Posted by Anne

How do you move past a rough beginning?  Take the following examples…

• The book whose first 50 pages are slow at best, snooze-inducing at worst.
• The first date filled with slight promise, but even more awkwardness.
• The new job that creates anxiety throughout the entire first year.
• A vacation that begins on the wrong foot—with a flight delay, a bad hotel, or a disappointing meal.
• A new town that disappoints you—a town that’s different than you imagined.

How long do we give something—a relationship, a book, a job, a town—before we give up on it?  Do we let these rough (and sometimes disappointing) beginnings taint us before we gather the full story?  And how long do we wait?  How much patience should we allot before making our decision, breaking it off, or packing our bags?

This dilemma has been at the forefront of my mind since moving to a new town—and a new coast—a year and 7 months ago.  I knew moving to the Northwest would be an adjustment, but I was optimistic.  I was ready for a lush green landscape, berry farms, and countless destinations for outdoorsy recreation.  Our town has totally delivered on those expectations.  But culturally, I knew I was in for a change.  And I thought I was ready…excited even.  It’s been harder than I imagined. 

When we first moved here, there were some not-so-pleasant surprises…

• My 2^nd day in town, when someone shattered my car window at a local park (at NOON on a TUESDAY), and stole my purse and computer. (Yeah, I was stupid to leave those in my car…but still…)
• The arrival at our new home—a fine and cute rental, but a street that lacked the kind of Northwest charm I’d envisioned.
• A community that was certainly laid-back and kind, but one that also lacked the outgoing and open friendliness I’d known for my entire life in the Midwest. 

In short, it was a rough beginning.  And after 8 months, I started planning my escape.  Life would be better, I thought, when we moved.  The Douglas Fir trees would be greener, taller, and better in another city. 

But we didn’t move.  The opportunities weren’t there yet, and when push came to shove, we weren’t ready to pick up and start over, or leave the security of jobs we like.  So we stayed.  And people told me, “Give it two years.”  People encouraged me, “It takes awhile to feel at home…the Northwest can be a tough place to break into.”  And they were right.

This August will mark our 2-year anniversary in our new digs.  And since the 8-month mark, our life has changed.  We have friends instead of acquaintances.  And we have more acquaintances that could become friends.  We have a Church, hobbies, favorite restaurants, and favorite neighborhoods.  Those first few months of rough beginnings are still there (and hard to shake), but beginning to fade slightly.  I’m still not convinced this town will be my home forever—I don’t have that sense.  And there are many days I still dream of moving.  But not in the urgent, restless way I did before.  It feels positive to have made it through a rough start, and to make the best of the situation I’ve got.  It feels a little…life in pencil. 

Sometimes a false start can indeed be a sign of things to come.  And our instincts are often correct.  But there’s something gratifying about pushing through the stumbles, and finding something worthwhile on the other end.    

Have you ever experienced a rough start?  When those rough starts occur, do you “put down the book” so to speak, or do you keep plowing through? 

Counting our blessings...

Posted by Anne

This woman seems to have an even bigger problem than I do.

What is it about spring?  This perfect season—nascent and cheerful—is upon us.  It makes me want to open the windows, let in the fresh air, make pesto and hot cross buns, and…

Spend Money.You see, something happens to me with the promise of spring.  And apparently, that “something” is greed.  Or perhaps it’s the softer form of greed—good old fashioned materialism.  I hope I’m not alone on this, but I’m outing myself regardless. 

This troubling bout with materialism occurs every year…right around March 1^st.  I’m not sure why I can’t hold off until at least April, except that late February/early March is about the time the “early spring” catalogues begin arriving in the mail—depicting earthy and fresh blond J Crew models posed on the edges of sailboats—wearing shorts and darling cableknit sweaters.  (Digression:  Would someone like to tell me when that combo ever works?  Or is living in Maine a prerequisite?) 

I wish I could identify the origins of my deep desire for a “spring spending splurge”.  But I’m at a loss.  All I know is that it’s like some invisible alarm that begins ringing in my psyche.  My need for a “fresh start” materializes (get it?  Materializes?!) in the form of multiple visits to the Anthropologie website and that time-waster of all time-wasters…Craigslist.  And since I can’t really afford much of a shopping spree, I appease myself by exiting that virtual Anthropologie store with random (and inexpensive) items like…oh, maybe a pastel-hued egg cup.  Or that new door pull I just had to have.  Trust me people…it’s a problem.

Normally, our checkbook makes it through my spring fever relatively unscathed.  In addition to the egg cup and door pull, I usually treat myself to one new outfit, which I shamelessly claim is my “Easter Outfit” (as though I’m still 8 years old and need an “Easter dress”). 

