Throw in the Kitchen Sink!

 

Well, I’m still juggling a lot of precious figurines — one being my mother, who is still at rehab.

This week, the plumbing under her kitchen sink busted and water started flooded her house.  Because Mom’s not at the house, we didn’t know of the problem until Mom’s caregiver went by to pick up the mail and check on the pool.

Now, we’re dealing with the insurance company, the cleaning/drying crew, the insurance adjuster, and Mom’s anxiety over all of this…

And what’s getting me through this is the fact that I’m not dealing with all of this on my own.

Mom’s sister-in-law and her family have stepped in and are helping us get through all of this.  Mom’s caregiver is also making herself available to let people in and out of the house as necessary.  My supervisor at work is allowing me to leave when I need to, to deal with this situation as well as all of Mom’s various doctors’ appointments.

People at work are giving me emotional support as well.  They let me vent.  They acknowledge that they can’t change anything for me, but they are on my side and they’ve been there.  They reassure me that I’ll get through this… one day at a time…

I know they’re right — but I really didn’t need the kitchen sink to be thrown in, on top of everything else…

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Wake-up Call

I was in the break room, in the early morning hours, when one of the supervisors came in.  I can’t say that she’s the most pleasant person on the floor, but she did manage to mumble, “Good Morning.” 

I mumbled back something very positive — something like:  “I’d rather be anywhere but here.”

Now, that comment — this early in the morning — usually brings agreement and a light chuckle from the other person.  Let’s face it.  Most of us would rather be ANYWHERE else but at work, so early in the morning…

Today, I learned that “most of us” is not “all of us.”

Nope.  This supervisor’s response was:  “Well, I’d thought all your outside activities created enough distractions for you.”

What she said (and the way she said it) was a bit odd — as if she believed that the main purpose of life is to live and breathe for the company… and “the other stuff” people do “away from the office” are simply fluffy distractions…

At first, I was slightly irritated.  I don’t feel any part of my life to be a distraction.  Every part has purpose… even the mundane part that is spent at the office.  I go to work and provide a service, for which I get paid, so I can live my life comfortably and completely.  Simply put:  I work to live and not live to work.

That’s when I had to remind myself of the difference between this supervisor and me.  Definitely, her existence revolves around her job.  She is defined — and sealed in — by her position.  She spends her days in her office, not interacting with others.  She feels that the more work she generates, the more valuable she is to her boss.  With this in mind, she designs more work for herself — and everyone working for her — than is needed to get the original task completed.  Because of that, she finds it necessary to take work home every night and weekend.  Even working these extra hours, she finds herself behind in her work — missing deadlines and making mistakes.  Her reward for all of this is to be disrespected and discounted by her boss. 

It’s sad to watch, because it’s obvious that she puts her heart and soul into her job, and none of it is appreciated… if noticed at all.  This causes her to walk around in a constant state of… numbness.

Yeah, I can see how — to her — my outside activities can be seen as distractions — and even interference — to her disciplined definition of existence. 

And, I guess she’s right.  If I lived to work, I’d probably be more like her…and be satisfied with simply existing.

But I don’t see that happening any time soon.  I’m having too much fun exploring the art of living…

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What Could Have Been

I woke up this morning from an uncomfortable dream—and its memory has been haunting me all day. 

It dealt with an unhealthy relationship that I broke off years ago. 

In the dream, I was still attached to that person.  The breakup never happened. 

In the dream, I was still being belittled in front of others by this person—trying to make me feel less than worthy.

In the dream, the person still pushed me around and expected me to jump when I was told to jump.

*****

I woke up disheveled and breathless — wondering why such feelings and scenes flooded my dreams and saturated my thoughts… and why now?

Maybe they were there to remind me of what could have been.

Maybe they were there to reassure me that I made the right decision — even if it was a hard decision to make… and even harder to follow through, once made.

Maybe they were there to reinforce the fact that I’m better on my own than with someone like that.

Maybe they were there to celebrate the person I’ve become...

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Drape Those You Love With Respect and Honor

I was on one of the writers’ message boards the other day, and someone posted the following question:

What if your partner doesn't support you in your writing venture?

She went on to write that she runs into acknowledgements and dedication pages of books full of gratefulness to the writers’ spouses, partners, and parents for their support in the arduous journey toward publication.  But what if your loved ones don't support you?  How do you wade through the rejections, fight the self-doubts, and retain your self-worth?

