedly the pressure is probably less than in healthcare, a profession I simply never even considered for that very reason. So I looked within E&Y for another position.

Yet I struggled mightily with the concept of doing something else other than legal/"tax technical". I've found that lawyers, more so than many other individuals, have their identities wrapped up in their profession. Not just their "job", but their fundamental definition of who they are as human beings. When I moved into a project management and communications role at E&Y and someone would ask what I did for a living, more often than not I still found a way to work "lawyer" in the answer. It is somehow more accomplished in most people's eyes (like doctor, engineer, professor) than "communications." If you think that sounds fairly obnoxious and self-important, you are probably right.

I finally realized one day that nobody could take that achievement away from me - I still graduated from law school near the top of my class and served on the Law Review. Changing jobs was not going to change that. As I explained once to counsel during voir dire (prospective jury questioning), "I am a lawyer - I passed the bar and maintain my law license; I just happen to not make my living that way." I think I saw the understanding, and perhaps a hint of envy, in their eyes. Or maybe I was just imagining things.

So every time I sit in a room full of lawyers for training, I can't help but wonder what woulda coulda shoulda happened if I had made some different choices along the way. What if I faced these issues every day - would I be any happier in my life? Better compensated? More intellectually satisfied? Or perhaps more stressed and even more neurotic (yes, that is possible!), when you consider the fact that lawyers have some of the highest incidents of alcohol and drug addiction, mental illness, and suicide. At times during the sessions I feel exhilarated as I identify legal issues for analysis (don't forget, I was always a very good student, and I aim to please!). Other times I sit there and think, "Thank God I don't have to worry about this stuff all the time!"

Overall, I am happy with the balance that I have struck, having a loose connection with the profession and a law degree in my hip pocket, while simultaneously pursuing my mission-driven job at Padua Franciscan High School. It's just that some days you wonder what might have been, you know?

Remote Violation

Yesterday we learned that we had unauthorized charges on our Discover card - one showed up on our statement, and in the past 24 hours we had three messages left on our machine regarding pending transactions from online stores we had not dealt with. What a nice surprise when we came home from work! Ironically, on the same day, my sister and brother-in-law learned that their bank account had unauthorized withdrawals, from Spain.

My husband and I experienced this once before, also with our Discover card, a little over a year ago. We learned that our card was somehow being used in person by someone in Hawaii. That helped us to determine where the theft might have taken place (we had just returned back from our own trip to that state), though apparently a duplicate card had been made because we had both cards in our possession. This time the transactions are all on-line, making it more difficult to determine where/when the theft occurred.

A little plug for Discover here - both times they handled everything with great professionalism and speed. In fact, they had already closed our account and reissued cards before we had a chance to contact them. We simply told them which charges were not valid and they were immediately removed from our account.

And for that, I know we are extraordinarily lucky. My sister-in-law had her identity stolen so completely that she had to go to court to get a new Social Security Number and a new name. I cannot even imagine how difficult that must be, to have something so fundamental taken from you so completely. Even these minor instances are jarring, however. It also feels rather surreal because the violation is remote.

Normally (though of course not always) when somebody harms you, whether on purpose or by accident, they are in close proximity. This is a whole different animal because I'm sure all the thief sees is numbers. He/she/they have no idea who we are, nor do they care. In fact, if they have any conscience whatsoever (though that is debatable), they probably need the remoteness of the crime to distance themselves from the impact. Or at least I hope they do, or they really have no soul.

I thank my lucky stars yet again that Discover has handled this for us, so that the impact on us is minimal. I hope we never experience anything more severe than having to get new credit cards, and I hope the same for you.

One Thing At a Time

I consider myself a rather accomplished multi-tasker, but even I have to admit defeat at a few of my "big goals" for 2011. I actually set 3 of them this year, focused on body, mind, and spirit. If you've been following some of my earlier posts, you'll note that my "body" goal was to lose weight. How's that been going for me?

Rather well, thanks for asking. To date, I have lost over 40 pounds, marking the halfway point on my journey. I am very pleased with my progress and look forward to continuing down the path to a healthier, more active lifestyle. Right now I am in another maintenance phase of my protocol, so I won't be losing again until mid-June. But maintaining is a struggle all its own, isn't it?

I have made the weight-loss goal my primary goal of 2011 - my main thing which trumps all others. I have the will power right now, and need to take full advantage of that. I know when I'm in the weight loss zone, and I know when I'm not. I can't fake it, or wish that it would materialize on command. I wish I could bottle the motivation that it takes to accomplish something like this, because then I would solve one of my other big challenges - finding financing for the house Scott and I would like to build.... but I digress. Sadly, I can't bottle it. Hell, I can't even always find it when I need it. So the fact that it is here, in abundance, means that weight loss is always on my mind.