But I really do wonder—why does this season of beginnings cause me to search for reasons to spend?  A few theories…

Oh-so-tempting...

1.  The US retail industry wants me to spend and expects me to spend.  Thus, it’s a national phenomenon.  A little springtime manipulation, if you will.

2.  I’m a greedy person. 

And last but not least, I give you the most likely contender…

3.  When we’re looking for a “fresh start”, we seek to find one by changing the external as well as the internal. And these external changes (in my view) often boost us internally.  Of course, there’s a limit.  You can’t just spend, spend, spend. 

So, if #3 is at the root of my need for new clothes, new furniture, and new kitchenware, I have to believe there are other ways to satisfy this desire for a “fresh” look or novel environment.  Some possible solutions…

Spring cleaning.  I recently learned this is a global phenomenon.  In Iran, there’s a word for it that means something akin to “shaking the house”.  Even though I like my clutter, I could stand to make my environment a little more orderly. 

Change something minor.  A new throw pillow perhaps?  A springy-looking mug for my coffee?  I could buy something that creates a permanent visual novelty, but doesn’t break the bank.

Plant a garden.  This would be so perfect if I owned a home, or didn’t kill plants.  I do, however, generally pot some herbs each spring…pretty AND edible.  Can’t lose. 

Focus on a different kind of “external”.  Instead of buying a new wardrobe, maybe I could stand to do my hair more often…instead of the perpetual ponytail.  Or maybe I could pump some iron—build strength from the outside in. 

There you go.  Four external solutions to an internal problem.  I think I’ll start this weekend…when my fingers reach for the newest Williams-Sonoma catalog, I’ll take them right over to our disastrous hall closet—a great place to start an external makeover. 

Am I alone in this one?  Anyone else love some good old “spring shopping”?  Or do you have other springtime rituals that satisfy your need for fresh beginnings…that DON’T cost money?  Or if you totally indulge, what’s your favorite springtime indulgence?

Posted by Anne

Sometimes, I can share successful life in pencil moments.  The moments when I’m able to say I achieved my goal of stepping back, setting aside my plans, and allowing a moment to unfold naturally. 

Nope, this is not one of those posts.  This is a post about failure, and starting over.

Over the weekend, I traveled to the Midwest for a whirlwind weekend to visit family, and celebrate my grandfather’s birthday.  With only 3 days to make it from the Northwest to the Midwest, I knew this weekend wasn’t about rest and relaxation—more about capitalizing on family bonding time. 

I was convinced, and I mean convinced my flight left at 5:00pm.  Imagine my surprise, if you will, when I stopped off in my parent’s study around 11:30 to print my boarding pass and stumbled upon the following statement:  Flight departs at 1:01pm.  Woops. 

After some quick calculations and a reality check, I knew I wouldn’t miss the flight.  That wasn’t the issue.  The issue was this:  I hadn’t planned the afternoon to go like this.  You see, I don’t get to see my family as often as I’d like, and every moment is precious. I’d planned an afternoon.  And my plans were shot.  Cue the meltdown.

The reason my reaction was such a failure?  It should have been an opportunity to meet some life in pencil goals, which I failed to meet.  Here’s a play-by-play of possibly appropriate life in pencil reactions, and MY reaction.

Situation #1:  Plane departs in an hour and a half, and I haven’t packed. 

Appropriate reaction:  “Yikes!  It’s a good thing I checked that flight time when I did!   Hey Mom and Sis—Think you could give me a hand packing while I finish printing my boarding pass??” 

My reaction:  Burst into tears and watch mom and sister swirl around my room packing my things in a super-human feat of tidy and swift folding. 

Situation #2:  I realize I will not have time to accompany my sister on our planned lunchtime outing to one of our favorite childhood greasy spoons. 

Appropriate reaction:  “Bummer!  If that restaurant has been around since I was 5, I’m pretty sure it’ll be there next time I’m in town.”

My reaction:  Pout, and purchase some very dry pretzels at the airport that have zero hope of cheering me up.    

Situation #3:  I must forego my plans to kiss and hug my adorable nephew about 10 times before boarding my plane because he’s taking a necessary nap.

Appropriate reaction:  Okay, this one could have deserved a tear or two.  And then I could have allowed everyone to remind me that I’ll see him again in 3 WEEKS. 

MY reaction:  Inconsolable weeping, as though I’d never see the child again. 

Situation #4:  I had planned to say a leisurely goodbye to my parents, instead of a frantic one.    

Appropriate reaction:  Stick with the plan.  I TOTALLY had time to say goodbye to everyone in a non-dramatic, non-frenetic, eminently normal manner. 

MY reaction:  Not so normal.  Pouty hugs and feeble smiles. 