A number of writers chimed in, sharing how their spouses are as unsupportive as hers, and it was deadly to their writing.  One said that her spouse would verbally support her, but his actions built a wall that separated her from her dream. One said that her husband told her she will fail in her attempts at reaching her dream.   One was told her writing endeavor was a complete waste of time.  One gentleman said he gave up his creative passion for 20 years, trying to satisfy his woman; and in doing so, his soul withered.  The stress would have killed him, if the relationship hadn’t crumbled first.  Some advised her to turn to other writers for support — those with the same passions and in the same situation…

They (sort of) addressed the issue…but indirectly.  To me, the real issue has more to do with the lack of “support”— and less to do with the “writing venture.”   

Those responding to her question never came out and said that if your loved ones are not interested in supporting you in your personal mission, your aspirations, and your dreams — whatever those may be — then there’s something lacking…there’s someone missing… in the relationship. 

When your loved ones — whether they be your family, friends, or lovers — don’t take an interest in what you’re doing… and in how you’re feeling… then, they’ve “checked out” of the relationship.  They are not respecting and honoring the relationship, as it currently exists.  They may have at one time… but no longer.

What happened over time, I don't know.  All I know is that when you no longer feel respected and honored in a relationship, you will search out those who will fulfill your needs…

Simply put:  A relationship cannot thrive if it’s not draped in respect and honor — like a warm blanket shared by two people, bringing them closer together.

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Non-Huggers, Be Forewarned!

I was in a silly mood in water aerobics this morning.  It was just minutes before class, and the several women were still wading in, focusing on finding that perfect spot they’ve picked out for themselves.

One such lady was coming right toward me.  She didn’t seem to see me standing there, because that imaginary spot of hers had her full attention.  If she continued on her current course, she’d have collided into me. 

Foreseeing this, I could have moved… but I didn’t. 

I simply stood there with my arms outstretched, with a silly grin on my face, waiting for some reaction from her…

Still nothing from her… 

She just kept coming.

So, I stood there, arms outstretched, acting as the pool’s silent, silly-grinning tollgate.

It wasn’t until she was just inches away that she finally noticed me.  She stared at me for a couple of seconds — expecting me to move — but, then, she saw my silly grin.

Her facial expression changed as things started to register with her.  She stretched out her arms as well, and gave me the hug I was waiting for.  Only then, was she allowed to pass.

She commented that her husband and she just had a conversation about this same thing at breakfast this morning.  Her husband is from a family that regularly hugs each other.  She, on the other hand, came from a family that never hugged each other — so she’s not used to all this hugging.  Her husband simply told her that she’ll just have to get used to it.

That opened up a “hug” discussion among the group.  The instructor mentioned that, years ago, her daughter dated a young man who grew up in a family that didn’t hug.  Her family is a hugging family.  At first, whenever this guy came to family functions, he was uncomfortable when he was treated as “part of the hugging family.”  This “young man” is, now, the instructor’s son-in-law; and he’s been converted.  He simply surrenders to the hugs…

The rest of the ladies’ stories ended the same way.  Between the battle of the huggers and the non-huggers, the huggers always won over their opponents. 

I came from a non-hugging family, so it’s not surprising that the first — and best, in my humble opinion — inspirational/motivational speaker I latched onto was Leo Buscaglio, Ph.D. — aka "Dr. Love."  He also was an author and a professor in the Department of Special Education at the University of Southern California.

While at the University, he always took an interest in his students.  One week, he noticed that one of his more responsive students was missing for several of his classes.  Because he missed her inquisitive face, he asked around and learned that she had committed suicide. 

This news devastated Leo.  He never wanted to lose another student to suicide, again.  Because of that, he focused on how important human connection was to life.  He began a non-credit course called Love 1A, which focused on the need for human connection, arguing that social bonds are essential to transcending the stresses of everyday life.  Human contact enriched life and crossed communication gaps between generations. 

He’s written a number of books — and each book embraces you with his humor, his humanness, his genuineness, and his love for life and humanity.  His work is most closely associated with the topic of love and human relationships, emphasizing the value of positive human touch — especially hugs.

This association with hugging became his trademark at lectures.  After each presentation, thousands of people would line up and stand patiently, waiting to hug him.  He wouldn’t leave until the last person was hugged.  Many times, the recipients of the hugs would tell him that they couldn’t remember the last time they were hugged… it had been that long ago. 