What about my other two goals? Let's see... "Blog twice a week for a total of 100 posts this year" was my stated benchmark for the "mind" goal. How are we doing so far, nearly 1/3 of the way into the year? Not even half way to the 1/3 goal, if that makes any sense. I know some people would say you just have to prioritize and "make time". And I would agree with them, except for the fact that I already prioritized my weight loss goal above the blogging goal. Despite my fervent desire to "do it all", in my decision tree of life, something must win.

If I wasn't trying to design our dream home, plan 50 Events for Padua's 50th Anniversary, and organize a trip to the Olympics, all at the same time, I just might have some extra energy for blogging. 'Tis true, I cannot deny it. Those are reasons, not excuses, because I fully own my failure in this category. At the end of the day it is still my choice to (1) stay late at work; (2) screw around on Facebook or watch the Penguins lose in hockey on TV; or (3) insert other desirable or necessary activity here. I guess I am just having a hard time coming to the realization that my capacity for improvement and change is less than I had hoped.

This is not to say that I won't change, it simply may mean that the change will come at a slower pace than I had publicly committed to.

As for my third goal - spirit - you can probably guess I've been slacking on that, too. I promised myself a renewed focus on my spiritual life, including additional attendance at liturgies/services that are not obligatory and additional reading. I've done some, sure, but not nearly what I had set out to do. I suppose that is why another New Year's Eve will be headed our way before you know it - so I can simply change the date on last year's list (though crossing off and getting a new goal for "body" will feel mighty good in the process!).

My Husband, the Adrenaline Junkie

I guess you can always learn something new about your spouse. This latest revelation came as a result of my last post about my bucket list. I shared with Scott what I had on my list, and asked which activities would make his own list. At first he started answering my questions with questions in return.

First, what was my definition of something that was worthy of the bucket list? Was it something that was really cool that you always wanted to do some day, or something that, if you failed to accomplish it, your life would somehow be unfulfilled? Though approaching the same objective, I did appreciate a distinction between the two perspectives. I answered the latter, so he replied, "Then nothing."

Um, okay? Though this really shouldn't come as any surprise to me, given what I actually *do* know about my husband. A little background is probably in order for those who have never met Scott in person. First of all, Scott is a very easy-going, centered, low-key guy. Nothing much phases him, at all, which makes him the perfect partner to keep me from going off the deep end. His high's don't get very high, and his low's don't get very low. In fact, we joke that his emotional scale runs from 3 to -3, and he rarely moves off 0. I, on the other hand, have a far greater variation to my emotions - my high's get much higher (10) and my low's get much lower (-10).

Second of all, though Scott is a very accomplished professional, he is not very goal-centered. By that I mean that he never set himself very specific goals for what he wanted to achieve in life because the goal itself is not how he derives his satisfaction. His satisfaction comes from achievement - whether that is goal A, B, or C is irrelevant. Or at least this is my non-professional analysis. : )

Case in point, when we started dating he explained to me that his main life goals were to 1) graduate from high school; 2) graduate from college; 3) get a job; 4) get married; 5) retire; and 6) die. Really and truly. This again stands in stark contrast to me, the ultimate planner. So should it really come as any surprise that no task, no feat, no achievement was so personally important to him that he would feel that life was unfulfilled without its accomplishment?

Since my choice of bucket list definition was obviously a non-starter, I opted to revert back to the "really cool" version. Scott still countered with a question - "Should we add in things that we've already done, that most people probably have on their bucket list?" For clarity, I told him that we would only include prior activities that we had described as "bucket list" to others. Otherwise, the list had to consist of future activities. Finally, I got the answers I was looking for:

1. Fly (as a passenger) with the Blue Angels or equivalent
2. Experience weightlessness (e.g., Vomit Comet, Zero G)
3. Drag race at over 200 mph
4. Climb/summit a mountain (but nothing that requires actual mountaineering skills)
5. See a decent-sized tornado in person

Huh?? How did Mr. "3-to-Negative-3" go from self-professed computer geek to adrenaline junkie? Perhaps it is hard work maintaining such an even keel that he has to let loose every now and then! Regardless of the rationale, I just love the fact that I learned this about him. I know that he will do everything in his power to help me achieve my bucket list, so of course I want the same for him. Now, starting at the top, does anyone know how I can hitch him a ride on the Blue Angels?

Your Bucket List

Okay, okay. I owe everyone, including myself, a huge apology. I publicly committed to blogging twice a week in 2011 and have not posted since early February. That's pretty pathetic, all things considered. I did have some reasonable excuses in February, including a crazy work schedule and then my long-awaited trip to Florida to celebrate my 40th, but March I can really only chalk up to either laziness or indifference. Since I profess to actually care about writing and want to improve my skills, both of those characteristics are really uncool. I hate finding these types of things out about myself! I now need to really step up my game in the coming weeks to get back on track, starting with this post.

A friend posted on Facebook today about his "bucket list". Interestingly, he asked if "anyone has one or recently achieved a similar goal?" It appeared, at least from the context that was available to me, that he envisioned a bucket list of things he wanted to achieve in his life (e.g., he ran a 50K last weekend). My bucket list is entirely different in purpose, focused more on experiences than on limit-testing. Certainly the list contains things that I hope to do in the active sense, but the activities are not about pushing myself to extremes. Rather, they are about experiencing the wonder and awe that this world has to offer. My list is more about the "wow!" and less about the "whew!".

