Every Day Prelude

Getting there

2008-09-21T14:24:00.001-07:00

It's been too long since I "wrote", though this is hardly writing. Tapping isn't writing. Writing makes your middle finger calloused and your wrist a bit sore (an unfortunate side effect of making tapping your exclusive means of communicating).

I miss the written word, but it's found me since I've been in Chicago. Inching up on two months now, incidentally. Sometimes I feel robbed of the time that has passed. So much of it has been spent worrying. I had a chat with my mom yesterday about how all the worrying we do is so inconclusive; so perfectly useless. It make me mad when I do it and can't snap out of it. That's where I was at last week. My counselor and I talk about it quite a bit. She says things like "Don't be so hard on yourself" (she's just getting to know me, folks) and "You need to give these new habits some time."

I am facing a lot while I'm here that I've been delaying for many years.

It's not just being where my dad was and him not being here anymore.

It's not just having to search for grass, and planning a commute that can't really be planned (thank you, CTA).

It's much, much deeper than that. I am facing my fear of inadequacy. My fear of challenge, and subsequent failure. I am facing this under the guise of some oppressive personalities. I'm going through a lot, and honoring that.

But what's even more work is to understand that this transition is precisely what had to happen. I couldn't continue safely tiptoeing through life. Well, I could but eventually, all of my insecurities would have bubbled up and I'd have a baby on one arm, inching toward 40 and the change would be much more difficult to traverse.

And so I'm grateful. And not just because this is happening, but because I have the backdrop and landscape I've always wanted. I have a beautiful home, a unwavering husband and the safety and security of having planned well so far.

So I face the challenges, still. And will continue to do so. . . confident that I have to go through this to feel good.

Catharsis

2008-09-07T15:28:00.001-07:00

The sun and the rhythm of the train are at my back. Both are creatures of habit, same as me, and when the sun sets it's a different kind of pacing that the El takes on. . . it's slow and lazy and rippling with an underbelly. The wind is blowing today too, and there's cold air coming soon. The fallout of what was to be a ferocious storm that thankfully wasn't.

I'm sitting here basking in the warmth that comes when the breeze stops, and loving the brush of chill on the back of my neck. It's this up and down feeling of wanting a sweater and hanging on just another few breaths, showing up the chill to keep my spot in the sun's path.

I fight against urges like this all the time. It's part of what's made me sad when I've had sad moments the past month and a half. I don't like upticks in tempo, especially when I specifically asked for something lento. I'm the conductor of this here life, but I haven't been lately. . . and I can't be until I give in and go with the flow.

I am about to grow and it's going to be an amazing thing. This experience I'm having will teach me something, I just can't see past a huge pillar of negative energy that stands before me. I'm struggling to see the good instead of focusing on the good. That's disturbing. That's where I need help.

But what I do know is what happens next is the stuff that will be transformative. It will be hard, and it will hurt and I will struggle and then. . . it will be calm, and ok and breezy. With just an occasional rumble on the rickety tracks.

I really forgot what it's like to grow. Sometimes it requires a lot of self and a proactive approach and other times you're just thrust into a place, and you have to decide to bear it and prosper or stay shy and never know what could have been.

To coming out from under it all. . . and (eventually) rising above.

I'm a believer

2008-09-01T08:51:00.000-07:00

Once you realize you are in charge, things change. Something occurred to me this weekend about my role in this transition I'm undergoing. The reality is that much of it is in my control. How I respond to the force that brings negative energy, how I approach situations. . . I don't have the toolbox yet to make it 100 percent successful, but that's what the next month is about. Gathering the resources and tools I need to get going on making this transition a success for me.

It won't be easy. I can say that I lack motivation because of a bully at work, but I shouldn't be motivating for her or for anyone else. I should do it for me, and give myself the opportunity to shine. Really try my hardest, not just pretend. And reap the rewards of doing my best, my real best, which is a best I have yet to discover I think.