Situation #5:  Sitting at my gate (with time to spare), I realize I’d been a total drama-queen and failed to act in a normal (and “life in pencil”) manner. 

Appropriate reaction:  I could have simply said to myself, “Wow, this is not how I’d like to react in future situations.  I’m not going to waste more tears judging myself and feeling embarrassed.  I’ll simply reaction different next time, and hey…it’s bloggable.” 

My reaction:  Eventually I did find this reaction within myself…but not until I reached the Denver airport.  I allowed myself to spend the first leg of my flight feeling guilty and childish. 

You see?  FAILURE.  And all because I had to reconfigure 4 hours of my life.  I’m not happy with my reaction, but this is why Beginnings are so important.  I can’t erase that afternoon, and I can’t erase my reaction.  But I can start over.  React differently next time.  Redeem myself.  Here is my new beginning…my vow to myself:

Next time I encounter a hitch in my plans—I will:

1. Ask myself if I want to act rationally, or dramatically.

2. Pay attention to what’s going right instead of what’s going wrong. 

3. Act flexible, even when I don’t feel flexible.

4. Spare others from the drama of my rigid planning.

5. Acknowledge my anxiety and frustration without judging it.

How are you at going with the flow?  Have you ever unreasonably freaked out, and had to start over?  When your plans change and you have to change your vision of your day, how do you react?  How about when life takes an unexpected turn? 

Posted by Anne

Life in Pencil is getting ready to go in a new direction.  We’re not quite yet ready to unveil our new plans, but, beginning this month, we’ll focus on a new topic every month.  Since March is the beginning of spring, a time of new life, this month’s theme will be Beginnings.  How do we live our lives in pencil during that tenuous time when there is new life on the horizon?

Last week, you made me think.  I wrote this post on my life-to-do-list, and several of you admitted similar moments of panic, and asked this question:

What happens when we’ve checked off the items?  What next?

A great question.  A particularly great question when glimmers of spring appear—when daffodils begin peeking through the dirt, and we (or at least I) feel called to begin any one of a jillion different projects. And just as I can generate lists and lists of projects to go along with my new Spring swagger, I can likewise think of about a million (or at least 10) things I’d like to do with my life.  When I truly consider the options for my future, there is no shortage of ideas.  Rather, an overwhelming abundance.  “Beginnings” are everywhere.  I’m sure many of you can relate, and there are probably many reasons I struggle with this unending array of interests.  But there’s one root cause that came to mind last week, after a particularly stimulating counseling session with an adorably enthused student.  As I walked him through the results of his personality assessment, I found myself resonating deeply.  And this is the part where I get all career counselor-y on you, but it’s relevant…I swear.

Remember the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator?  If you weren’t around when I did my previous post on this ubiquitous personality test, then check this out—it’ll provide a little recap.  In that post, I wrote about that pesky part of my personality that’s very addicted to planning.  But last week, as I read your comments and listened to this young student, I realized there’s another part of my “type” (ENFJ to those of you who care) that’s becoming very Life in Pencil relevant these days.  So without further ado…

I’m an Extravert.

Now, pop culture totally screws up the whole “introvert/extravert” dichotomy.  Introverts are not necessarily shy (but sometimes are).  Extraverts are not necessarily loquacious social butterflies (but sometimes are…I’ve definitely got the loquacious part down.)  In actuality, a major difference between the types is where they get their energy.  Warning:  Massive overgeneralization of Myers Briggs Typology coming…Do you feel jazzed and refreshed after a stimulating presentation or conversation?  Extravert.  Do you feel exhausted and crave some major alone-time after you’ve been interacting with others all day?  Introvert.

But there’s another common quality of these types.  Introverts often have fewer interests, and even fewer friends…but really deep ones.  Extraverts?  We like to dabble in many interests, hobbies, and even relationships.  We’re broad.  And sometimes a little more shallow…at least when it comes to how deep we dive into these pursuits.

So…all those multiple interests of mine?  The fact that I can truly see myself pursuing several different options?  The part that’s a fan of beginning new projects?  It’s there—part of my personality.  Of course, maybe it has nothing to do with my personality, but it’s at least a theory.  And in some ways, I like this part of myself.  I believe there’s value in being a “Renaissance Woman”.  But I have to admit…when you’re obsessively calmly trying to craft a new “life-to-do-list”, this trait is also sort of a pain in the ass.  My broad interests regularly collide with the part of myself that’s craving sameness.  My quest for “beginnings” battles my internal need for stability.

I don’t have answers.  But I do have deep thoughts.  Here’s what I’ve realized…

Epiphany #1: This whole “planning your life” thing?  It’s hard when your interests veer in twenty different directions in the course of a single day.

Epiphany #2: Attempting to stick to one vocation is not only uncommon these days, the linear “path” may not fit me as well as I thought it would.

