Caged: An Obvious Metaphor

I was struck by the starkness of this caged rose (?) bush, pre-bloom. Your mind immediately fills in the thorny, skeletal limbs with the beautiful blushes to come.

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How to Keep Silent?

There was a poem used to love so much I kept it on my wall, reciting it daily, always on the tip of my mind:

Let your beauty manifest itself without talking or calculation.
You are silent.
It says for you: I am.
And comes in meaning thousandfold, comes at long last over everyone.

The poem comes from Rainer Marie Rilke – the only poet I’ve ever loved, though I cannot say I ever tried to love poetry, as I find it difficult to read for pure enjoyment. Rilke inspired my devotion because he evoked characters, images, and worlds in a few lines. He could create the things I loved most about novels, only he offered tiny vignettes that enticed you into immersion.

This poem has haunted me since it first introduced itself. I can’t shake the puzzle from my mind. Today it bubbled up after reading this blog post, “There are lines of poetry so powerful, so soul shaping that one must carry them in one's memory…” My poem (I think I've earned that) haunts me precisely because I wonder why I was so drawn to it. Why does it resonate, and from where does the attachment grasp?

Does she mimic the future me I've imagined: strong, flawless, graceful, a pleasure to be around? A fable. And yet, she's there. An example. A painful reminder that because someone gave her form, she is real.

I was never the protagonist of this poem.

I'm convinced Rilke drew a woman in his sights when he wrote this. Coaxing her not to speak, why? What a luxury to keep silent! A problem I'd be lucky to have. As evidenced by the words before you, I cannot be quiet. I'm haunted, not only by poetry, but by everything that slips in my sight and psyche. I must name the things that parade past me, good or bad.

But this woman. She can keep quiet. Not out of submission, but out of a triumph surpassing her former trials, I imagine. "...at long last..." I play-act. Like an actress muttering her lines in the green room, I rehearse the woman I intend to be, just not yet.

Then I read another article that struck me. The Pains of Memory by Theodore Dalrymple via Arts & Letters Daily. He reveals the stories of two women who had endured grave traumas, yet chose silence as their coping mechanism. One woman decided to reveal her pains later, the other, died with her secrets. Reading the article, I felt ashamed of my constant need to deliver harangue via the internet. My petty fears, my childish anguish. I suffer, yes, but my suffering is not appeased knowing others suffer more.

Dalrymple knowingly catches this tendency, "We are enjoined, when we suffer or feel unhappy (which are not necessarily quite the same thing, of course), to consider those who are yet worse off than ourselves. This is supposed to relieve and console us, but it rarely does. The most that it achieves is to make us feel guilty that we are so miserable over comparative trifles when others have so many worse travails than ours; and this in turn makes us feel more wretched than ever."

Perhaps this poem is meant for me. It matches my obsessions with a possible solution: silence. And I'll continue to ignore it. And it will continue to haunt me.

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Ragamuffin

This photo makes me laugh. If I were a flower, it might be this one. It is unkempt and audacious.

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Ten Things I Will Miss When I Die

I read this exercise on the blog of one of my favorite authors, Geneen Roth: name ten things you will miss when you die. I always think, "Oh how trite and irritating" when I comes across such soul-searching exercises, but simplicity can be profound.

My list:

1. Cooking from scratch, the scents, the flavors, new recipes.
2. Looking at old photographs, observing passages of time, seeing my soul aging along with my body.
3. The eyes of someone I love when we connect without speaking.
4. Belonging to a circle of family and friends that love me without question.
5. When a musician, dancer, or artist communicates in the absence of words.
6. Creating a work of art, music, or writing as an amateur.
7. My amateur endeavors as an artist and writer.
8. Cool rain - bare feet - hot cement.
9. Laughter.
10. Explosive colors in nature






My joys are simple. None of them require fame, money, or talent. My favorite things need little explanation or preparation. So why is it that I spend most of my living worrying about things I don’t like that much anyways?

What are the things you seem to live without but will miss most when you are gone?

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Life in Pictures

Since I've recently quit my job - I'm attempting to enjoy the simple things in life more. I took some photos recently when Mike surprised me with a trip to the Cleveland Botanical Gardens while visiting his parents. Lovely.

I thought I'd share the things that captured my attention over the next few days in lieu of posting. Sometimes we run out of words and would do well to stare at something beautiful, contemplating whatever comes to mind. I hope these photos turn your gears.