Though actually calling it a list is probably a bit inaccurate, in that I've never written it down. That's probably the first flaw in my plan - one of many, I'm sure. So here is a partial bucket list, created on the fly today.

1. See a space shuttle launch in person (Check - May 2010 and February 2011)
2. Experience an Olympics (Hopefully check - July 2012!)
3. Visit every continent at least once (need to get cracking on this one - only 2 so far!)
4. Visit King Tut's tomb and other awesome artifacts in Egypt
5. Write a novel.

You'll notice that most of my bucket list involves travel - I absolutely adore going to other countries to experience their history and culture. My husband and I have a vacation priority list that includes Australia, Russia, and Ireland, among many other countries. But that pesky number 5 starts to creep out of the wow category and into the whew category, doesn't it? It is a daunting task that will test my personal limits, but more in the intellectual than the physical sense.

I have been reading a bit about the craft of writing in an effort to propel my novel-writing efforts forward, but that will be for another day. I have to stretch this out to catch up on my posts, don't I? : )

So I ask you, what is on your bucket list?

How Much Is Enough?

A fascinating question, really, with so many different aspects and connotations, some of which I will explore in future posts. Though for today's post I really mean, "Are you saving enough each year to be able to retire?". Yesterday's visit with a financial planner to discuss this very question prompted these musings. According to the Employee Benefit Research Institute (EBRI), apparently Scott and I are in the minority of Americans (46%) by even bothering to ask that question (meaning that most Americans are woefully - some may say willfully - ignorant of what they need to have in savings in order to retire).

The study found that the likelihood of doing a retirement savings needs calculation increases with household income, education, and financial assets, which seems to make some sense. As discretionary income rises, the argument might go, you have more money to consider other financial objectives that involve needs (such as retirement) beyond immediate food, clothing, housing, and health care. However, my main fear is that most people are burying their head in the sand and will wake up one day without any way to retire. I certainly don't consider retirement planning to be a luxury because without it, those immediate needs will suddenly not be met in the not-too-distant future.

Retirement used to seem so far away, until now. When I was 25 and holding down my first job after law school, retirement was four decades away - a lifetime, really. Now as I approach the age of 40 (in less than two weeks!), I wonder whether I can retire at 60, a mere two decades from now. Yes, I acknowledge that a lot can happen in 20 years, no doubt. But it is something which is starting to creep up in our financial horizon. For example, if we build a new house, a brand-new 30-year mortgage will not be paid off by the time we retire unless we accelerate payments. Have you ever thought about your financial obligations in those terms? What do you want to have paid off/down by the time you quit working full-time?

Most people consider their house to be their most expensive and important financial purchase. In reality, however, your retirement will be the most important and most expensive "purchase". Most people will need hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of dollars to sustain even close to their current lifestyle in retirement. But apparently most folks, according to EBRI, have never even bothered to do a back-of-the-envelope calculation to understand how much they might need to save to get there.

This point is dramatically illustrated in a great series of commercials from ING where people are carrying around "their number". In one particular commercial, a gentleman's "number" is "gazillion". He admits to throwing money at it and "hoping for the best". While humorous, I hope it gets its point across to many Americans. Ignoring retirement calculations because you don't want to know the answer practically guarantees one thing - you will run out of money in retirement. Then what?

Most people will argue that they don't have any extra money to save - they are too busy meeting current needs. However, the financial planner made one very interesting comment to us. He mentioned that income has very little to do with an individual's net worth and/or their preparedness for retirement. He said it is all about attitude. He's seen physicians making hundreds of thousands each year and well-paid NBA stars who are both broke, while also seeing blue collar workers who have never made a six-figure salary in their entire life retire with nothing to fear. How? Choices along the way, which include key variables such as consumption during their life and how early they started saving (to take advantage of the beauty of compounding interest).

I fear for many in retirement. Not for me, but for others both close to me and far away. Another EBRI study calculated the likelihood of falling short of retirement income based on current income levels (in quartiles). After 20 years in retirement, 13% of those in the highest income category will run out of money, while not surprisingly, that figure jumps to 57% of those in the lowest income category.

And "running short of money" is not defined as "no longer up to my cushy standards". An individual or family is considered to “run short of money” if their aggregate resources in retirement are not sufficient to meet aggregate minimum retirement expenditures—defined as a combination of basic expenses from the Bureau of Labor Statistics’ Consumer Expenditure Survey and some health insurance and out‐of‐pocket health-related expenses, plus expenses from nursing home and home health care expenses, at least until the point they are picked up by Medicaid. To me, that's a rather sobering way of saying that you won't even be able to scrape by with your basic needs meet. What will you do without? There is no way that most Americans can sustain their existing (let's assume middle-class) lifestyle in retirement without significant changes to their savings strategy.