Epiphany #3: When I’m done checking off those massive items on my life to-do-list?  I’m never going to hurt for other options, other hobbies, other interests.  My extraverted personality will see to that.

Epiphany #4: Beginnings are a natural part of our life course, and they appear all the time.  The key is to embrace them, and let them work their magic.

How about you?  Regardless of the introvert/extravert piece of it, are you someone who dabbles in a lot of things?  Or do you maintain a steady few interests/pursuits?  Do you feel overwhelmed by options, or starving for them? Do you get a literal “spring” in your step when March rolls around?

Okay, it's not this bad...

This week, we’ve been discussing to-do lists.  Life to-do lists.  Cosmic to-do lists.  But one astute reader reminded me that sometimes those little items on our lists can be just as satisfying to cross off—once the bigger items have been achieved.  And as Elizabeth captured yesterday, having some concrete, achievable goals can motivate us—keep us moving forward.

This leaves me wondering…are there current goals?  Goals I can achieve in the more immediate sense, that will also bring me peace?  That will help me feel settled?  (Always that need for “settled”…it deserves its own post, I tell you.)  If I were to follow the guidance of The Happiness Project, (which accompanies me on my commute to work these days), I would start with something like…clearing my clutter. This is easy, right?  And very satisfying. Maybe I should set this goal today!  And cross it off next week!  But I have a secret…

I kinda like clutter.

Not everyone knows this about me.  I tend to hide this dirty little secret, shoving piles into drawers and preventing anyone from seeing the twisted mess of unfolded sweaters in my closet.  And it may come as a surprise to some of you readers, as I’ve frequently declared myself a lover of all things list-like.  But I have news for you.  “Planners” are not always tidy.  I can prove it.  Currently, on or around my desk, are the following items:

1.  A bright green post-it bearing a hastily written chocolate chip cookie recipe that has proven to be the Holy Grail in my ongoing quest for the perfect chocolate chip cookie recipe.  (Because I’m nice, I will share.)

2.  A phone number.  No clue whose or what.  Maybe I should call it and find out.  But I won’t.

3.  A souvenir golf ball from a course I played 7 MONTHS ago.  It sits inside a cute little box that holds notecards, which means I have to remove it every time I want to snag a notecard.

Now, before you are totally grossed out and stop reading this post, I should clarify.  I am clean.  And relatively orderly.  For example, my kitchen rarely goes without cleaning, and is actually very organized.  But the stuff in my kitchen?  It’s everywhere.  Pitchers, utensils, and bottles of olive oil.  My immaculately clean kitchen is still…cluttered.

A card I once bought. Ironically, I just found it the other day...amidst the clutter.

For some of you, just reading this declaration of clutter would be enough to drive you bonkers.  But I have to admit…none of it really bothers me.  I like my clutter.  To me, there is warmth in my clutter.  My piles—albeit relatively organized piles—create a sense of lived-in comfort.  There’s just something about seeing my stuff—being surrounded by books, pictures, notes, or balsamic vinegar—that makes me feel simply…at home.

But there is another reason I remained relatively cluttered.  It’s just not a priority.  Frequently, when I come home in the evening, I buzz around—rarely sitting—fixing my lunch for the next day, cooking dinner, and prepping my coffee for the next morning.  I can’t even count the number of times my husband has called me in from the kitchen to pat the blank space next to him on the couch and say, “Why don’t you just sit for a minute?” He’s asking me to be present. To stop bothering with the little things.

Would I feel more present–more “in the moment”–if I led a clutter-less life?  Should I add it to my -to-do list right now?  I have a very dear friend whom I visited a couple weeks ago in Seattle, and I’m always astounded by her lack of clutter.  And not only that, but I find her home soothing, relaxing, and not frenetic. Her space is homey, but free of all the junk.  But still…I can’t shake the feeling that if I truly decluttered, I’d miss the reminders, and the elements of my personality that are scattered and strewn all over our home.

So here’s my conclusion on these self-improvement lists—and “projects” that we seek to check off:  There are no easy solutions, and what works for one person (Gretchen Rubin) may not work for me.  My list must be my own.  My life to-do-list does need items more easily checked off than “have a family” and “buy a house”.  But these items will be my own priorities.  I will hold onto a reasonable degree of clutter, and live in my swirl of stuff—my cluttered, but stimulating stuff.

Am I alone on this one? Does anyone else like a lot of stuff around their house?  Or does clutter make you antsy?  What are some check-off-able things we can do to be more peaceful, and more present?

Posted by Anne

Life is full of to-do lists.  From school to retirement, we often find ourselves at the mercy of a timeline that we follow, and that someone else created.  School.  More school.  Marriage.  House.  Children.  We persist through the journey, crossing off the expected milestones—some fit us, and some may not.  Where do they come from?