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Time Off

I quit my job little over 30 days ago, my last day was this week. It was the act of courage that inspired my thirty day twittering exercise, though I didn’t write about it at the time because I wasn’t sure how things would shake out. The news has since worked its way through everyone’s system, most importantly, mine.

For the past two years I’ve worked full time while going to grad school; slowing cutting back on things I loved doing in my free time, and spending more time away from my family and new marriage.

I’m proud of all I’ve accomplished, and yet, I’m worn thin by a hectic lifestyle and have a lot of regrets. I quit, not because I dislike my job, or the opportunities it affords; I quit because it was the most responsible decision. No matter how great a job you have, it’s never worth your well-being or relationships. It's so easy to say now that I'm on the other side of the gut-wrenching decision I took too long to make.

I suppose I clung to a promise that going at this pace would lead to financial success. I have equated self-worth with my earning potential since I could first work. Always proud of my 2 to 4 job-at-a-time status, work has been the safety basket that I had been putting all my golden eggs in, believing that I would eventually keep my family from financial ruin. This cheap myth composed by a young, frightened girl was shattered when my father died just over six months ago.

Any fool can become a millionaire if they sacrifice enough. Sure I’d excel, but to what end? To a fault. I devote myself so completely to my commitments that I have trouble choosing what is best for me. And I don’t want to be that person anymore. Workaholic, obsessive, unhealthy, frazzled.

My father's death left me broken, but with a great gift: cancer has a way of breaking down belief systems. Nothing is the same now. And frankly, my job doesn’t compare. No amount of raises, promotions, or overtime would have prevented his stroke or given me more time with him.

I quit my job. The world didn’t end. Time didn’t stop. The only person crying was me. Like my family members, my boss and co-workers expressed surprise, concern, and then excitement and understanding. We all adjusted to the new input and went about business as usual.

A delicate balance lies ahead. I’m well aware that my workaholic tendencies could easily translate into my new roles. I know myself well, and I’ll be writing about the ways I trick myself out of it. I’m open to suggestions too.

Smell the roses.

Thinking of quitting your job? Subscribe to Shouting to Quiet the Thunder to see how it goes...

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Compelling Before and After

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I Don't Care What I Think

I haven’t written for writing’s sake in a while. I feel so compelled to say something useful all the time now that I’m running ads and my posts are featured on Brazen Careerist. Too bad my most useful and benign article to date, “How to Survive a Bike Ride” brought on the most wrath. It left me confused, dejected, wondering…“How, oh how, can I make everyone happy?”

Oh yeesh, not really. But I had a moment when I realized I took my blog, the one thing I’ve committed to lately that had been unstructured, fun, a love song to the things I hate, and turned it into another pet project for perfection.

Why do I do this? Why the manipulation? Why do I parade myself around on a stage for my own approval? Even the mean comment guy is long gone. He probably can’t even remember my URL, God knows he didn’t favorite me. I can see him feverishly typing into Google: “Yelling into a Quiet Storm?” No no. “Crying in a Breezy Nook?”

He’ll never find me now.

I started this blog to give myself an outlet for the massive pain and regret I experienced over the last year. Writing has always given me sanity. Publishing it online gave me a reason to fight for it. My dad died, and I was running out of ways to say, “I’m sad.” And I started writing because I couldn’t bear talking anymore. I couldn’t have one more conversation about how depressed I was. I couldn’t make my husband sit still while I verbally vomited all over him. I couldn’t chat with my friends and lie about how I was doing OK. So I started writing. I started reading other blogs and writing mean comments on the happy posts about possibilities. I kept doing this until I decided I was kind of an asshole and perhaps life as I knew it wasn’t over.

I convinced my husband I would have a nervous breakdown if I didn’t quit my job. Oh, wait, scratch that – he convinced me. I refused for a long time. Then I realized he was right.

And now, I’m sitting here, semi-jobless ('cause I have approximately 5), happy, and hopeful. I'll write all about my miraculous transformation (and it's seed) some other time, because right now, I'm content enough to bask in it. I don't need to prove to anyone how, why, or when it came about. I'm thrilled I made an informed, adult decision with my well-being in mind.