That's the hardest part about all of this is the self-discovery. I remember lying in bed at night growing up and my legs would hurt quite literally from growing pains. What's happening now hurts too. It's all-consuming and daunting and difficult, but I think, if looked at another way, it's a real test of my stamina and ability to weather change. Up until now, I've been less than good at both.

But I have to get good at it now because, if not at this gig, it will be at another that I'm put to the test. There will be more transitions in life. Many more. And I have to believe in myself that I can do it. For me. Not for anyone else.

Amazing what a foreign feeling that is. And so, I leave you with the high/low of this weekend. High was seeing Meredith and Pete yesterday. Good grief, we wish they lived here.

Low was the ongoing self-doubt and inability to accept this gift I've been given, to live in a great place and be with my great husband and conquer challenges I've never had to face AND be successful. I'm working on that one, but it may be a low for awhile. Patience please!

Attack

2008-08-27T16:10:00.000-07:00

My mom sent me an email this morning with the subject line "attack". Awesome. Can't wait to open that one. Much to my chagrin, a woman was assaulted last night only two blocks away outside of our local grocery store. These were all the details I had so of course I was a little shaken, but it's the "Big City". This shit happens, so to speak.

Come to find out she told two homeless people, when approached for a cigarette, that they should "Get a job." They bashed her teeth in and she's in critical condition at Northwestern Hospital.

So there's a couple things there that, for me, would never happen. I don't generally talk to homeless folk. It's not out of spite or malice or anything evil. It's just self-defense. Sadly most of the forgotten are mentally ill and any sudden movement or eye cast sideways could be a trigger. I'm not being dramatic, I'm being realistic. Engaging is tough, though it's incredibly hard to ignore the despair and destitution that sits under your nose and idles alongside you down the street.

I also never say anything derogatory. It's just not necessary. Being homeless is dehumanizing enough. I can imagine you become invisible, desperate and, to some, sub-human. It makes my stomach tighten out of the conflict of whether to help or not and whether any help is really doing any good. More than a dollar or a carton of food, I'd like to send them to a shelter, get them off drugs, give them some professional training. . . intervene on the state of affairs.

The city is an amazing and tragic place all at once. I was walking past Salvatore Ferragamo today on Michigan Ave. thinking who has the gaul to buy a $2,000 handbag. In an overt display of irony, a homeless man held a sign asking, "Money for beer, please. If you were me, you'd ask too."

Whereas in Michigan I was pleasantly, passively ignorant to dire straits, it's right here in my face every day, every block. For a reason.

Getting real

2008-08-24T18:38:00.000-07:00

I got a runner's high today, so now I kind of get it. . . there's so much going on in my brain that I needed to get next to water and breathe in semi-fresh air and be amongst the elements. I pounded the pavement and felt the pain and felt better. It's important to do this. Critical, as a matter of fact.

And I've been striving to feel better for some time now. My approach has changed. A lot of it is due to my forever and always partner in crime, Miss Angela. You see, I'm nice. I've always been nice and truly I always will be. But there are situations in life where I have to stick up for myself and I often don't do a good job. Sometimes that's inconsequential, but with what I'm faced with right now I can't afford to roll over and take it. Oy.

I'm going to ask for what I need and tell it like it is. I am going to avoid getting angry by coaching and making sure I'm not only heard, but listened to. At the end of the day, everyone around me just wants my best. Little do some know that, to get my best, I require a little food and water. A specific kind. Good news is, I'm not afraid to share with anyone what that is.

And that's what changes tomorrow. Was the weekend still polluted with worrying and anxiety? Shit yeah. But that's my M.O. more often than not. What's different is I get to begin reaping the benefits of being assertive. Calm and assertive.

I'll keep you posted.

Bully in the China Shop

2008-08-21T18:26:00.001-07:00

Holy rollercoaster, Batman. It's no mistake that I haven't posted in weeks. I've been under a lot of stress. Invisible, toxic stress that I'm rather finished with at this point. There is one person in my new sphere that doesn't get it. She's a bully and I haven't encountered one in a long time.