Leo died in 1998, but you can still experience his life-giving energy through his books and even view him on YouTube. 

If you take the time to get to know him through his books and videos, you’ll see how amazingly giving he was to everyone.

And I often wonder…

What would the world be like if we all had someone like Leo in our families — an expressive and loving family member who constantly told us how wonderful we are and how wonderful life is, and who was never afraid to share his feelings or give away hugs every chance he got?

And from my little survey in the pool today, I’m feeling confident that Leo’s hugging campaign is alive and well… in more and more people.

So, non-huggers, be forewarned.  We’re coming after you!

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In the Right Place, at the Right Time

I had a busy weekend, filled with commitments and errands.  I was on my last errand before I could head home for the day.  It was getting late, but all I had to do was get to the post office and back—and my day would be done.

When I got to the post office, there was another person at the self-service vending machine.  She was taking quite a long time and seemed a bit lost.  What tipped me off was that she was just staring at the screen… and staring at the screen… and staring at the screen.

I asked if she needed help and was able to show her how to finish her transaction.  Once she left, I started to work on my transaction.

Another lady came up and tried to post her letters, but she couldn’t pull the metal tray down to post her letters.  I put my transaction on hold, to help her out.  Although the slot that she was trying to open was locked, I pointed her to the 4 mail slots on the other side that she could use, instead.  She laughed at the ease of that solution, as she dropped her letters in one of those open slots.

Turning back to my transaction, I was a bit disappointed.  The vending machine didn’t offer what I was looking for, so I cancelled out of the menu without getting what I needed.  

I got back to my car, thinking that this last errand was a complete waste of my time, when another lady came up to my car.  As I rolled down my window, she asked me if I would give her a ride.  She added that she’d pay me to take her. 

I asked her where she needed to go.  She told me a street that I recognized, so I told her to hop in.

She proceeded to tell me her story.  Recently, she was in a car accident, which totaled her car — and hurt her neck.  She’s on her way to work at a 7/11 store, but had no way of getting there.  She was prepared to walk all the way, if I hadn’t given her a ride.

Once I got her to her 7/11, she offered me a drink or coffee from the store.  I declined, telling her that I was quite happy just to be able to help her out.

I simply was at the right place, at the time.

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I Have to Be Careful What I Wish For…

I have to be careful what I wish for...


Katherine and I did finally meet to work on the book.

From that meeting, we’ve got three more sections to revise, another piece to add, and a 4-page checklist and timetable to follow if we want to finish up this project within the next month.

Katherine has also started sending out “feelers” for help with developing a website…

So, yeah… things are moving again…

And one of these days, I’m going to learn:  I have to be careful what I wish for…

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But Where’s My Piece of Cake?!

Yes, I enjoyed the women’s retreat.  I really did, but do you remember that little carrot — no, that piece of chocolate cake — that Katherine dangled in front of me to get me there?

We were supposed to have time together to work on our book.  We were supposed to finish the new section that Katherine wanted added.  This weekend was supposed to move us leaps and bounds ahead on this project.

Well, as you may have guessed, that didn’t quite happen. 

So, everything is postponed for a bit longer…

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Retreating from Retreats

The women’s retreat that Katherine tricked me — I mean, invited me — to attend was this past weekend. 

I know, for most people, retreats are seen as good things.  These gatherings allow us to withdraw from our ordinary activities for several days, so we can refocus and rejuvenate. 

Spiritual retreats — which I would categorize this one to be — give the participants time to reflect and reconnect to their source of strength and inner “selves.”  They give us the opportunity to meet and commune with people of similar thoughts and beliefs. 

I know it sounds great on paper — and even as persuasive as Katherine was — nothing could prevent my insecurities from resurfacing.  Fears of rejection and not fitting in saturated my soul.  Memories of my first — which was to be my last — women’s retreat came flooding back.

That retreat was meant to be a spiritual retreat as well — one based on the religion in which I practiced.  Ironically, my choir director “back then” was the one who invited and sponsored me — just like Katherine (my current choir director) is sponsoring me, in this one…

In that past retreat, I had to surrender all control and freedoms.  That choir director and “sponsor” simply dropped me off at the retreat site and left me there.  I was not told what to expect (“Don’t anticipate.”).  I was not given an agenda or schedule.  I was not allowed to wear a watch or know what time it was.  I was placed in the hands of complete strangers with no way to escape.