I laugh because I never imagined I would be happy and hopeful about a me that is a slightly fatter and less prepared for retirement than I was a year ago. But I don’t care! I mean, I care in that I’ll try to cut down on the cookies, and I’ll make a plan for my life, but I’m not going to hate myself and settle into the depression where I’ve always felt the most comfortable. It’s just not for me anymore. At least for today and that’s all I’ve got.

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My Experiment in Brain Doping

Ah, science. You bastion of never-ending wonder. Filling our bodies with substances to make us smarter, live longer, or create an unnatural breast-to-body ratio so women can look fat in t-shirts (Thank you Amy Pohler, and thank you science.)

Reading this article on brain-doping made me think about the frontiers we’re entering in terms of science and the mind. Not necessarily in innovation, that’s a given, but in acceptance and integration. The article talks about the legal aspects of being allowed to dope or not to dope. It mentions that, “While it is perfectly legal to feed—even force feed—Ritalin to a child, unsupervised use by knowledgeable grownups is a crime.”

Furthermore, a recent study polling 1,400 readers of the science journal Nature (mostly scientists and academics, according to the article) indicates that many are in favor of popping pills to enhance mind performance. However, even more compelling is that 4 out of 5 thought “healthy adults should be able to take the drugs if they want to.”

I agree we should have the choice, but is it worth it?

I’ve always shied away from prescription drugs unless absolutely necessary, but this article reminded me that I have fallen prey to the promises of brain doping, albeit legally and in a way I thought was “natural.”

A few years ago, I was studying for a particularly grueling exam, one that left my ability to show my face at work in the balance. I had also, for some idiotic reason, scheduled to get all my wisdom teeth pulled within days of the exam. I was suffering from fatigue and mind fog, and caffeine (the classic doper, it could be argued) was no longer helping.

I’d heard about ginko biloba’s natural memory enhancing properties, and decided to do some more research online. I came across a guy online claiming to know all about brain-enhancing herbs and naturally occurring isolated proteins. Apparently he was a research scientist at a major university and had extensive knowledge on the topic. While I was dubious, I was also desperate, and took his advice.

Armed with Mr. Herb’s recommendations, I went to my natural food hangout which has an extensive herbal formula section. At the store, I was talked into buying, “The Ultimate Mind Enhancer.” Note to readers: not his real name, or the product’s real name, because I know you were totally going to Google them.

I was eager to see what would happen. I popped the suggested dosage on my car ride home. However, it seemed something was going horribly wrong. My pulse sped up, my skin turned bright red and blotchy, my eyes teared and I felt like I was running out of breath.

What the hell is this? Speed? I pulled over in panic. Shit shit shit. What did I do? What did I do?

I scrolled down the label…”Do not take this supplement if you’ve recently had major surgery, as it could have adverse side effects with anesthesia and prescription drugs, particularly NSAIDS.”

I’m going to die.

I called my doctor, tail between my legs for not calling first. I know better than to guzzle wares peddled by herbalists. I’ve heard a million times how supplements can be just as potent as prescription drugs, but trusted the recommendation.

It turns out I panicked for no reason, the doctor assured me that unless I’d just had open heart surgery, the amount of anesthesia or prescription meds wouldn’t negatively interact with the herbs and to simply ride it out. I was shocked that such a crazy reaction was “normal,” but certainly I had only myself to blame for the shock! I returned the bottle the next day, citing adverse side effects.

I’ve gotta tell you though, the inital effects wore off quickly, and that study session, my mind was sharp as a knife. Whatever was in that bottle seemed to do the trick.

So – if prescription drugs that had brain boosting properties were legal or if you found the perfect herbal cocktail – would you use them to enhance performance on the job or in school? Do you already use them? Do you think it gives the user an unfair advantage? What about caffeine? That's legal and I know I would be useless on the job without it.

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How to Survive a Bike Ride

If you are anything like me, rising gas prices have made you want to hop on a bike to run errands instead of always relying on a car. I have loved bike riding ever since I spent a summer in a little Italian town where that was the main mode of transport for most of the inhabitants.

When I returned to the US, I decided I would try to adopt a similar lifestyle only to find that American drivers, pedestrians, and infrastructure are much less forgiving to bike riders. Over the years I've learned how to have a safe and fun two-wheeled adventure.

1. Get the Gear, but Ditch the Bell. You should spend enough money on a quality ride if you plan to use it with any frequency. A less expensive bike can be unpleasant, or even painful to ride, and lessen the chance you'll use it - which would be a bigger waste of money.