I officially hit rock bottom, but as with drug addicts around the world, the rock bottom is where reality sets in. The fact that I have choices in life; in particular with my attitude, my approach. . . me, period. I'm going to need some new tools to get through this new phase, so I'll enlist some help and build up my arsenal.

I've just been protected from negativity for so long. Was able to surround myself with goodness with relative ease. The walls of the fortress were largely impenetrable and when someone did come knocking, they went away after too long.

Not now. There's one under my nose, fighting for my spirit. I can't look down or it's over. But I need to figure out how to stay focused on the path ahead. I didn't come equipped with that skill and now I have a lot of learning to do.

Friends, this will not be what defines me, this struggle between good and reasonable and somewhat evil and irrational. But it will test me and just as with anything it's up to me to pass the test or not. Either way, failure won't happen.

Day by day.

On the Same Page

2008-08-11T18:32:00.000-07:00

I can say with some certainly that part of my reason for being is to translate. Not in the traditional sense, from English to Spanish and back, for example. Rather reading and deciphering body language; staying attune to behavior and responding in such a way that I'm still good. I'm still in the clear, because I get it.

I'd say it's a talent, but I've always been a listener to things both loud and imperceptible. It bodes well for me in professional environments in particular. My boss today likened me to one of the Olympians on the U.S. Olympic team.

*waiting for laughing to subside* *seeing irony and laughing myself*

On every team, there's someone who rides the middle, grounds the rest and keeps everything in tune. I absorb dissonant sounds and sponge negativity so it ends at my feet, lying like a fallen branch. There's no room for that in my tree as it were. Turns out, other people know this, sense this, hire me for this. My boss called me an anchor today. Like the gymnast on the U.S. squad, whom the NBC announcer praised. I'm a necessary part of any ship that's otherwise powerful but needs to stop and take a rest and just sway for awhile.

I find it pretty cool that those who have known me for ten days get that about me. It was one of my dad's greatest gifts. The calm in the storm, staying the course, gently rocking. . . but safe and still. It's my hope that my influence in an otherwise tumultuous landscape of cubes can help steady the course a bit here in Chicago.

I'm supposed to be here. . . doing this.

Being still

2008-08-09T17:07:00.000-07:00

It's been a long time since I was still. Not necessarily in the physical sense, but mentally. . . just quiet in my head and my body and able to take a deep breath and just be alive and here and present and feel good.

This week was not a good one. I am not at home. Home isn't where you live it's who you live with. Marc's arrival tomorrow has been much anticipated and long overdue. I've survived but I still feel like a visitor, out of place. . . like a swatch of plaid in a sea of white linen. Exposed and vulnerable.

Maybe I'm being dramatic, but the characters in my current landscape are challenging. I came from a place where the love was exponential, especially on the job. Now, I have to work for that love. It's a bit like getting a divorce, and now I have to date again. Or so I imagine.

So I had a breakdown. It's over now. I talked it out with my new cohort Karin. She's new too. Newbies often gravitate to each other because we get it. . . that this is hard and out-of-body and, most importantly, temporary. I told her that we needed to vent together but even more than that. . . I need to hear when she's had bright spots, and I'll tell her mine. I can't get down and out. Not yet, and not here.

After all that, my mom stood by and made me good food and let me relax so that today I can sit and just be still. She helps me hit reset, and set the tone for greeting my tired, weary and a little bit sad husband tomorrow. And then we can be still together.

Getting into the groove

2008-08-06T19:08:00.000-07:00

Good things about being in Chicago.

1) My job lets me work on amazing projects. Some are top secret, but all are socially responsible, environmentally aware and extremely challenging. That's rad.
2) Walking home from work next to a beautiful park with a big ol' bean.
3) Smith & Wollensky with Mary Pat, Amanda and Chris.
4) Thai food with Dan.
5) Mom at a moment's notice.
6) More Mom at a moment's notice.

Bad things about being in Chicago.