Lately, I’ve been pondering my own life to-do lists.  I’ve generally followed them, and frankly these to-do lists have landed me a very good life.  It’s a life that doesn’t need to be completely erased or rewritten.  It’s a life grounded in a loving family, a solid career, caring friends, and really cute dogs.  So why am I always looking ahead to the “next step”, be it home-ownership, babies, or vacations I won’t be able to take for months or even years?

My life-to-do-list smacked me in the face last fall, on a hike with my husband.  The coastal trail we hiked was probably one of the most lush, gorgeous spots I’ve seen since moving to the Northwest.  The weekend had been so perfect—a string of pleasant and memorable moments.  So naturally, I began planning future perfect moments.  And the moments after those.  And suddenly, my mind was months and years ahead of me, nowhere near the majestic cliffs and misty skies right in front of my unappreciative face.  During the first quarter-mile, I asked my husband where he thought we’d be living next year.  I want to be settled, you know.  My husband, who is so darned comfortable with ambiguity, had no answers.  But I kept badgering him.  In the second quarter-mile, I asked him about buying a house.  When would we be ready?  Nope, no answers there either.  My pace quickened.  Oh…how about babies?  When should we start a family?  Silence.   I worked myself into a literal frenzy, until his exasperation came through, and he reminded me that he’s just trying to make it one day to the next.

I had a verifiable planning-addict meltdown on those craggy coastal cliffs.  I’ve since tried to unpack my freight-train of emotional panic because, frankly, it seems pretty unreasonable as I look back.  All I can figure is that my life has always fallen along neat timelines.  Graduate programs, temporary internships, and so forth.  Neat little segments of a life, predictable and finite; not unlike the items on the to-do lists I meticulously create every day, and dutifully cross off.  And now I’m in a phase where it’s become hard (impossible?) to predict how life will unfold.  I still have my life’s “to-do list”, with no clue how to go about checking off the milestones.  And every so often, I’m apparently emotionally unequipped to handle the ambiguity.

I’d venture to say we all have “to-do-lists”, but I wonder to what extent our “to-do-lists” are of our own design?  Is your list packed with domestic goals, travel destinations, or the pursuit of a relationship?  Since my meltdown, I’ve been on a mission (a la life in pencil), to adjust my to-do-list.  Or to at least avoid panicking when I can’t check off an item—when I need to just be patient.  Every day, I try to ignore my existential deadlines, and live.  It’s an ongoing project, and one for which I need the support of friends and family.  Because unfortunately, ambiguity isn’t going anywhere. 

What’s on your life to-do list?  Has your to-do-list given you the life you want?  Or have you ever crossed something off, and found it wasn’t all you expected?

Posted by Anne

No, this post is not about Tom Cruise. He creeps me out.

No, not the movie.  (Sorry I misled you with that picture.)  I’m talking about a different kind of risky business…the professional kind.  The kind that makes us gaze in admiration, and wonder if we’ll ever have the chance (or the guts) to pursue the proverbial “dream”.   We see these stories all the time—people who chuck their “safe” careers, and dramatically switch directions…usually resulting in some very lucky inspiring and artistic professional success.  Sometimes these brave souls even do so at the risk of losing a paycheck, or worse yet, health benefits.  But they go forth.  They say, “So long, law!”  They shout, “Hasta la Vista, Marketing!”  They make it happen.  They become writers, comedians, bakers, and actors.  They take risks.  They follow their passion.  There is both risk and passion.  And so I ask you…

Does Passion = Risk?  Or perhaps more accurately, does passion necessitate risk?

Awhile back, Gale from TenDollarThoughts contributed this guest-post, asking a very similar question.  I think it’s worth revisiting.  First off?  Let’s tackle the word “passion”.  I hear this word quite a bit in a given week.  Enter the sweet, naïve, and slightly bemused freshman.  I ask what brings him or her into my office.  They say—at age 18—“Well, I was hoping you could help me find my career passion.”  Riiight.  Let me get on that.   

Actually, I think these students are sweet.  I shouldn’t judge.  After all, I was one of them about a decade ago.  But this word “passion” gets bandied about so much, I wonder if any of us know what the heck we’re talking about awhen we use it.  Generally speaking, people are “passionate” about activities—pursuits—that they find both interesting and fulfilling.  So…why aren’t we all working careers that embody our “passion”?  A few theories…

1.  Discovering your “passion” is hard.  It’s not something you’re born with.  It’s not something that you discover in a tidy package when you’re ready to declare a college major.  It’s something you have to search for, wait for, and for which you need oodles of life experience.  It’s elusive, this passion thing.  You may have more than one passion.  And it may not come to you with clashing symbols and Oprah-esque inspiration.  But do look for it.   