My biking must-haves:

• A cushy seat and full suspension if you can afford it, city riding involves some jumps and bumbs going over sidewalks, or areas where there are none. Suspension will lessen the impact on your spine, and keep your butt from going completely numb.


• I suggest a hybrid (cross between road and mountain bikes), because the riding position is upright which I find more comfortable, and the wheels are heavy-duty enough to handle gravel, dirt, and grass. However, the frame is light-weight enough for longer rides.


• Get a helmet and wear it snug. Don't make me tell you the story about a girl, her bike, and how her brain ended up seeing daylight. Even at 10 mph, you can do serious damage and your noggin is your most prized possession. Also, there is not a single helmet that will make you look cool, so don't bother trying. Find one that fits your head and move on.


• I suggest a rear-mounting bike rack and bag to carry stuff. I learned that a handlebar basket can be extremely dangerous. For example, a heavy item like a watermelon can roll around and steer you off-course unintentionally. Watermelons in back!!


• Get a long, and heavy-duty bike lock system. I like my chains long enough to wrap around the frame, both wheels, and possibly a tree trunk as many places won't have a spot for your ride to hook up to. Stop signs or parking meters are easy to steal from, many thiefs can lift a poorly locked bike right over the top.


• The bell is meaningless, anyone who hears it just checks their cell phone, you might want something a lot louder, but I wouldn't know where to get that. Anyone have some ideas for making noise on your bike? Please let me know!

2. No One Likes You. People in cars are unaware at best, and at worst, assholes encased in tons of steel and glass with lethal force. Do not assume they will see you, and do not assume that if they see you they will have the desire or the reflexes to stop for you to pass. People in cars hate people on bikes. I know, I'm one of them. So when the tables are turned, I make sure my manners are impeccable. I don't ride at dusk, I use hand signals, I slow down at cross-streets and wave with excessive gratitude if someone lets me by, even though I may have the right of way. And to make pedestrians happy, I let them know if I'm approaching and don't cut across lawns. Check your state's laws for cyclist rights and responsibilities.

3. Watch Out for "Two-Wheel Willy." Even though bike riding is becoming more hip among the eco-conscious, you are going to meet a lot of people who are riding bikes out of necessesity, not choice. As in, they cannot afford a car or had theirs taken away from them by a court of law. So if they see you scooting along, with all that new gear you just bought, their idea of recycling might be taking your stuff for their use. Just keep your eyes open, take care not to linger too long in unfamiliar places, and don't leave anything attached to your bike unattended unless you wouldn't mind losing it.

4. Pretend You Are In a Foreign Country. You might drive the same routes every day, but don't expect the first time you ride them to be a charm. You will need to take things slow, find out where the renters who throw glass bottles on the sidewalk live, find out where the sidewalks end, or take note of dangerous blind spots you should avoid. Also, areas that seem completely benign in a car could be quite dangerous on a bike. Who the heck is hanging out in that alley, or how did that car jump out from behind that building so fast? Watch out for any driveway, like I said, people in cars are not looking for you, so you need to look for them.

Those are my tips for a happy and safe bike ride! With a few practice runs, you should know your routes like the back of your hand, save energy, money, and get some fresh air! Yay!

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Be Good to Your Father

I'm running out the door to go to church today. I just want to say, to any readers who still have their father's in their lives, please cherish this day, and for God's sake, let your dad know how much he means to you. Say it for real, do something extra special. I know you hear this on tv commercials and it's stupid, but coming from me I hope it means a lot more.

You just don't know. Even if you are mad at them, even if you don't feel like doing something nice, whatever. Just...acknowledge they are one half the reason you are alive and be grateful. Damnit.

Thanks. And Happy Father's Day.

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Housework, Inner Work

I have the day off today. I had the intention of using it to study for my final exam, but that was rescheduled for next week because of all the Midwest power-outages, my school hasn’t had power all week.

So I started cleaning the house, which is in a constant state of disarray. I woke up this morning and felt like the storm had hit the inside of our house. Clothing strewn everywhere, dishes in every room, blankets draped upon every couch and chair (I carry them around the house which is kept at below freezing levels for my husband.)

I began to go through stacks of papers that have piled up throughout the last year.