I freely acknowledge that our "double income no kids" existence goes a long way toward making us comfortable in retirement, barring any significant catastrophes in our life (knocking on wood and all that fun stuff). I do hope that many of my friends have already done some basic financial planning to see what they need to do to be minimally comfortable in retirement. If not, there is no time like the present to take action! Start with some basic financial calculators such as the one on the ING website (no affiliation, I swear!), make sure you are contributing to any employer-sponsored 401(k) plan at least to the amount of any match that is available to you, and get some professional advice (this blog does NOT qualify) to make sure you protect your future. Good luck!

The Tale of the Scale

That is how my husband greeted me this morning, after he made kissing noises in my general direction, completely missing my cheek. We repeat this dance most weekdays because I am typically leaving the house before he even begins to consider waking up. I have noticed, through very precise testing of course, that his kissing aim improves as the clock hands advance to a more civilized hour.

Beginning on January 3, the "Bye, babe's" and "I love you's" were no longer the last words exchanged during our morning ritual. Instead, my husband has valiantly supported my weight loss efforts with a relevant inquiry into what the scale said to me today. Most mornings over the past month have been very good, netting me a 20 pound loss in a little over 3 weeks time. Needless to say, I am thrilled with my progress.

My methods are my own for now, but I will reveal that I have moved to a different phase of the program involving stabilization. For that, I must maintain my weight within +/- 2 pounds of the last day on the low-cal loss portion of the program. This has proven to be much harder than expected. My first two days on stabilization resulted in tears being shed yesterday morning because I could not identify why I was gaining weight at a somewhat rapid pace (when you only have 2 pounds to play with, you cannot go too many days with a half or three-quarter pound gain). So at 6:30 am, when my husband was not coherent in any other manner of thought, he came up with the gem: "So what is today's tale of the scale?"

Indeed, what is the tale of the scale? Not in its most literal sense, though I am pleased to report that I had -0- gain this morning. But what does the scale tell me, and NOT tell me, regarding much broader trends and themes in my life? Back before I began my latest - hopefully successful - effort at weight loss, these revelations came to light:

1. I had seriously gotten away from telling myself "no" when it came to food. "Do you want..." is not really the relevant question, now is it? The answer to "wanting" is yes, while the answer to "needing" would frequently be quite different. I have to re-train myself to answer "no" to nearly every query, almost without thinking. I find myself forming the words "No, thank you" on my lips practically before the person invites me to partake. That might be my single biggest behavior change contributing to my success... if the food is not specifically permitted, then the answer is ALWAYS NO! No amount of rationalizing can change that answer to yes, which is not how I used to think...

2. I can rationalize over-eating with a multitude of reasons (aka "excuses"), any one of which seems to apply at every given moment - I'm happy, I'm sad, I'm angry, I'm frustrated, I'm celebrating, I'm too picky (to eat the good stuff), I'm bored, I'm simply existing. And the excuses not to exercise came in fast and furious, some of which overlapped with the reasons for over-eating (a double whammy) - I'm busy (celebrating, working), I'm tired, I'm sick, I'm simply existing. After awhile, I'm not even sure I bothered to articulate a reason, even to myself, for my unhealthy behavior. Like a petulant child, I simply refused to do it.

After I started this program, the scale revealed to me that I can find the motivation, the heart, the drive, the stick-to-it-iveness that has been lacking for so many years. I can be healthier, be more active, get more out of life, and not be limited. I am in control of my health...I always was and always will be (except for the stuff that is genetic, of course).

What the scale does not reveal to me, though I often succumb to its siren song, is my own self-worth. My worth as a human being is not tied to my dress size, though it is a battle every day for me to believe it. It is hard to simultaneously accept who I am as a person, flaws and all, while also striving to get healthier. Something must be "bad" to be triggering a desire to rid myself of that offending aspect of my life, right? I am somehow "less" than I could otherwise be, right? Part of the challenge comes into play with the language that is used to describe weight loss... if losing weight is a "success", then isn't being fat a "failure"? Does it matter if it is due to medical reasons or lack of self-control? Similarly, if losing weight tends to increase self-confidence, then doesn't gaining weight decrease self-confidence?

I am not a weight loss expert (imagine that!) or a mental health professional. I do not mean to judge those heavier than me, since I tend to reserve my harshest judgments for myself. Nor am I trying to speak for all those who struggle with obesity, or to generalize an experience which is so deeply personal. I am merely sharing my journey as I go in the way I best know how, through writing.

Even if I am successful at losing weight in 2011 (I suppose I should use "when" instead), I will *always* struggle with this issue. Nearly 10 years ago I lost a significant amount of weight under a different weight loss program. Despite my success, the dietitian delivered the sobering news that I will always continue to suffer from obesity. My condition might be managed, but I would never rid myself of that diagnosis. I'm not sure whether she was clinically correct (in that I can never shed that diagnosis code, no matter how little I weigh), but my eventual weight gain certainly underscored her point. Without constant, some may even say militant, diligence, I will eat myself right back into sizes I swore I would never buy again. I fervently hope that this time will be different, with the love and support of family and friends.