2.   You’ve discovered your passion, and frankly you aren’t that skilled at it.  Recently, I gave a presentation on careers and passion for a group of students attending a weekend leadership conference.  The student organizers had chosen a video clip for us to watch.  The clip was Wanda Sykes, describing how and why she left a perfectly safe and respectable career to pursue comedy.  As she spoke about taking risks, following dreams, and ditching healthcare for a few years while she got her start, I watched the students around me.  They laughed, smiled, and felt inspired.  And so did I.  But as they reacted to the video and discussed the importance of passion, one lone voice spoke up from the back.  “What if you’re not any good at the thing you’re passionate about?”  Yes, there’s the rub.  What if Wanda Sykes wasn’t funny?  Generally speaking, I think we tend to be passionate about things for which we have at least some skill.  I don’t find a great deal of joy in, say, gardening…probably because I tend to kill plants.  Go figure.  But this student’s point was well-taken.  When the expectation is to make your passion financially viable, we raise the stakes quite a bit. 

3.  You’re unwilling to take the risk.  I asked these same students—“Is it possible to follow your passion with taking some amount of risk?”  Many of them said…no.  Perhaps it’s because we assume someone’s “passion” must be something artistic—abstract—unstable.  And so the option seems to become “either-or”.  And actually, I don’t particularly like this line of thinking.  It says to me…if you like to cook, but don’t want to open your own restaurant/bakery/catering business, then you’re out of luck.  Keep it as a hobby.  And while hobbies are fine, I have to believe there’s a middle ground—a place where we can use our passions and pursue our dreams in a slightly less dramatic fashion.  The writer who writes for their job, for example.  But you know me…I’m a change-phobe. 

I don’t have an answer for this “risk and passion” question, just as I didn’t have an answer for those students who looked at me expectantly—waiting to see if I’d illuminate how they could enjoy a “passionate” and a likewise safe existence.  If you’re working in some capacity that uses your “passion”…good for you.  And if you’re not?  I’m not sure I think it’s because you’re an inherently un-risky person.  Maybe you are.  But maybe that opportunity to blend work and passion just hasn’t found you yet.  Maybe you’re still grappling your way through discovering your passion.  It takes time.  Roll with it.  If it’s time to take a risk, I believe you’ll know.

Okay, readers…does passion necessitate risk?  And how many of you a) know what the heck your “passion(s)” is/are?  And b) Do you get to incorporate your passion into your work?  And c) Do you feel like you had to take a big risk to do so? 

Also, if you’ve got the time and want to check it out, here’s the clip the students selected for the presentation.  Enjoy!

Posted by Anne 

You can discover more about a person in an hour of play than in a year of conversation.
-Plato

Do you agree with Plato?  I admit—I struggle with this quote.  As someone who thoroughly enjoys a good gab-fest (preferably accompanied by caffeine), it’s hard to imagine anything as effective as conversation when it comes to connecting with another person.  And yet—this quote has been on my mind lately. 

I heard this little Plato nugget for the first time last week at a large gathering for all the Student Affairs professionals at my university.  (You know, the perky people who work for universities—not as professors—but the “life” educators.)  As a group, we gather about 3 times a year to listen to our Dean or Provost talk about our work, our students, and our goals.  There’s usually coffee.  And discussion.  I like these kinds of meetings.  But this one was different.  After the usual “state of the union” (as I call it) by our Vice Provost, we were divided into 3 different groups, and asked to participate in a series of “healthy” activities aimed at creating more “balance” and “self-care”. This may seem foreign to some of you in the corporate world, but to me?  This actually seemed quite normal.  But there was a hitch.  One of the rotations indicated two different options for some form of play.  That’s right…play.  One was even…juggling.  When I read the schedule, I had three immediate thoughts…

1. Isn’t there some alternative option?  Do I really need to juggle this morning to achieve balance in my life? 
2. If I do participate in the juggling, how on earth am I supposed to hold my coffee?
3. Seriously…there’s got to be some other option.   

As it turns out, there were some alternatives.  One on mindfulness and meditation, and one involving some reflection and quiet contemplation.  They were nice and quiet.  I didn’t have to interact with anyone else.  I was able to hold my coffee.  And you know?  They did nothing for me.  Probably because I already do a boat-load of “reflecting” in my life, these activities actually fell a little flat.  And so I wonder—would I have been better off playing?  And even more distressing…

Am I becoming un-fun?

I’ve been thinking about Plato’s words.  The people I know best in this world are the ones who’ve joined me in side-splitting laughter.  Thought I adore a great conversation with my husband, when was the last time we played a game together?  Why must I always connect with people through my conversation? 