1) Work. I mean, it's work, people.
2) Nothing to absorb the sound of thunder. It's like Beirut out there when it rains.
3) There is a Fannie Mae within 100 steps of my cube. I love chocolate. You do the math.
4) Everything costs two arms and two legs. Where's my $5 burrito bowl?
5) Strategic planning when it comes to transportation.

So see? It's pretty even, but tonight was especially great. It was breezy, warm and righteous. My walk after work led me to dinner with family and several, several drinks later, I bid them adieu, climbed in a cab and got home to a cozy place (yes, it's becoming cozy) feeling like I hit my stride. I'm up to my ears already, but I love being here. I love the sound of being busy and walking on Wabash in the morning, past the tall man with red and orange hair, crossing paths with the same mother and child.

It's becoming my neighborhood. I'm starting to get it. . . it even feels good to sleep here. That's the stuff.

So, it's weird. . .

2008-08-03T19:40:00.000-07:00

You are now entering Emily's stream of consciousness.

I'm an independent person, but even so. . . I'd rather not be alone. Though Friday and Saturday were full of other voices and plans, Sunday was a bit vacant. It's a weird thing to admit the tug and pull of being alone. It's hard to reconcile. All at once you're grateful and lamenting.

It's all temporary of course, and for that I'm lucky. Marc will be here permanently next weekend. We've got a lot of work ahead of us, and he's got some fantastic opportunities on the horizon. All in all, we're on top of the world. . . but it's this limbo that's a bit frustrating. It's interesting to me that I tend to veer toward being sad and overwhelmed, as opposed to upbeat and excited for the next adventure.

I chalk it up to being alone. And yet, of course, I'm not. My mom, family and some of my closest friends are near by (around the corner in some cases). Which is why I think it's more than just being geographically alone in this fantastic condo. . . it's the idea that it's all up to me now. There's something about this move that has elevated me to adulthood, even though my mom is closer than ever. It's the beat of the city that requires maturity. The tone of the commute and the work I do that make me straighten my back and approach things with care.

There's nothing to be taken for granted here and perhaps it's because of that (and having the ability to know better) I approach each day with resolve. It can be exhausting, sure, but in the same way I honor Michigan. . . I honor this time.

Knowing full well that I will look back months and years from now and smile at the grimace with which I approached a Sunday night alone. It's all part of this process. In that, the rhythm of transition, I take solace.

Friday is Funday

2008-08-01T14:27:00.000-07:00

And so the week comes to a close. Excitement for a beer on the roof, a night with the hubs and a long restful sleep are propelling me through these last couple of hours at my office in the sky. It’s been a good week, but not without pause and a little bit of pain. I always anticipated this transition to be nothing short of miraculous. A-ha moments left and right and the sky would open up with nothing but showers of joy.

Right.

This is tough, as there’s rarely a respite from living in the present. . .which turns out to be just as involved as living in the future. I don’t think that there’s anything terribly philosophical about what I’m going through. No need to take a deep dive into the nether regions of the brain and analyze. My body says that it’s just tough. It’s a transition. Take it slow, take it in and take advantage of all the good and opportunity around.

It’s nothing to shrug at.

So, to keep my energy up, I must dive into the culinary scene, tackle the nightlife and emerge victorious. I must gain 20 lbs. (please god, no) but at the same time, revel in my walks home and runs along the lake. Bikes will emerge from the garage and we can pedal to party around town. Mobility is everywhere. It’s vibrant. The concrete is hot and people are moving fast and it’s hard not to get energized.

Tick-tock, and so it begins. BlackBerry charged. Laptop powering down and an elevator ride down into the heat and hunger of the weekend.

Reunited

2008-07-30T20:26:00.000-07:00

Debbie and I have been friends for almost eight years. I met her in college. I met her when she was dating the love of her life, Doug, who I soon fell in love with. I moved away, but came back for her beautiful wedding, wearing satin and walking down the aisle. She's a special person in my life, no doubt.

And now we get to be together.