No Way Out (A Short Story)

Here is a story I wrote several years ago as an assignment for that short-lived correspondence course that I mentioned in an earlier post. I actually rather like this story... I can even envision the next scene switching to the point of view of the officer. Trouble is, I don't know what the next scene is after that! So this is definitely not a plotted, multi-chapter story. Instead, it was just a snippet of a story line. Maybe it can turn into something more, maybe it can't. Regardless of the reason it was written, I do hope you find it interesting. (Please note this short story tackles some themes related to sudden death. Though not graphic in any way, the story line simply might not be for everyone.)

****

I quickly sucked in my breath, squeezed my eyes shut, and bit my lip to hold back the tears – and give myself time to think. How exactly should I respond to the investigating officer's seemingly routine question, "I'm sure you know we have to ask, but was there any trouble between you and your husband, ma'am?"

I opened my eyes and from my spot on the couch, noticed the picture of our last family photo.

When was it exactly? Trip to Orlando. Bobby's broken wrist. Oh yes, 2002. Jenna was 10 at the time – a fresh-faced brunette who was the spitting image of me at that age, a whopping 30 years ago. That would make Bobby 6. What did his Aunt Lynn call him? Oh right, the same thing we called our kid brother when we were growing up – the Golden Child. Wasn't Eddie Murphy in that movie?

Though my mind was wandering, my gaze soon settled on Brett, who looked so happy in the photograph.

Surprisingly so . . . because if truth be told, I can't recall Brett ever actually being happy – even the day we got married. But he always had been good at keeping up appearances.

"Ma'am?" The officer's gentle prompting startled me out of my day-dreaming.

How long had it been since he asked the first time – his notebook out, ready to capture my every word?

Even knowing he was waiting for an answer, my mind refused to focus. Instead, it sent me fragments of images of what I had endured this morning.

A locked door. A note. Do you know where he got the pills from, ma'am? Brett's serene face – the bastard! Why does he get to be at peace? Calling my sister to take the kids. Calling 911. Damn him – I hadn't wanted to live with him, but how was I going to live without him? Had I ever really truly considered that possibility? Can someone be angry and relieved at the same time? Obviously it's possible, since that is what I feel! But what will the neighbors think? Why do I care what they think? I wonder if his mother thinks I killed him? She couldn't, could she? He hasn't spoken to her in a decade, so she must know he had problems. But of course, Brett was her very own Golden Child, and they can do no wrong.

"Ma'am?" This time grateful for the distraction, I summoned all of my will power to answer the question. I really wanted to say, "Hell yes, we had trouble!" Instead I replied, "We had our ups and downs, like any married couple." I was hoping that would satisfy him, and was immediately disappointed when the officer asked another question. "Such as?"

What do you mean "such as"? Where to begin and where to end? Do you want the last 30 days, or a summary of our 15 years of married hell? Chronological, by issue, by other parties involved? I mean really, Officer, can't you be more precise in your questioning?

So I started rambling. "Oh, I don’t know – the kids, money, him working too much, that sort of thing." I silently pleaded with God to make the officer believe me.

Can't we just let it be?

"Did your husband have any life insurance?"

His tone was ever-so-slightly less gentle than before, or was that simply my imagination? Was he good cop or bad cop? Was he trying to help me, or put me away for life? Damn it, this feels like a chess game – always trying to stay two moves ahead. The problem is, I am no good at chess.

I proceeded cautiously, answering that of course Brett had life insurance – why wouldn't he, with a family to support?

They have the note, the pill bottle, and other facts that point to suicide. Why does his death have to be my fault? Haven't I suffered enough? They aren't thinking about charging me with murder, are they? Deep breath – relax! I must be reading too many crime novels.

The officer gently touched my arm. "I know this is hard on you and the kids," he said. "I am so sorry for your loss, and to have to ask you these questions." He noticed my trembling. "Do you need me to call another family member? Maybe a priest? You probably shouldn't be alone."

Alone? I'm alone – and lonely – all the time! Doesn't he realize that the worst loneliness is when other people are nearby? Like when Brett and I would climb into bed at night – and not talk, or touch, or even acknowledge each other's existence. And Jenna is always on her cell phone, and Bobby is glued to his computer. This family could go days without really speaking to each other – and whose fault was that? I tried! You can't even begin to imagine how I've tried. I am obviously a failure – as a mother, and as a wife. But doesn't it take two to tango? It can't all be my fault, right? Right?? No, Officer, I don't think you know the first thing about being alone.

"No, thank you. My parents are on their way."

Why won't he just leave?

"Here's my card in case you need to reach me. Someone from the Coroner's Office will call you with the report on the official cause of death. But it certainly does look like an open-and-shut case of suicide to me. If we find out different, we'll be in touch."

I escorted the officer firmly to the door, and stood at the window staring as he drove away. Only after his car had turned the corner out of the development was I able to breathe a sigh of relief.