We (the participants) were shuttled from one meeting room to another like sheep.  We were assigned bunk beds in a condemned building that had no air conditioning, minimal lights, and sparse toiletries.   [This retreat occurred during the muggy and steamy month of August in Florida.]

Discussion leaders were those who had participated in the last retreat.  It’s during their sessions that they shared their life stories — one miserable event after another and another and another.  Loneliness and abandonment resonated in every tale of woe. 

By the end of each meeting, I was convinced that God was trying to prepare me for some horrible event that was going to happen to me.  I was convinced that the wonderful life I had — up to this point — was going to be taken from me.  Why else was I dumped here, surrounded by such tales of misery and woe?!

Putting my paranoia aside, it was apparent that these gatherings were meaningful, supportive, and helpful to those who experienced similar misfortunes.  They, definitely, found what they were longing for in the arms of this structured and controlled environment that they created.  

I was happy for them, but I was not one of them — nor did I long to become one of them.  I wanted to “retreat” from this women’s retreat as quickly as I could, but I couldn’t.  I had no form of transportation to get away.  I was stuck for the entire 80-hour experience.

And they used every moment to work on me — to conform my thoughts and beliefs to theirs. 

Yep.  I was identified, quickly, as an outliner — someone in need of being saved.  It was their mission to transform me into someone who was as miserable, unhappy, and unworthy as they were… someone... more acceptable in their eyes.

It’s been 20+ years since that experience, yet all of it came flooding back to me once I agreed to attend this spiritual retreat with Katherine.  Ironically, I will be labeled as an outliner with this group as well — and for similar reasons as before.  I don’t conform to this group’s practices or beliefs, either. 

This group supports a very liberal and free-spirited lifestyle; I, on the other hand, live a quiet existence, void of excitement.  I am vanilla in their eyes — ordinary, bland, plain, dull… 

So, yeah…  I will be seen as an outliner in this group as well.  Katherine knows this, too — so, we came up with some escape routes for me.

First, I will have my own car, so I can leave whenever I wanted.

Second, Katherine will be attending.  Even though she knows that I will be fine — that I’ll fit in, that I will be welcomed into the group, and that I will not be forced to transform into someone I am not — she reassures me that she will act as my “protector.”  I can turn to her when I’m feeling overwhelmed or stressed… much like the parent who is there to fight off the unseen monsters under a frightened child’s bed.

So…. with this plan in hand, I agreed to go… and go I shall.

(to be continued…)

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Submit vs. Surrender — The Difference is Intent

I ran into an acquaintance that I haven’t seen for about five years.  I asked how she’s been doing and asked about her three daughters and her mom.  Everyone was doing fine.  The youngest is a senior; the other two were in college — one going abroad, etc.

I, then, complimented her on her short haircut — telling her that I really liked that cut on her.  It looked very care-free and youthful on her.

She ran her hand over her hair, smiled, and nodded as she said, “Thanks!  I got it cut when I separated from my husband.  He wouldn’t let me cut my hair.”

Now, I know that most men like longer hair on women, but her choice of words was interesting. 

She didn’t say, “I kept my hair longer for him, because he liked it longer.”

No, she said, “He wouldn’t let me cut my hair.”


“He wouldn’t let me” gives the impression of submitting to another's control — as if your will is being taken from you.


On the other hand, when you keep your hair long because your partner likes it long, it’s your choice to keep it long.  You’re doing it because you like pleasing your partner.  You’re surrendering your preference to his… but it’s still your choice.  You’re giving to him.  He’s not taking anything away from you.


The result is the same — longer hair — but the intent behind the gesture is completely different.  It's the difference between feeling controlled by someone and caring for someone.

Not surprisingly, she kept smiling when she told me that things are better for her and for the girls — now that her husband and she are separated.  


Yeah.  The freedom behind that short haircut did wonders for her. 


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I’m Numb

I’m numb. 

For the past couple of years, I’ve been trying to contact a friend of mine.  We were really close years and years ago, but she moved out of state, and we've lost touch.

Over the years, I’ve called her; but after another move, the phone number I had for her no longer worked. 

Emailing her wasn’t an option, since she wasn’t comfortable with the computer and didn’t have an email address. 