The last year. I hate this year. I hate the past 365 days. It was probably around this time last year my sister sat at dinner with me and said, “I think there might be something wrong with Daddy.” I, ever the skeptic, shrugged it off. He’s superman. I actually thought of the Ouija board game I used to play as a young girl. Of course I asked when my parents would die. I had memorized the age my father would die. 86. That sounded fair. Not 60. Stupid Ouija board.

Please don’t misunderstand. I also love this year. I love the growth, I love the love I have in my marriage, the support of friends and family. I have had remarkable, miraculous things happen.

These states can co-exist. But like a Michigan summer storm, when hot air meets a cold front, raging winds and rain burst through without warning. And this has been my inner state, sometimes my happy life collides with a broken piece of my past and a turbulent, fierce, and fascinating emotional rollercoaster emerges.

Today’s was finding stacks of papers, piles of my life, waiting for me to return and say, “This is complete.” I leave them there because…I cannot go through my house, my new house, with my new husband without finding my father there. A pile of my sheet music revealed some administrative form with his name on it. Even going through my bathroom, my drawer of nail supplies reveals the kit he bought me at the mall one day, you know, those booths where they shine your nails? He bought me and my sister a kit of nail buffers and hand lotion.

He was so excited about it too. He was so thrilled with the buff and shine technology. He showed us how on his own thumbnail. I remember, looking at his manly, rough, and weathered hand, with the one glossy thumbnail. I miss that. I miss him. I cannot get over that he’s gone.

I know I’ve probably said all I can say out loud about missing him. But that doesn’t mean I don’t still feel it. Every day. I may not notice it as much because it’s all part of the landscape. He is gone. But his absence is real. It is now a living thing. I don’t know if anyone knows what I’m talking about, but if you’ve lost someone you love, I’m guessing you do.

The ache does not disappear, it just integrates itself. Like if they cut off your arm. You would know, every day for the rest of your life it is gone. You have to do everything differently, you are not the same, even though you do the same things. You might even be able to do more, in some odd way. Death doesn’t impose limitations. It expands you. It shows you a part of yourself that has remained hidden, because you haven’t yet needed it.

Sometimes I can’t handle his absence. Sometimes I just wish he’d come back, as if he’s been on a vacation for too long. Sometimes I’m angry, sometimes I’m guilty.

And today, he’s everywhere with me in this house. I’m alone, and he is here.

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Why I’ll Defend Obama – For Now…

I recently got enmeshed in a sparring session defending accusations against George Bush’s motives in Iraq. Read that last line again, just so it’s clear: “defending accusations,” not “defending actions.” The war sucks, big time. I don’t like it, and I think it’s a terrible idea in retrospect. But go read the other post if you want to join that conversation.

So, to show how magnanimous and equitable I am, I’m going to try my hand at defending accusations against Barack Obama. That’s right. The man I’m absolutely not voting for in the upcoming election. The reason I feel the need to do this is because like I’ve been saying a lot lately, I may not like a politician’s policies, but what I dislike more is unsubstantiated sensationalism, which is so much of political media coverage.

To summarize: there are all sorts of stupid chatter about Jim Johnson, the man helping lead the VP search. I don’t know much about the man, except that he got a great deal on a mortgage from the CEO of Countrywide who happens to be his pal. Boo f-ing hoo. That’s what friends are for, I say. The CEO of Countrywide can do whatever he pleases where his business is concerned. Here’s a little golden rule of business: give your best customers the best price. I’m sure you know a bartender at a local pub who gives you a two-fer, or have an Uncle in the car business who waives a couple fees on your new ride. And if you were a multi-millionaire, you’d be pressing for the same kinds of deals, just bigger. It’s not illegal, it’s a normal cost of business, that ideally should drive additional business. Happy customers provide referrals.

My point is this: if you want to contest Mr. Johnson’s qualities as an advisor, go for it. Or if you want to trash Countrywide’s decisions in lending throughout the subprime debacle, go for it, (but please don’t forget to include the Fed in that argument, they are the ones who made it so easy to do.)