So the police didn't think I had murdered Brett, after all!

And then ever so slowly, I allowed a smile to creep onto my lips.

I may not be good at chess, but I am a damn good actress! Too bad, such sloppy detective work.

The Imposter Syndrome

Simply put, the "imposter syndrome" is the fear of being "found out" - that you really aren't qualified to be doing the job that you are doing; that you are somehow faking it; that one day your boss (or others) will realize that you are incapable and the whole charade will be over.

Do you suffer from imposter syndrome? Here's a handy on-line quiz to help you make that determination, though I think the easy litmus test is whether you were shaking your head in earnest agreeing with me while reading the first paragraph. If yes, you are probably a fellow sufferer.

Interestingly enough, in my experience the more educated and intelligent that you are, the greater the likelihood of imposter syndrome. Of course the opposite is decidedly NOT TRUE... just because you have escaped the self-imposed imposter label does not make you less intelligent or educated. It probably just means you aren't as neurotic as some of us tend to be.

The hard part about imposter syndrome is that from an outsider's perspective, you often tend to look like a self-absorbed person who is whining for attention. Consider the difference between "Look at ME and tell ME how GOOD I AM!" and "Oh please dear God, let me find out that I did okay on this project so I can fool them into thinking I am capable just one more day." Perhaps the words are not as pointed as that, at least in our heads. But the vague sense of uneasiness, the constant fear of failure or making even a simple mistake, and the self-doubt are all very real.

I've also found that the syndrome comes and goes, at least for me. There are certainly tasks that I accomplish that I know I am qualified for. Others feel like luck rather than achievement, and that is an unfortunate way to be going through life, diminishing our skills and successes in our own eyes.

Sometimes the mere act of verbalizing the fear is enough to diminish its hold over me. Other times it takes another person, usually my husband, to kindly point out how ludicrous my assertion might be. Of course I know this in my head, I just don't feel it in my heart - and isn't that where the mightiest battles take place?

Maybe I'll break down and buy the book from the website mentioned above. Or better yet, maybe I'll just recite Daily Affirmations With Stuart Smalley, from back when Saturday Night Live was actually funny. Either way, it is undoubtedly better to go through life not feeling like a fraud, don't you think?

Thumper Said It Best

When you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all, right? Very useful advice indeed, I only wish that more people (especially on the internet) put those words into practice.

However, I do wonder if the opposite holds true. If someone who has ample opportunity to comment on my work (e.g., an article or a blog post) fails to say anything at all, am I to infer that the particular reader would rather opt for the second part of Thumper's Maxim? Does my work have no redeeming qualities whatsoever that you couldn't find a single nice thing to say?

This has happened to me before, first when I shared a short non-fiction piece with a colleague in public relations. When we chatted about my interest in writing, she had been quite supportive and indicated a willingness to use her contacts in the magazine industry to get my foot in the door. So I sent her the article (think 1-2 page travel feature in an airline magazine to give you a flavor the writing) and waited. And waited. And waited.

The crickets sent me a message, loud and clear. I did follow up with her at least once, via email so as to simultaneously be both less intrusive (if she had not found the time to review it) and non-confrontational (if she really was avoiding me because she thought my writing amounted to a pile of drivel). I still heard nothing, and a part of me wonders even today (years later) what in the world was so horrible with the piece that she would rather duck me than provide a few quick pointers from a PR perspective. This situation also happened more recently with a different fiction piece I shared with a friend, asking for thoughts. Again with the crickets. I'm beginning to think that perhaps Jiminy and Thumper are distant cousins.

Similarly, this blog opens up a fair bit of questioning on my part. Every time I post, I am grateful for those who take the time to reply. Yet as a literary masochist, I speculate about those who say nothing. Have they not read it? That is by far the most likely scenario. Or have they read it and taken Thumper's words to heart? I know this is possibly also the case, particularly for a chosen few who I have asked to read my blog and comment because I have read theirs and done the same.

Perhaps I can live with the Thumpers of the world, if the alternative would be a soul-crushing critique of my still-novice work. I'm not diminishing the importance of accurate and constructive feedback, of course...that's the only way any of us can improve. I just hope that people will remember that a little kindness goes a long way, especially in a creative endeavor such as writing. Offer suggestions, I implore you. Please just do it with a smiley face.

Hunger vs. Cravings

As some of you might have gathered in the past few weeks, I am making a concerted effort in 2011 to lose weight and get healthier. The details of that journey are currently not important. However, one of the major revelations thus far is the struggle between hunger and cravings.

I'm not sure I can quite call it a revelation, since I've known that I've struggled with cravings for many years. But the low-calorie phase of my regimen has brought the contrast into specific relief and I can't think of a better word to describe the situation. I don't want that baby spinach, but I sure do want anything else but (particularly if it involves sugars or carbs).