The letters and cards I sent in the later years started to come back with no forwarding address. 

Knowing my friend’s hectic, constantly moving, and crazy life, I just assumed that she was happily busy with her family — and I, mentally, wished her well.

She’s such a beautiful person that I couldn’t wish her anything less.  She’s another exceptional person I’ve had the privilege to know.  Her loving spirit shines through every piece of her and brightens everyone and everything around her.  She is totally devoted to her family and “her family” includes everyone she meets.  Her presence makes such a difference to those she touches. 

So, I can understand how we fell out of touch, and I am so grateful that our paths crossed for as long as it did.

Two years ago, some internal need made me resurrect my search for her again.  I knew my friend wasn’t comfortable on the computer, but I thought, maybe, time had changed that and searching on Facebook was worth a shot.  It would be one way that she can keep in contact with her family — and I thought, maybe, her daughters would have set up an account for her. 

So, I took a shot.  Unfortunately, my friend’s name is pretty common, and I had to develop a hit-and-miss strategy to my Facebook search.  I thought I had found her and sent her a friend’s request… but got no response.

That didn’t stop me, though.  Each time her birthday rolled around, I would reach out again and again… with no response.

This year, when her birthday came around, I reached out again…

Then it struck me.  Her youngest daughter would be in her twenties now — and part of this Facebook generation.  If I can find her, I can ask her to wish her mom a happy birthday for me.  And that’s what I did.

Yesterday, the daughter messaged me back. 

Her mom — my friend — was killed in a car accident, by a drunk driver… two years ago.

I'm numb.

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When Being Right Isn't Nearly Enough

There is no other way to put it.  I hate going to work these days.

Everyone’s stressed because of the resident bully in the office.  He’s free to run havoc in the division, making everyone miserable — but no one has the desire to change things.  He’s been doing it for years and years, so everyone accepts it as “just the way things are.”  Those tired of the treatment simply leave the company.

I go to my supervisor to complain about the situations the bully creates.  She agrees with everything I say.  She keeps telling me that I am right.  I am right that it shouldn’t be this way.  I am right that things should be different — but she tells me that nothing will change.

I take my complaints to my supervisor’s supervisor — the Vice President of the company.  He also tells me that he agrees with me.  He keeps telling me that I am right.  He wishes things can be different, but there’s nothing he can do about the bully.  He has no power to change things.  And with that, he sends me out of his office.

Everywhere I turn, people are telling me that I’m right, but that’s not enough for me — not nearly enough.

Whenever the bully interacts with me, I push back.  At once, he backs down and immediately runs to my supervisor.  He tells her that he will no longer work with me because of my attitude.  He will only deal with her.

Oh, dear!  I’m so deeply wounded by this declaration of his!  Instead of addressing me directly, he will use my supervisor as the go-between, forcing her to deal with the bully, instead of me.  How can I live with such an arrangement?

Actually, this heavenly situation only lasts a couple of weeks at a time, and then he comes after me again.  I push back, and the cycle repeats itself… over and over again.

Because the supervisor doesn’t like dealing with the fallouts of these encounters, I am told that, although I am right, it’s best not to confront the bully head on.  She — and everyone else — makes excuses for the bully, allowing him to continue his reign of terror. 

Because I am not moved to change my position, I am told that it’s best not to rock the boat.  The bully can make things harder for me…

I’m confused.  Exactly how can he make things harder for me?  It’s not he who is allowing this to continue.  He has no authority over me.  He doesn’t evaluate me, doesn’t discipline me, and can’t fire me. 

The only power he holds is the power others give him.  If people would stand up together and say, “Enough is enough!” then the bully would lose his ability to intimidate the office.

But no one is willing to stand up.   Management would rather support the negative environment, allow good employees to be harassed and disrespected, and force good employees to leave their employ… instead of taking positive steps to deal with the issue.

Yeah, everyone’s telling me that I’m right, but that’s not enough — not nearly enough…

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Angry Eye

Someone introduced this video to me.  I thought it was eye opening and wanted to share it with you.  

I hope you take the time to watch it all the way through. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OPtzS7-H7J4&feature=share)

Different Strokes for Different Folks

I picked up another book on relationships, titled "Dear Lover:  A woman’s guide to men, sex, and love’s deepest bliss."  This is a very intimate book by David Deida.  I hesitate to recommend it because you’d need to be at a certain level to appreciate his perspective.  You’d have to be open to surrendering yourself to his energy and trust he’ll take you where you yearn to be…

Katherine suggested the book, and since I trust her judgment — and since she DID use the words “must read it” — I picked up a copy from Amazon.