One of the most magical parts of our move are reunions like this. It's hardly an isolated incident. I have so many loved ones at my fingertips now I hardly know what to do and where to start with the long overdue catch-up and long awaited hugs and late night giggles. They are the friends, the family, who saw me grow up in one way or another. Be it from toddler to teenager, or from teenager to a "real person". Each time I see these special folk, I am transported back to a time when the final pages of a chapter turned. It makes me remember where I came from and simultaneously propels me to keep going.

There are special people in Chicago. My hope is that I can continue to write, as it brings me closer to them, and that my traversing the terrain of transition with only minor bumps will inspire my dear friends to do what they've been waiting to do.

Whatever it is. . . I'll be there.

Up and Down

2008-07-29T19:40:00.001-07:00

And so it goes that all transitions ride the rollercoaster rails. Tangibly, today was no different than yesterday. Many, many meetings, a venti skinny vanilla latte, a jaunt outside for a breath of fresh. . .

But every day feels different and it's all part of the adaptation process I'm convinced. So, as I've learned to do through the years (especially since my dad died), I'm embracing what comes my way. I can acknowledge that though I feel the stress bubbling up, that tomorrow will come regardless of projects getting completed. Not just that but it's a chance to approach challenging situations with a new attitude.

I'm challenged a lot here. From getting up early after sleeping little to beating the heat and stink of the rickety El platform and jockeying for a spot on the train that doesn't involve my skin touching someone else's. Put another way, it's all adjusting. Some of it's good (most of it's good) and some of it is just plain annoyance, frustration and fear of having to change.

That said, far be it for me to every say no to a good challenge. And so Wednesday awaits.

Even Better Than. . .

2008-07-28T19:43:00.000-07:00

What a day. Following my requisite horrible-night-before-big-day sleeping habits, I didn't exactly awake bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for the first day at the new job. Nonetheless, full of excitement and anticipation, I walked to the Roosevelt El stop, hopped on the Green Line and was at my desk 30 minutes after embarking for a joyous inauguration.

Sticky with the humidity of summer in Chicago, I landed safely at this new home of mine and was greeted with smiles and an anticipation that mirrored my sentiments. Positive vibes flowed everywhere and once we got beyond the W-4's, I began to see my new role take shape. Friends, this was a good choice. The reaffirmation I felt throughout the day and deep into my gut made me feel so full. The expectations are realistic; they want to me to succeed, not be thrown into an abyss of new passwords, admins, perks and portals. Support rallied around me on everything from IT (the best guys) to a lovely lunch by the Chicago River. There will never be another team like the one I left, but this one is exceptional still.

My supervisor told me I don't need to dazzle. I already did. That's why they hired me. Their excitement at having me and my leadership style around was equal to mine for what's next. The work will be good. So meaty and focused; so me.

It was worth the wait to get to this place. Serendipity has befallen, and I'm reveling. My walk home from work wasn't brisk, but it was refreshing and warm. I broke away from the crowds quickly, walking paralel to the green lawn of Grant Park. People danced in fountains, sat on the steps of the Art Institute and suits walked bulldogs and greyhounds in and around trees. There's such a feeling of relief at quitting time in the city. A chance to take the after hours by storm. . . make the most of the sunshine that will be so missed when lake effect comes to town.

Very tired, so fulfilled, and still so eager to see what happens next. Even a week later, it still feels like every day is my birthday.

Traffic

2008-07-27T18:40:00.001-07:00

Usually, a Sunday in Chicago ends early. Marc and I pack up our suitcases after lunch, load up the car and begin the long, very straight, and thus arduous, trek back to Royal Oak. We equally lament the voyage and the day that comes next.

Today, this Sunday of mine, is a special one. The sun has set, the lights are dim. . . and I'm still here. That's because Chicago is now, finally, home. With the dim sounds of horns and clackety-clack tracks in the background, feelings evolve to excitement and anticipation, replacing some great sadness and anxiety. It's an odd thing to want something for so long and finally have it under your feet, ringing in your ears and blowing through your fingers walking on the lakefront.