At first the craving was physical, as my body literally detoxed from the caloric equivalent of crack. But soon it turned mental, as I longed for those foods while realizing that I was not truly hungry. Partly I think I can resist the cravings - for now - because they are roadblocks on my path to being thin. I know the hard part will come later during maintenance. A blessing in disguise is that my chosen protocol involves cycles of loss and then maintenance, followed by continued loss (to be repeated as necessary, with lengthening periods of maintenance between each round). So choosing the right foods to maintain a certain weight is built into the program. After one reaches their goal weight and finishes the protocol, no food is off-limits. But moderation must win the day as I seek to stabilize into a new weight.

Another mental aspect of the situation is our instant gratification society. A friend recently pointed out that the tendency to satisfy our immediate wants goes beyond consumerism to food consumption. We can have pretty much whatever we want, whenever we want it. Feel like a little sugar pick-me-up around 3 pm? Check out that stash of candy in your desk. Want to munch on a little something during the big game (probably more out of habit than hunger)? Microwave popcorn, at your service. Of course I do not refer to those who truly face hunger, and who just can't run to Giant Eagle or McDonald's at a moment's notice. But isn't that precisely the point? Most of us have absolutely no idea what true hunger feels like. We've gone hours without eating, not more than a day. Certainly I have (or can have) a tad more mastery of my own actions than to give in to my body's whining for sugar, can't I?

Besides, if truth be told, it's my own damn fault for training my body to crave the bad stuff. I'm not sure how much effort is going to be involved in retraining, but I sure am going to try.

Grief is Personal

In the past few days, I've learned of three friends who each lost loved ones. Their deaths were very different from one another (a grandmother from cancer, a cousin due to a car accident, and a brother whose cause of death is still being determined), and that prompted me to consider how each of my friends was coping with this tearing in the fabric of their families.

Grief certainly has some common factors, but each situation is so individual as to defy the neat boxes which would conveniently lend themselves to predictable responses. Family labels alone set an expectation of how one is "supposed" to feel when someone of a certain perceived intimacy dies ... grandmothers, cousins, and brothers are all within the definition of "immediate family", after all. But one's real emotions are far more complex and colored by decades of family history - whether by accident, chance, or choices made along the way.

My own experience with death has fortunately been rather limited. Those closest to me have thus far died later in life, with time to prepare (a term I use rather loosely) for the eventuality of death due to disease or the mere passage of time. However, I recall being shaken to my core when some sorority sisters from a different campus died in a car accident only hours after I last saw them at a recruiting event. I had only met these young women that very weekend, so we had not formed incredibly deep bonds over a period of months or years. But the bonds were new and fresh, which lent an immediacy to the situation. I was one of the last people to see these women alive. Part of my grief was most certainly due to the horrific nature of the accident and the tender age of my sisters. Part of it was also a dawning realization about the randomness of life's events.

Never was this more evident than when I learned that their positioning in the vehicle, which had just changed during a rest stop on their way home, determined whether they lived or died. I couldn't help but wonder what would have happened had they not switched positions in the car (e.g., could a different driver have handled the vehicle better in the rain, or perhaps chosen to drive more slowly?), or perhaps had they not stopped for food, or stopped just a little bit longer (meaning the semi that crashed into them would not have been in that exact position). Would they have cheated death that day?

I realize that playing the "if only" game is rarely, if ever, productive when applied to situations which clearly cannot be changed. Perhaps it provides the illusion of control ... different choices, different outcome (or so the faulty logic goes). Or maybe the mere act of vocalization is a method of processing and coping. Regardless of the reasoning, I could only play that game for so long before I moved to a place of acceptance. I don't remember how long that process took for me, but I do remember a lot of compassionate family, friends, and professors along the way.

I'm a "helping" person by nature, but I must remind myself that I don't know exactly what my friends are feeling right now. Each person must grieve as they see fit and in their own time frame, which is the exact same courtesy I hope will be extended to me the next time the situation presents itself. Until then, my thoughts and prayers are with all of those who have lost loved ones in the recent past.

What in the World is NaNoWriMo?

Very good question. NaNoWriMo is shorthand for NAtional NOvel WRIting MOnth. According to the website, "National Novel Writing Month is a fun, seat-of-your-pants approach to novel writing. Participants begin writing on November 1. The goal is to write a 50,000 word, (approximately 175 page) novel by 11:59:59, November 30."

Yes, you read that correctly - a novel written in a month. Can anything but drivel ever come of that? Well, the website has a section dedicated to novels that were eventually published after being written during NaNoWriMo, probably the most famous of which is Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen. Though publication by itself does not conclusively prove that the novel is "not drivel" (because we've all read some really bad novels that somehow got published anyway, right?), for the moment I'll buy into the concept that some pretty good stuff can come out of NaNo.

But no matter how you judge the quality of writing, those authors who have grabbed the golden ring of publication are clearly in the upper echelon compared to those of us who are wannabes. Plus, most people who start NaNo never finish a novel in the allotted time period - the "winner" to "participant" ratio ranges between 13-20% (2000-2009). Thus you have a 1-in-5 chance (at best) of finishing NaNo, and an even more minuscule chance of being published. Why would one attempt such an endeavor? The genesis of NaNoWriMo actually provides a bit of insight on that front.