But so far, the whining about this deal is weak: the evidence (that loans at competitive rates were offered) doesn’t prove Mr. Johnson is unethical, just lucky. You better bet if my best friend was the CEO of Countrywide I’d ask for a deal! When banks are turning away 7 out of 10 deals, liquidity is dried up in the marketplace, and jumbo loans are being charged higher rates than any other product line - this is the kind of wheeling and dealing you need to do. Too bad for the naysayers, it’s not illegal. Without express knowledge of Mr. Johnson’s balance sheet and credit profile, we’re hard pressed to determine if this is a bad business decision for Countrywide and as of right now, the accusations are petty whining, amounting to crystal ball predictions.

There is too little information to accuse anyone of wrong-doing in the personal loans between Countrywide and Johnson. I await further evidence which could tip the scales, and if we find actual wrong-doing, I will personally invite you to a field day on my site, at my expense! That’s what friends are for, right? But as of right now, we should all take it easy.

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A Married Girl’s Guide to Staying That Way

A few posts caught my attention over the last few days, all posing questions about marriage.

How do you know when you’ve found "the one"?

Why get married? Does it serve a purpose?

Would a Seven Year Contract make more sense than Lifelong commitment?

My own parents divorced when I was in college. In fact, I supported the decision. They were unhappy, so I figured, why not break it off? In retrospect, my views as an immature 19 year old were pretty much worthless. Today I would have a different opinion, but as we mature, we learn from our past to inform our futures.

Since I’m happily married and intend to stay that way, I thought I’d offer my views on what makes a marriage successful. I’m approaching my 9 month wedding anniversary, so many of you will feel tempted to smack me for broaching this subject, but I’ve witnessed successful marriages, and I’ve been lucky to have great examples to follow. Plus, I want to hear from you too, what do you think it takes to stay happily married? Here are my thoughts:

1. Don’t Demonize Each Other. When I first moved in with Mike after our engagement, I was comfortable complaining about the slightest inconvenience, until I realized how annoying I was to live with. A humbling experience is when you complain to your husband about his beard trimmings in the sink and then he points out your wicked habit of leaving empty paper bags all over the house. All. Over. The. House. I never knew I did that. If you were to walk in our house right now – I can guarantee you’d trip over a bag and there will be some beard hairs on the sink. But we’ve learned to accept a few of each other’s quirks and save the battles for things that really matter.

2. Make All Your Decisions As a Team. When Mike mentioned this bedrock of his parent’s marriage I was baffled. “You mean, the person closest at hand didn’t just decide?” As a child I would ask permission from whichever parent I thought would grant me a wish. That’s how I ended up enraging my mother with a waterbed purchase in high school, or how my dad was often blindsided by expenses for lessons or camps my mom might sign me up for. When you are both in on a decision, it will be better for the marriage and bring you closer, helping distill to what is critical. Mike might want to buy a new guitar or I might want to quit my job to become a yoga instructor, but together we are more likely include and understand the impact on the other person, not just pursue what will give us our jollies.

3. But You Say He’s Just a Friend. What do you do when the guy in your office wants to go running after work, or the woman at the coffee shop has an extra ticket to the basketball game? Do you say yes? This might sound painfully obvious to some, but I swear I see it all the time. “Oh, we’re just friends.” Here’s a whopping clue: your new playmate wants to sleep with you, steal your money, or both. You might be flattered that even when you’re “off the market” people can’t seem to keep their grubby mugs off of you, or you might be genuinely oblivious. Either way, it can lead to trouble, so just say no. If you need to befriend someone for networking purposes, find a nonchalant way to work your spouse into the conversation, or have him/her meet up with you at some point once business is taken care of. Nothing screams commitment like meeting it face to face.

4. Don’t EVER Say Mean Things About Your Spouse’s Family Members. Ever. Even if your wife tells you all the time she hates her parents, or your husband wants to strangle his brother (neither example autobiographical) don’t get comfortable spouting your own opinions about your spouse’s relations. Like them or not, these are the people who made your better half who they are today. If you have an issue with a family member, find a tactful way to raise your concerns. Never come outright and say, “Your dad is a total idiot.” It’s not okay. Think of a time someone has done that to you? I bet you didn’t like it. In fact, I almost got into a fist fight with a woman who called my mom a bitch. We had words. Very public words. Don’t go there.

5. Pretend You Met Today. Challenge yourself to discover new things about your significant other. What would you say to strike up conversation if they were a total stranger? Since I’m a newlywed, a lot of my old friends are still meeting Mike for the first time and they’ll grill him with questions I haven’t yet covered! For example, it’s exciting to hear his views on art history, or the time he went to a poetry slam in Chicago, things I know nothing about, so wouldn't have thought to ask. I try to ask questions beyond the, “Hey, how was work?” and get him to talk about ideas, feelings, or impressions.