No, I’m not going to take up juggling.  But perhaps there are easier ways to begin?  Just a couple days ago, I opened my email to find (hooray!) an e-vite.  And even better…for a totally random evening of fun.  What’s on the docket?  Games.  I’ll be honest.  I didn’t used to be a big fan of “game” parties.  Why can’t we just sip our wine and chat?  But something has happened.  I’m craving play now.  And so my reaction when I read that evite about the prospect of games and laughter was…utter joy.  A perfect opportunity to begin…to add play back into my oh-so-reflective life. 

Today, my sister (in blogging and real-life) posted a lovely entry about Ash Wednesday, and how she’s adding to her routine rather than giving something up.  I’m going to copy her…Icopied her when we were kids, so why not now?  Her “addition” during Lent is far more noble, but oh well…I will act the part of the younger and less responsible sister today.  Because I’m adding…playtime. It will begin on Friday.  I’m going to change.  I’m going to sacrifice a little reflection, and add a little play.  I’m going to be fun as well as reflective.  And I’ll report back next week…

How often do you “play”?  Is it easier to play when you have kids?  Or are you more of a conversation kind of person?

Posted by Anne

There are people who detest Valentine’s Day—who proclaim the pointlessness of the annual “day of love”, and who boycott the Hallmark festivities.  I’m not one of those people.  There are people who adore Valentine’s Day—who devise cutesy gifts and clever outings for their loved ones.  I’m not one of those people either.  No, I’m more Valentine’s-neutral—glad it’s not a source of sadness or loneliness for me, but not eager to jump into all the February hoopla.  But no matter how you feel about it, it’s hard not to think about the L-word at least a little bit each February 14^th. 

Love.  Sometimes I wonder how many times I’ve truly been in love.  I think it’s safe to say I’m ridiculously in love with my husband, but yesterday—as I dove into the ubiquitous, cellophane-wrapped box of Russell Stovers chocolates—I thought about the other loves. The past loves.  The crushes.  And I thought about change.

You see, back when I was single, I wasn’t such a change-phobe.  Desperate (yes, desperate) to find a love of my own, I must have viewed change as a necessary cost of finding that love.  How else can I explain the multiple girlfriend identities I tried on from age 22 to age 26?  I once read a comic little book called The 10 Women You’ll Be Before You’re 35.   In it, the author reflects upon the chameleon-like quality of women as they search for love, stability, and identity in their 20’s and early 30’s.  I was no exception.  There was…

Intense-Runner-Girl
I’ll never forget the day I ran 8 miles for the first time.  Sure, I already ran pretty regularly, but only sensible distances—4 miles tops.  When my friends asked why on earth I ran 8 miles and acquired some brutal blisters, I was honest.  “A guy,” I said.  Over the next few months, I was introduced to lycra, ran a half-marathon, lost 8 pounds, and had my heart broken.  I still run.  Just not quite that much.  Some of those pounds found me again—along with my sense of self.  

Indie-Rock Girl
The ability to name-drop bands you’ve seen live.  The ability to pull off hipster clothes from Urban Outfitters. I tried both (with only marginal success on the hipster-clothing part), all for the sake a few dudes who caught my eye and strummed me some tunes on their acoustic guitars.  Man, it was cliché.  But man, I was a sucker for the dude with the guitar.  I developed quite the collection of burned cd’s from these guys—just couldn’t manage to collect a relationship. 

Granola Girl
Yeah, I pretty much tried on this phase whenever introduced to a messy-looking cutie wearing a fleece and khakis of questionable cleanliness.  Meet a guy who camps regularly and loves his trees?  Find an environment science major?  Enter “granola Anne”—sort of an oxy-moron really.  Sure, I’m on the earthy side, but hippie I’m not.  Fortunately, this phase was useful in preparing me for a future life in the Northwest.  Bonus! 

Okay, so I exaggerate a little.  In actuality, I’ve always been someone to maintain a pretty solid sense of self. And when I think about it, those three personas weren’t all that far out in left field.  I do love music.  But I liked many kinds of music—not just indie rock.  And I do like being active.  But I love many forms of activity—not just running my guts out.  And I do love trees and fleece—but I love silk and pearls as well.  In short, I’m like any woman—multidimensional.  So maybe…I wasn’t changing myself for each prospective suitor.  No, I was just limiting myself.  Making myself one-dimensional, when all I needed was someone to appreciate my natural complexity.   

I believe that one reason my current relationship works is because it allows my dimensions.  It allows me to move from hiking boots to sundresses, from hip bands to not-so-hip opera.  It allows the healthy kind of change.   The kind of change I like. The kind that doesn’t box me in to one hobby or one wardrobe.  It allows me just to be.