I'm home, but it's not the same as when I left. It's concrete and crowded. It's bustling and beautiful. It's a big city, full of opportunity and adventure that I will get to experience with my beloved, my mom and dear family and friends. . . it holds memories I can't wait to document and stories I will tell for a lifetime. This humbling transition of mine is unlike any other. It is here I will put down roots.

But let me first pay homage to the many things I've left in the name of this voyage. The transition has not been without tears of all sorts but mostly shed to honor what I leave behind: dear friends (sisters, really), an incredible job I loved so much I wanted to stay through the hardships, our apartment ("our" being the operative word), reliable Chinese, Lebanese and Mexican outposts (the best whole lentil soup around at Grape Leaves). I will miss all of these things as a new reality forms. But I weave them intimately into my life, carefully sewing lessons learned next to loves gained and life's biggest loss. It all happened in Michigan.

Michigan is where I grew up. It's where I found my own way, before finding Marc and building our way. I will always be fond of the Mile roads, Eminem, Coney Islands and "up north." Thank you, all of you (and you know who you are), who helped me evolve as both passive observers and conscious actors. Without you, I wouldn't have the confidence and drive to do what I had to do. And so it begins. . . again.

It was only connecting

2007-08-06T18:02:00.000-07:00

I may or may not have a friend having an affair. No, she's not sleeping with anyone. She's telling him about the men before, the pain after and the toil of finding someone to bed, someone to wed. She's sharing philosophy and faith, carefully peeling back the layers of her reservations to expose herself.

But she's not naked. She's completely clothed, even though her heart wants to leap out of her chest and find a home tucked safely near his. I don't even think they want to have sex. They just want to exchange nothings and everythings and carry on with limitations.

I'm told that's part of the fun.

He looks at her like a woman. Not a wife, not a mother. . . a woman with ambition. I get it. I really do. There comes a point where the work of a marriage is no longer fun in its minutiae. When it really does become minutiae. But fantasy is reckless, I tell her. What's in it for you? Does it keep you full longer than the brief encounter? Does it rock your world when you're hungover and bloated or on your knees scrubbing the floor?

You can't fall back on fantasy. It's not there for you when you transition.

Just be mindful, missy. Be mindful.

The eve

2007-07-22T19:30:00.000-07:00

Sunday nights are tough. This is nothing new. My brain runs a constant monologue of woulda, coulda, shouldas about the weekend; about my life. Friends who have come 'round these parts of late will know that I'm in an introspective valley, feeling thoughtful and a bit out of place. I get angry at myself more these days, ignoring the obvious advice to stop comparing myself to others and understanding that it is what it is, this life I lead.

Sunday nights, my head flops onto the pillow with a deep sigh. Is it a beginning or an end, this night before we return to our desks? What Monday brings is what the weekend hides behind a leisurely read of the New York Times, a long walk with the one you love where the quality of conversation is unrivaled. Reality goes unnoticed because you sleep with the windows open and you sleep long and hard. You choose to be stirred and then only to make an omelette, start off on a bike ride, let your heavy thoughts, future thoughts, fall to your toes.

I want to take back Sunday nights. To be outside of myself a bit more and find the rhythm of the week's preparation less demanding. I want to be thankful for having an evening where I happen to notice the summer sunset and fall asleep, without commotion, with quiet confidence that Monday is going to be just fine. A lot like Sunday in fact.

The Trio

2007-06-08T20:53:00.000-07:00

I've always been in a family of three. My parents had just one little. And they ("they" being behavioral psychologists) say only children often find themselves in the company of the oldest, when it comes to vows and commitment. So my husband fit the profile. That's the only reason I married him. That and his lustrous hair. *snicker*

My mom and I shared a few tears over our martinis tonight. Not sobbing, mascara-running messes of tears. Just gratitude liquefied. You see, even though my dad died almost three years ago, she's grateful. She realizes how lucky her life was and is and how recalling the sorrow of losing a life partner is omnipresent enough that wallowing is counter-productive. I know it almost sounds too logical, but it's her way.