While I was there, I checked out the reviews on this and on his other books.  Most were positive, but there was one that was… well, here’s just a portion of it:

“It's difficult to write what I feel about this book.  I read as much of it as I could stomach and then threw it into the trash in the hope no one would ever find it.  This man, the author, is either terminally misled or has an ego the size of the universe.  He knows how women feel?  Excuse me?  When was he a woman?  I pity the poor woman who reads this and accepts it hook, line, and sinker.  He is so off base as to be laughable, if I didn't worry that some women would actually take him seriously.”

So, just from the few reviews I scanned, I’m sure that the book will hit a core with most people.  Whether, it resonates with you in a positive or negative way, I can’t guess — but I’m enjoying the book.

I actually started reading it while waiting in a car repair shop — and yes, I’m still dealing with the same car issue, but this time I’ve gone to a DIFFERENT repair shop.  Wish me good luck with this go-around…

Anyway… back to the book.  It was interesting reading such an intimate book in this masculine-filled setting. 

Picture this:  It’s 7:00 in the morning.  The sun has barely broken through the morning’s fog.  I walk into the repair shop, carrying with me a book titled Dear Lover.   The manager checks me in, I surrender my keys and car to him, and I sit down to wait… and wait… and wait.

I open Deida’s book and scanned through the Forward and Introduction.  Normally, I wouldn’t have even read those sections, but since Katherine had suggested the book, I thought I had better read those pages, too…

It wasn’t until I got to the first chapter that I started feeling the intimate power of the book — and the fact that I was sitting in the environment surrounded by men was a bit unnerving…

Because of the activity around me, I couldn’t just let Deida’s words pour over me.  Instead, I kept flowing back and forth between David’s spiritual place he was taking me to and this physical place I was tied to — this waiting room filled with strangers’ voices and sounds of banging of metal, clicking of computer keys, and jangling of car keys…

What was really interesting was, as I drifted in and out of these two worlds, I carried a bit if each to the other, and the men in the room responded.  The two guys behind the counter couldn’t have been more attentive to me, if they had tired! 

The guy in the waiting room started up a conversation with me.  It started with our concerns about our respective car problems and transformed into a discussion about appreciation for integrity and trust.  He shared his hopes and dreams for his two teenagers…

Before we knew it, his car was fixed and mine… well, wasn’t.  My car needed a part that needed to be ordered, but instead of having me wait 5 hours for the part to show up (like the other place did), one of the mechanics offered to drive me home.  They also made sure I had a way back…

As I waited for my ride, the “waiting-room gentleman” was waiting for his car to come out of the garage.  We stood in the parking lot together, wrapping up our previous conservation, preparing for our goodbyes.

It sounds weird, but I was sad to leave.  It felt like I was saying goodbye to a friend — one who I will not be seeing again… 

In that brief time together, we never exchanged names… just our “selves.”

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If It’s Such Good Advice, Why Not Follow It?

I’m awakened by the piercing ring of my phone.  I roll over, planning to let the answering machine deal with the caller, until I hear my friend’s upset voice being recorded.

I stumble to the phone and manage to pick it up before she slips away in the shadows of my sleepy haze. 

Rachel is unnerved.  She finds herself in the middle of a very volatile and emotional situation.  Before she acts upon her instincts, she wants to pass the plan by me — her logical, objective, and stable friend, who always gives her good advice.

She gives me the background of her situation, describes her dilemma, and outlines her plan of attack.  Once she blurts everything out, she asks what I think of her plan.

I try to calm her down, so she can clearly understand what I’m about to say.  I tell her that, if I were in her situation, I wouldn’t do what she’s planning to do.  I foresee that her current course of action would create more problems than solve them.  Instead, I would do ‘such-and-such’.

She listens, understands the reasoning, and agrees that her plan of action would aggravate the situation.  She thanks me for my advice and hangs up.

Thirty minutes later, the phone rings again.  It’s Rachel… in tears.  She admits that I was right.  She should have followed my advice, but she went with her plan, instead.  Doing it her way did, indeed, make things worse. 

Rachel:  “Now, what do I do?  I’m thinking of going to him and doing ‘this-and-that.’”