I hope you had a great weekend, whether you celebrated Valentine’s or not…and that you spent it with people who let you change—or who let you stay the same—who let you just be.  

Did you ever adopt a phase or identity for the sake of potential love?  Anyone do anything fun for Valentine’s?  Or do you sorta ignore the holiday? 

Posted by Anne

Elizabeth and I have written many letters to each other over the past 5 years.  Many.  Each is special, and each is distinct.  But every so often, there are letters—stories—that stand out from the others.  Elizabeth’s favorite has always been my “Stink Burger Letter”, which she referenced back in August.  We’ve received at least one request for the Stink Burger story (thank you Kitchen Witch!), and since it’s an apropos story for Life in Pencil, I will indulge (or bore) you.  Enjoy.  

Once upon a time, I decided to get my PhD.  And deep into my doctoral education, I temporarily burned out.  I was tired.  Weary.  Done.  Confused.  And so I did what any privileged 20-something would do.  I went on a road trip—alone—on a self proclaimed “summer of self-discovery and relaxation”.  My journey took me coast to coast, and along the way, I landed in Flagstaff, Arizona.  This was to be my home-base for some important activities.  In typical Anne fashion, I had it all planned:  1) Hike in Grand Canyon, 2) Fly-fish in Grand Canyon, 3) Gain insight about my purpose in this world while doing said activities.  Good list, right? 

I made it through my Grand Canyon hike.  I’ll spare you the details, as I know you’re more concerned about the Stink Burger situation.  Suffice to say that the hike was beautiful, dusty, lonely, and hot as hell.  So that evening, I did what any wise traveler would do when feeling physically exhausted and lonely.  I looked for a really good meal. 

Enter…the Stink Burger.  I got back to town, cleaned off the canyon dust, and headed to a nearby microbrewery.  The “Stink Burger” had come highly recommended, and I’m not one to argue with layers of meat, roasted garlic cloves (hence the name), and an onion ring piled high on a bun.  I settled into a beat-up wooden chair, and the waiter looked at me a little suspiciously, clearly wondering why this slightly sad-looking woman was alone…in a bar…ordering a big greasy burger.  I matched his gaze, and then I ordered that Stink Burger with confidence!  With gusto!  It arrived, and I was thrilled to tuck in, having truly earned my dose of saturated fat.  (Hiking + existential soul-searching burns tons of calories, in case you’re wondering.)  The hunks of garlic were soft and mild, and the onion ring was so perfect I considered ordering an entire side of them.  I wrote a letter to my sweetie (now my hubby), read a few pages of a book, and washed down that mighty stink burger with a malty brown ale.  I was feeling better already.  And then… 

The crippling food poisoning didn’t hit until the next morning, getting ready to head out for activity #2, fly-fishing.  And when it hit, it hit big.  There I was, a pitiful lonely traveler trapped in my room in an Arizona hostel, puking my guts out.  And let me tell you folks, a hostel is not the ideal location if you’re suffering the ramifications of a poorly cooked Stink Burger.  I kept hoofing it down the hall to the bathroom, where well-meaning, patchouli-scented hippies would stare at me, but never speak.  I must have looked odd to them—pale, unhappy, and lacking a guitar in my hand or a mellow smile on my face. 

I spent the next 24 hours face-down on my hostel mattress, listening to the sound of the train outside my window, and replayed the same question, over and over in my head.  What the hell am I doing here?  I wished I had a friend with me.  My boyfriend.  My sister.  ANYONE who knew me.  I thought I felt lonely at the rim of the Canyon.  Nope…this was loneliness.  Puking over a Stink Burger in a likewise stinky hostel. 

I tried to remember why I was taking this trip.  Something to do with feeling overwhelmed, growing weary of graduate school, and needing an escape.  And I guess I thought I needed to “escape” totally on my own.  I was only partially right.

That entire trip, I felt free, which was exactly how I wanted to feel.  But I’d never expected that freedom to feel so hollow.  Back at the canyon’s rim, I was surrounded by people…couples, families, and grandparents in embroidered t-shirts and awkward-looking baseball caps.  For that whole day, I stared at people.  At little kids delightfully licking ice cream cones.  At parents attempting to take pictures of their too-cool-for-canyon teenagers. And I stared at the canyon—surreal and massive. 

Did my “summer of self-discovery” accomplish what I had intended?  Well, yes and no.  I learned that as much as I love adventures and exploration, I had reached a point where I was very ready to share them with other people.  It was the beginning of my need to feel…you guessed it…settled.  And I learned something else.  In case you’re wondering, you can’t plan the contents of your own existential awakening.  And my Stink Burger was proof.  

The End. 

Ever gone on a trip to shake things up?  Discover yourself?  Any traveling misadventures to share?