These are the ideas I feel have made a difference in my marriage so far. The bottom line is a successful marriage takes work, acquiring skills, and paying attention to keep it that way, just like any other worthwhile venture.

I’d love to hear more great ideas, examples, or stories of successful relationships. Married people aren’t the only ones with something to offer either. Speak up:

What are other ideas you use with your significant other, partner or spouse?

If you are single, or divorced, what are some things you feel kept relationships from being successful?

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Mama Bear and The Undefinable in Marriage

Tonight I earned the nickname Mama Bear.
Tonight I may have saved my husband's life, or at least a couple thousand in band equipment.

A friend who had witnessed the onslaught said, "You had a moment."

But before I launch into the story, let me take a quick moment to thank God: 

1. Thank you no one got hurt.
2. Thank you for adrenaline.

It probably sounds like I ran into a burning building. I didn't.

But first, let me ask you this:

If one moment you were happily singing songs on a balmy summer night, in the courtyard of a bustling restaurant, and a moment later, rain starts streaming sideways, and when you turn around to tell your husband to stop playing, a giant table umbrella is launched by gales of wind with the steel pole directed towards his head, what would you do?

Witnesses told me I flew. One customer looked at me shocked, "You were fast!" My friend claims I started the whole thing. Apparently I went into some sort of psycho-heroic-trance. Maybe I'm giving myself too much credit. I didn't grasp the umbrella mid-air or anything. It got wedged on a table, but another had flown on top of restaurant roof, and objects were still being hurtled through space.

I wasn't really thinking, all I know is that I had an intense feeling of, "Holy shit, my husband." And even though his friend and a couple of restaurant staffers were helping him gather equipment, and even though he urged me to stay inside, my body simply wouldn't let me do it. All I could think was, "We're a team." It was instinct.

I know what I experienced is not rare. We've heard of mothers lifting cars to save their children, but it's rare to be in the situation oneself. I feel silly carrying on about it, but the truth of the matter is, there had been tornado warnings all day and it was plausible that one was heading in our direction. I suppose I thought in the flash of fury that I couldn't bear to spend my final moments watching my husband be eaten up by a tornado - I'd have to be with him.

What I'm saying is, I get it now. In those situations, you don't think - you just do. I also think that something that is fundamentally "you" informs your brain's subconscious decisions.

Make a leap with me. The part that was "me" that informed my decision to go back into gusting winds was my husband. There was every reason to stay inside. He was being helped, and I might have even been getting in the way. But that is love. That is marriage. That is the undefinable I think Adam Gilbert has been searching for in his last post. Why get married? Who the fuck knows, to be honest, but all I know is that when I saw that man, in the rain, wind, and flying objects, I had to be out there with him.

I'd wager that we'd all respond similarly, that in a time of crisis, what we value most becomes instantly, startlingly clear. It is simplified to its most primal form. This is evidenced by all the other people who ran back outside to gather things. They all valued something out in the rain more than comfort, dryness, and safety.

Maybe I'm reading into things. Maybe I'm still drunk and high on adrenaline.

Maybe it's time for bed. Goodnight.

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Made With Love

Dear Counter Guy from Jimmy John’s:

Today, you gave me so much more than a sandwich. You gave me the creeps.

Not in a You-Might-Follow-Me-Home kind of way but in a You-Assume-Too-Much-Familiarity kind of way.

Don’t try to get my order “just right.” And please don’t run to the sandwich line to “make it yourself”. Don’t press down so firmly on the freshly made bread with your latex-gloved hands to make sure the ingredients stay intact, leaving soul-scarring indentations of your memory visible when I unwrap.

I wouldn’t like a cool drink with that. I would like my sandwich, and my service, dry and neutral.

Don’t raise your eyebrows at me. My top is low-cut for unintentional reasons. It’s just too big. And that’s not hot. It’s sloppy. I’m sloppy. But then again, so are you.

And those bedroom eyes you mistake for lust? It’s drugs. That’s right, I’m doped up on muscle relaxers since I fell down my staircase over the weekend. That’s right. I’m clumsy. Again, not hot. I was carrying laundry. My husband’s laundry in fact. He’s hot. And he’ll beat you up.