I don't think about my dad much. I don't feel guilty about it either, because that's how it's supposed to be. I'm grateful because, as I approach 30, I know what my mom has realized to be true. And I know it now.

I'm still part of a trio. It's just evolved to include an oldest, with the biggest of hearts. . . and hair to be envied.

Mobility

2007-06-03T17:22:00.000-07:00

The mystique of urban living is romantic in its mobility. If you want an ice cream cone, a shirt pressed or a new bauble for a party on Saturday night, everything is within a brisk walk to the destination or at least to the public transport that will take you there. I used to think Michigan, unless you lived on the strip of bacchanalia in Birmingham, Ann Arbor or Royal Oak, was void of these opportunities. Marc and I discovered otherwise.

We bought a shopping cart. We will walk 10 minutes to Meijer. (10 minutes! Though I abhor the layout of Meijer. It's far too close to Wal-Mart in layout and florescence and I like my salespeople with teeth. Call me a snob. I know you did.) We will cart home our wares and find great satisfaction in knowing we're on foot together and leaving our polluters at home to wait out the weekend until Monday when we have to climb in, turn the ignition and sit in traffic.

Walking is liberating. It's simple. It's unavoidable for some things (walking to the printer, walking to the bathroom, walking to the fridge). But we've avoided it for so long when it's been right under our, well, feet.

Embracing walking. . .

Just tell me which way you like it. . .

2007-03-11T18:12:00.001-07:00

Justin Timberlake is having the year. Actually, I should say THE year. Positive press abounds, his album is fantastic by all accounts (not just screaming tweens, but critics and middle aged men alike), he is sleeping with the hottest women in H'Wood and, and, and. . . well, it's just stellar.

My friend and I ventured out to his FutureSex/LoveSounds concert last night. We sat down just as he got up to get down, as they say. Wow. The boy can move, groove, sing, play (guitar and piano) and the whole production puts it easily in the top five concerts I've never seen.

My friend remarked that she wondered where he would be when we're, say, 40. Will he lust for peanut butter and banana sandwiches and get chubby and leave us too soon? Or will his talent continue to stay relevant even as his hair grays?

Either way, boy is in his prime. Undeniably. It was a super treat to watch. Yum, yum.

Alpha dudes

2007-03-07T20:38:00.000-08:00

Normally, when the work day ends, my desire to interact, much less engage, with other human beings is non-existent. Tonight, however, I encountered a large Canadian man. An alpha man. And he taught me, and other eager women, how to work with men like him. You know, the men in our corner offices. . . the men with Breitling watches and Bentleys to boot. Because if you're not working for yourself, you're probably working for one of them. Or at least a junior alpha working toward this status. . .

I love when motivational speakers are actually motivating. This Canadian was that and more, as I checked my watch once. . . and at 9:30. He's 33, sold his company for tens of millions of dollars and now coaches women how to succeed (and actually stay) in the board room. It's always fun to hear how the other side thinks (think Venus and Mars). No news flash here that, even in business, men think simply (and succinctly). . . and some of the tips prove this so.

In business, women should. . .

1. Not take things personally. Ever.
2. Speak in terms of goals. . . not process.

Neither of these tips are new. I've gradually molded myself into a communicator who takes this approach, and more, as I approach my own alpha. I don't aspire to have a Bentley, or even a BMW. . .

My Emily Alpha persona looks something like this: daily challenges, feeding young practitioners with motivation and the fuel for confidence, giving what I can to assist those who have little and being a good wife and a good daughter.

That's all the alpha I need. . . oh, did I mention a beach house in Christchurch, NZ? Ex-pats, here we come.

Funny is sexy

2007-03-06T19:04:00.000-08:00

I often discuss, with a particular friend of mine, the hotness of a funny man.

The irony, of course, is that these funny men are not often the high school quarterback. . . the dude. But who really wants one of those? Dudes beget OLD high school quarterbacks who probably, unabashedly, house their letterman jacket in the garage in a vacuum-sealed bag next to the cyrogenic cube that holds their class ring. You dig? Sorry, folks. We're talking in stereotypes today.