Me:  “No, I wouldn’t do ‘this-and-that’ if I were you.  I would do ‘such-and-such’ instead.  Neither of you are in the right emotional state to deal with this rationally at this time.  If you continue on this path of yours, you’ll make it even worse.”

Rachel:  “You’re right, of course.  You’ve given me great advice.  Let me hang up with you and do what you suggest.”

An hour later, the phone rings again.  It’s Rachel… in tears.  She, once again, admits that I was right.  She should have followed my advice, but she went with her plan, instead.  Doing it her way did, indeed, make things much worse. 

Rachel:  “Now, what do I do?  I’m thinking of going back and doing ‘this-and-that.’”

Me:  “No, I wouldn’t do ‘this-and that’ if I were you.  I would disengage at this point.  You need to step back and let things settle down.  Don’t do anything more to agitate the situation.  Neither of you are in the right emotional state to deal with this rationally at this time.  If you continue on this path of yours, you’ll make it even worse.”

Rachel:  “Yes, but I can’t just sit here and do nothing… I can’t let…”

Me:    “I know it’s hard for you, but you’ll going to have to step back and let things settle down.  You’ll have to let things 'just be'... for a while.”

Rachel:  “I see where you’re coming from.  Thanks for the advice.  I’ll let you get some rest.”

Another hour passes, and the phone rings.  It’s Rachel again.  She's set up a meeting with him, tonight.  She's leaving in a few minutes.  She wants to discuss the matter further— even though an hour ago, he was so angry, and she’s very afraid of what he might say or do when they meet…

Me:  “Rachel!  Why are you meeting him?!  I told you to disengage… that means to disconnect.  That means NOT to talk with him, NOT to meet with him, NOT to see him!  Stop all contact with him until things settle down!”

Rachel:  “I know, but I can’t let things sit.  It’s not in my nature.  I can’t just wait things out.  I know you’re right, but it’s too late.  I can’t turn back.”

Me:  “Rachel!  Don’t go!”

Rachel:  “I have to…”

And the phone line goes dead.

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Yes, Even in a Car Repair Shop

I believe that I’ve told you (many times before) that I am not a patient person — but I’ll tell you once more, because…

I recently had to take my car in for repairs.  After 5½ hours of waiting, I was finally told the amount of ransom needed to secure both my and my car’s release.

It was a long, long day for me.

It’s not like I didn’t plan it all out, either.  I knew I had to wait for the repairs, so I tried to reduce my waiting time as much as possible.  I called the day before and explained my situation.  I made an appointment with the manager, to make sure that my car would be taken care of in a timely manner, that parts would be ordered, etc.

I was told that the repair would take 2 hours, and that’s what I expected.  I did not expect the 5½ hours that it turned out to be.

Knowing my impatient nature, I did bring a book with me, to keep me distracted — but instead of keeping me distracted from what was going on around me, it heightened my sensitivity to it.

The book I brought was The Seven Principles for Making Marriage Work (by John M. Gottman, Ph.D. and Nan Silver).  In the book, the authors focused on the importance of respect and honor in healthy relationships — e.g., in a friendship, a marriage, or work-related encounters, etc.

This day at the repair shop just reinforced that message for me.

You see, the manager, Brandon, and I had formed a comfortable connection over the two days we’ve been discussing my car problem.  We had a pleasant and respectful rapport going.  He answered my questions and… well, treated me as an equal.  He treated me with respect and honor.

Even though I am an impatient person, I was willing to sit there for however long it took for my car to be fixed, because I trusted that the manager had my best interest in mind — and, unfortunately, I had no other choice.

Two hours into my sentence, a different person — I’ll refer to him as Mr. Jerk — bellowed out into the waiting room, searching for the person who belonged to the Ford Focus.  I raised my hand and went to meet him at the counter.  Before I reached the counter, he started with his condescending tone, mumbling a list of recommendations that “must be” done.  He started pushing me to use their credit card, ignoring my responses and reasons for wanting to handle the payment differently. Another employee tried to step in and have Mr. Jerk stop badgering me, but Mr. Jerk ignored that voice of reason.

I could feel my frustration and irritation rising with every breath Mr. Jerk took.  Every phrase he uttered dripped with mockery, disguised as teasing.  Simply put:  I had no desire to deal with this person; but, at the same time, I knew I couldn’t make Mr. Jerk change his behavior toward me.