Thanks for the sandwich,

Milena

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Getting an Unconventional Education

My last post featured on Brazen Careerist drew tremendous ire from a commenter named Alexis. I appreciated her point of view as it brought to light that my column may have been grossly misinterpreted by readers. Though her tone was puerile and unnecessarily vindictive, I got where she was coming from. (There were lots of other supporters though, Thanks!)

To summarize a few highlights from Alexis’ comment:

I always find it fascinating when I read arguments by people who say that you don’t really need a college degree…most often made by people who have their undergraduate degree…no one is knocking down the door of Joe at the gas station…let me give you a wake up call: the world without a degree is not wide open with job possibilities. Those statistics about earning more and doing better in life are there for a reason.

I agree that experience is important and there should be more than test scores and grades to determine a candidate’s worthiness, but if you think for one second that the working world is going to throw out this whole “degree required” thing, you’ve lost it...the next time that you decide to elaborate on what people do and don’t need from your place of privilege, think about the mom who works three jobs and rides the bus to school with her children and wishes to God she had a degree so she get a decent job.

In my defense, I said people may not need a degree to get ahead. I chose may as a modifier because I’m clear that the current belief system overwhelmingly values someone who has a degree regardless of their course of study, which I believe is a mistake. I used myself as an illustration of how preposterous it all is. My degree was 100% irrelevant to my job, but everyone felt better I had one, despite the fact that everything I needed to know I learned on the job and taking qualifying exams. Notice I didn't say that one doesn't need to learn anything.

And while I don’t think that the 'working world is going to throw out the “degree required” thing' any time soon, the great thing is I'm free to think it’s total bullshit. Certainly a headhunter is not going to pluck Joe at the gas station for a gig at IBM, but if Joe enrolled in an IT course or two in his free time (I'm not talking full-blown degree enrollment) and began as a bottom-feeder somewhere, it's entirely possible for him to work his way through the system and get a kick-ass job down the line. While statics support that a degree would get him there sooner, I'm arguing that it shouldn't be that way.

A possible solution would be to encourage hiring people who've taken a small amount of highly specialized training or a few choice college courses to appropriately match a job's most-needed attributes. This could reduce the burden of getting a four year education simply to be well-rounded at considerable expense and questionable value.

Furthermore, to be perfectly clear, I’m not speaking from a place of privilege, but of fear: I’m one of the people who’ve been scared shitless in life into thinking that getting a degree is the ultimate safety blanket. I've gone through life scared of losing everything, because it's already happened once. In fact, I don't need to think of the mother in Alexis' example. My own mother has struggled enough, thank you very much.

If Alexis would like, she could read about how my mother was held at gunpoint while the FBI seized our personal property and how I've held 3 or 4 jobs simultaneously since the age of 15 and have paid for all my education. But of course, Alexis wouldn't be interested in getting to know me, she prefers hurling unsubstantiated invective.

As an added bonus, since I'm being accused of being unfit to lead by example, I thought I'd offer several legitimate examples of people I know personally who have gotten ahead in life without conventional educations.

Mr. X – got his undergrad but got a C in every class, passing by the skin of his teeth. He enlisted in Vietnam, won a Purple Heart, yet came home without a penny to his name. He had no place to live and slept on porches until he could afford rent and one garish polyester suit from a second-hand store in which to go to work. He started at the bottom of a company and worked his way up. He is now a multi-millionaire with 3 homes in 2 states, has buildings named after him, scholarships he personally funds in addition to philanthropic work; his charity is leading to some of the most progressive research in neurological disorders.

Mr. Y – got his degree in a communist country and came to America a penniless immigrant. Not surprisingly, his degree was useless. He began working at the bottom of a trucking company while living with his fiance’s parents. Not knowing anything about truck repair, he told his prospective employer he was a fully trained truck engine repair technician. When they told him he could begin the next day, he bought a manual at Sears and memorized it. Within 4 years he owned a fleet of his own trucks and subsequently began his own business which grew to multi-millions in sales.

Mr. Z – never got a degree, enlisted in military service straight out of high school. He was also a Vietnam Veteran. Upon returning home, he busted his butt at various entry-level jobs and only took a few college-level courses to gain specific industry knowledge along the way. He is now Vice President of a thriving company.

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