But those dudes * insert long frustrated sigh at their existence* have never quite had an appeal to me and my friends. Not one of us settled down with a dude, though we've dated them for sport.

Do dudes even settle down?

The point is. . . Jim Gaffigan? The hotness. Stephen Colbert? I argue not as hot as J. Stewart. . . but his cranium has potential to push him foward in crush factor. Conan O'Brien? Yes, please. I'd love a date with any of these men, provide circumstances such as being single, living in Hollywood or NYC and having access to agents yielded themselves to me.

Obviously, Marc is the ultimate dream combination of all of these bo-hunks. I won't even denote that as a disclaimer. It's just plain fact.

I must say, however, Leonardo DiCaprio has grown on me. I think it's the scruff. . . and to coin a phrase from a dude I encounter daily and can't avoid, "The dude can act."

Except, Leo's so not a dude. . .

Future focus

2007-02-18T16:57:00.000-08:00

Find your passion! Make it work for you!

Just like everyone else, I have now heard about "The Secret." No, I won't spend $40 to buy the DVD, but there are resonating mantras that I've are true but my brain hadn't yet assigned a catch phrase for. . .

In particular, "nothing new can come into your life without being grateful for what you have now." Ain't that the truth.

I've also been thinking about passion, having passion, finding passion. . . what is it I want to do? Is it as far out of reach as it sometimes seems? Am I doing something, every day, to realize that vision? Defining it is the hardest part, but I've got the characteristics listed in my head. My career must involve communicating, planning and counseling.

Here comes the bride?

Interweb

2007-02-17T07:00:00.000-08:00

There are few things I love more than the Internet. I can spend hours surfing, reading, learning, forwarding and absorbing. I like to find links to sites my friends would enjoy. I like to comment on blogs I've never read and get familiar with magazines you can't buy at Borders.

Most of all, I love finding new music. It's a quest. This month, I'm into Carrie Rodriguez and Young Love. Marc will tell you that I bludgeon a song to death (as in listen to it over, and over, and over) before moving on to a new favorite. I can't explain why a song is good, even though I was an "accomplished" flutist and know a bit about major, minor, treble and bass. I need a Web site that can find a pigeon hole for me, because I hate saying, "I like everything. . . except death metal." I don't think I'll lose many friends there. Why are those young men so angry?

Over a dinner of pierogi and Polish vodka a couple of weeks ago, a lovely friend of a friend introduced me to Andrew Bird. "He whistles," she said. And now, I like Mr. Bird. Tweet, tweet.

I also like discovering music that's been around a really, really long time. I liked the Black Eyed Peas before Fergie wet herself. But, I'm just coming around to the Dixie Chicks. Me and the rest of free-thinking America.

Here's to buying 99 cent songs and subscribing to Rolling Stone to read it in front of our computer. . . so I can hear what I'm reading (because a music magazine seems a little. . . counter intuitive?).

Alternative

2007-02-15T18:27:00.000-08:00

I don't like words like "alternative" or "minority," in reference to sweeping generalizations of a culture or movement. Think, "alternative lifestyle."

Think, alternative medicine.

Mary Pat is my favorite aunt. She's got energy for weeks and a zest for good food, strong drinks and her family. She used to smoke. She quit. . . and acupuncture, along with her steadfastness, helped it happen.

Acupunture has been around for thousands of years. The land that brought us dim sum and paper trusts its techniques. And now, Oprah has endorsed it. That's the golden ticket. And I'm going to try it, though I'm not sure for what. . .

I'm into alternatives. I like choices. Peppermint tea makes my stomach feel good; apricots and oatmeal make for a good deposit in the toity; and rinsing my nose with salt water made my headaches go away.

To me, having a baker's dozen worth of prescriptions in my name ought be the alternative to trying the good stuff outside. To quote Smokey from Friday, "It's from the Earth. God put this here for me and you."

Nevermind the clandestine reference. And doesn't it seem that our Chinese friends live to be so ripely old?