It’s sad to admit, but we — women, in particular — have been conditioned to be smile sweetly and take this type of behavior.  Don’t try to understand what’s going on under the hood of the car.  Just pay the mechanics whatever they tell you.  Don’t rock the boat.  Don’t make a scene in public.  Just sit there and take it.

Unfortunately for Mr. Jerk, I’m of a different opinion.  I believe everyone — me, included — should be treated with respect — even in a car repair shop.

So, knowing that 1) I couldn’t change Mr. Jerk’s behavior and 2) I didn’t want to have to deal with him anymore, I simply told Mr. Jerk to stop talking to me and that I wanted Brandon to talk to me, instead.

Obviously, Mr. Jerk didn’t understand the seriousness of my request.  He just stood there and continued to be himself… a jerk.

I repeated my request — in the middle of a lobby and in front of his manager, Brandon.

Mr. Jerk turned to Brandon and repeated my request to him, adding that “She doesn’t like me!”

I did not contradict that statement.  I did not backtrack or try to soften the impact of those words.  I just let that statement continue to float out there… until Brandon took Mr. Jerk’s place at the register.

Brandon explained my car's issues, and we agreed to just concentrate on the “safety issues” and not on any of the other stuff on the list.  He let me use my own method of payment without giving me any hassles about it.  Unfortunately, he told me I’ll be waiting for another couple of hours; but that was OK, since I was being treated with respect.

As I went back to my seat, I noticed that Brandon tried to give Mr. Jerk some etiquette lessons, so that the customers that came after me would be treated better.

What was even better was that during the remaining 3½ hours, Mr. Jerk changed his tone and behavior.  He showed more respect to the other women who were waiting for their cars. 

Yeah, I know he’s probably calling me all sorts of names under his breath, but — at least outwardly — he was treating his customers with more respect than before.

And yes, showing respect and honor is important… even in a car repair shop.

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Thank Goodness for My Day Job

My day job is constantly feeding me the motivation necessary to keep my dream alive.

It’s truly a fertile and futile training ground for me. 

It allows me to practice the fine art of waiting — a skill that I’m finding crucial in keeping my sanity while keeping my dream alive. 

• I wait for others to get back to me. 
• I wait for phone calls and emails to be returned. 
• I wait for corrections to be made and processed. 
• I wait for co-workers to get back from vacations and lunch breaks. 
• I wait for answers to my questions. 
• I wait for approvals and authorizations. 
• I wait on clients.
• I wait for the day I can quit. 
• I wait… and wait… and wait.

While I’m doing all this waiting, I’m also learning lots from my co-workers, supervisors, and managers.  

• They’re teaching me to reduce my expectations so to reduce my disappointments.  
•  They’re illustrating the destructive forces ego and insecurities have on team spirit and productivity.
•  They constantly remind me how the "blame game" erodes a person’s integrity and credibility.

All these skills come in handy when trying to become a published author, so I’m grateful to my day job.
 
Yes, thank goodness for my day job.  If it wasn’t for it, I wouldn’t be pursuing my dream so diligently.



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I’m Not Used to This

I told you that I was reaching out to various organizations and associations to see if they would help us with getting our children’s book picked up by publishers.

Well, the Florida Department of Education pointed me toward the 67 individual school board districts throughout Florida.  I contacted my district and a neighboring one as well.  My plan was to contact each of the 67 districts, one by one, and see who would respond to our request, if any.

Within a couple of hours, I received emails back from the school boards willing to discuss our projects.  Some back-and-forth emails later, those involved with elementary education and bullying prevention programs for the school districts, along with the district’s school’s social work supervisor have offered to review our manuscripts and give us their feedback.

Hopefully, our project strikes the right core with them.  If not, I’ve got 65 more districts to contact.

I’ve also reached out to Abundant Assets Alliance—which combines YMCA of the USA and Canada and Search Institute (three distinguishing organizations with proven success in building strong kids).  One person with Search Institute emailed me back to let me know that she was forwarding my email to her colleague.

I know all these people could come back and tell me that they can’t help us, but I’m just excited that each one of them took the time to reach out and make contact.

After months and months of reaching out to publishers and literary agents — only to receive cold silence from them — it’s a pleasant and welcoming change to have people actually respond back.

I guess I’m just not used to this.


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