As you might imagine, the creators of NaNo never imagined that their idea would take off and consume nearly 200,000 people (including gluttons for punishment who are repeat participants). In their own words: "The very first NaNoWriMo took place in July, 1999, in the San Francisco Bay Area. That first year there were 21 of us, and our July noveling binge had little to do with any ambitions we might have harbored on the literary front. Nor did it reflect any hopes we had about tapping more fully into our creative selves. No, we wanted to write novels for the same dumb reasons twentysomethings start bands. Because we wanted to make noise. Because we didn't have anything better to do. And because we thought that, as novelists, we would have an easier time getting dates than we did as non-novelists. So sad. But so, so true."

Among the many lessons they learned that first summer (aside from the fact that it's easier to write a novel in the relative gloom of November rather than bright sunshine of July) was the fact that most people never write a novel because they don't put their butt in a chair (also known as the "BIC problem") and JUST WRITE under a DEADLINE.

Ah, it's all starting to come together now, isn't it? My fascination with NaNo stems primarily from the fact that what has stopped me from writing in the past is not desire, but simply forcing myself to sit down and JUST WRITE with a purpose in mind. Not after I watch this TV show (even though its an episode I've seen before) or finish this movie (even though I own the extended version DVD). Not after I run to the grocery store, or or or... you get the picture. I professed that I had this desire to write, so where was it in my list of priorities? Nowhere, as you can probably gather from my lack of prior output.

That all changed in 2011, obviously, when I launched this blog. I don't know if my writing is any good and for now, I (almost) don't care. My goal is more modest... to counteract the BIC problem and JUST WRITE. Maybe you don't like what I have to say (if you are seeking earth-shattering revelations, you may wish to look elsewhere), or perhaps you don't like my style. That's okay, for now. I have time to consider my content and my style as I go. At the end of the day, however, I will have gained something I did not have before... another essay. And that, my friends, is an awfully big hurdle to overcome.

Will I participate in NaNoWriMo this year? That is my intent. I hope to actually sketch out a plot and some characters in advance (that is all permitted under the rules) and then go to town in November. Unfortunately, that is a very busy time at work, but if truth be told, when isn't? Plus the NaNo community forms a support group of sorts, helping each other devise plot points, develop characters, overcome writer's block, and JUST WRITE.

I may write drivel, no doubt. Other than my law review paper (which was in fact published), I have never attempted to write anything of that length and complexity (and creativity, which, I might add, is frowned upon in law school). But I hold out the glimmer of hope that perhaps literary inspiration will be delivered to my typing hands. I think I'll end up somewhere in between the two extremes, with something I'll want only my family and closest friends to read. And that is fine by me.

PS... You can scope out NaNo's website here.

Just Write

It all starts with that first step, right? 

I've said for quite some time that I want to write a novel.  At one point, I even thought I had the opening lines:  "I am Ally McBeal.  Well, except for the fact that I'm not a size zero, I don't live in Boston, and I'm not exactly beautiful, but that is beside the point."  Or something like that.  : )

This dream surfaces every now and then, and occasionally I even do something about it.  I buy books about writing (some of which I actually read!).  I started a correspondence fiction writing course, but felt stymied because of my (real or perceived) lack of imagination.  I spend time on the National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) website, energized by the passion of those pursuing the same dream as me, but still somehow intimidated by those same colleagues who seem to all have something to say. 

A friend of mine once pointed out that those of us who are struggling writers might be suffering from the success of J.K. Rowling.  We feel, whether consciously or not, that if we cannot write the next Harry Potter series (or the next Twilight series, if that is your preference), then somehow we have failed.  The concept is laughable on its face, but it plays into the fear of failure that consumes all those in creative endeavors.  Far more than athletic or business endeavors, creativity puts so much of our inner self on the line... what if we are found wanting?  What if nobody wants to read what I have to say?  What if nobody likes it? 

I am in awe of Ms. Rowling and other authors who can create a world that I want to live in. I don't care if she borrowed elements from classical literature or not.  The fact remains she wove a beautiful tapestry of imagery and characters that made me care very deeply about what happened in that world. I think I've set the bar rather high if I expect seven books, eight movies, and a theme park to emerge because of one idea I might have on my way home from work.  Hey, it would be great if it happened, but that is not the litmus test of success or failure.

Instead, I have committed to starting with one single step... just write!  Maybe I don't have the spark yet for a novel, but I certainly can find something to say for a short essay every once in a while.  My goal, which I have chosen to make public, is to post to this blog at least twice a week. So by the end of 2011, I should have 100 blog posts.  By doing that, I hope to get more in the habit of writing, to engage with an audience no matter how small, and to start honing my writing craft.  I also hope that at least a few posts will resonate with you along the way, enough to make it worth your while to come back every now and then.

Until my next post, I wish you peace and all that is good in 2011!