The Question to an Answer

It's been a year and a half since I left my corporate job. I had been doing something for 20 years that I really didn't like much. It started with a need to make enough money to pay the bills and snowballed into making lots of money but hating my life. So I walked in one day and quit, shocking those I worked for and those who worked for me. There wasn't a plan, no career move, no next gig. I just had to take the harness off and give myself a rest and look for a new direction. Thankfully, my husband had built his business up to a point that allowed me to do that.

A year and a half later, no real regrets. I'd do it again in a heartbeat. The stress relief has been a God-send.

But the one thing I do lament is that in the last year and a half, I haven't been able to grab a handle on what I'd really like to do going forward. Now that I have the luxury of picking something I like to do rather than something that pays the bills, I can't figure out what that is. Never in my life have I been able to sit and think about what might be fun or satisfying. Like most people, I had to consider as a priority what would pay me the most money. While money is still a consideration, it isn't at the top of the list anymore, and I'm finding it difficult to sort opportunities based on a new set of criteria.

I have former colleagues who call me now and then and want to know what I'm doing now. They have opportunities for me to come on board and work with them again, and they are good opportunities if your top criteria is making money. I don't know how to answer these people. On the one hand, I don't want to discourage their interest because I might just need the opportunity one of these days. On the other hand, I don't want to suggest too much interest, as I don't think I'm ready to throw up my hands and put the harness back on.

It's a good problem to have, and I'm thankful for it. But it is a weird time in my life. I've always, always worked. Diligently, in fact. Top performer for twenty years. Next title was VP of an international firm. And then it all stopped, by my own hand. Was it self-sabotage? Some days I wonder.

Some people see it as just quitting and being a slacker and that seems easy enough, but it actually took a bit of courage to do it. I had to be able to finally relinquish some financial control and responsibility to my husband and put faith in his business that it could be stable enough to continue (so far, it has).

But the hardest part of it has been losing my identity. I always had a title. When people said 'what do you do', I always had an impressive answer. Now I don't. Now I have no value in the world -- I'm not a VP; I'm also not a mother. So as a woman, in the eyes of the world, I really have no value. I just exist. And all that done by my own hand. So it did take some courage to voluntarily move myself into that category after having had such a strong identity prior.

But the thing was, I didn't just relinquish that identity. I hurled it out the window of a fast-moving train. As hard as I could throw it. Because I didn't want to be known by that anymore. I didn't want my obituary to talk about what a hard worker I was. It just didn't feel like that's who I really was or wanted to be.

And now I look for a new identity, and it's not that easy to do. I feel lost, sometimes in a good way but sometimes in a frustrated way. I've always had the answer before, but that's because I knew the question. Now, I don't.

Death of a Column

After writing my magazine column for a year and a half, it's now over. The magazine was bought by a larger media company, and we couldn't cut a deal on the continued writing. So I'll no longer be a published writer.

Honestly, not a big deal. It was mostly for fun anyway. Certainly wasn't paying the bills. But it was nice to have a creative outlet and to get a comment now and then from a reader.

On the other hand, it was getting difficult to work within the boundaries given me. 500 words, keep it fluffy and non-controversial. Some days, I wanted to write an essay and slam all sorts of things. Other days, I couldn't string a sentence together. So all in all, I'm sort of glad it's over. No pressure to be witty and brilliant and fluffy on a schedule now.

Onward, to something else.

Sheer Delight

While Paris was whining and crying her way out of jail yesterday, I was having some window treatments installed at the townhouse. Here is one set of the simple and neutral sheers that went in. Perhaps a bit safe, but they do go with everything. And since they're floor-to-ceiling with no break for a rod, they make the ceiling seem higher and the space larger. They're light and airy and have almost an ethereal feel to them. A good, soft layer to add to the room.

Next up, a visit from the electrician, and lighting fixtures go in.

There is a God

The long national nightmare is over:

Paris Hilton is out of jail.

Free at last, free at last.

*is overcome by gagging reflex*

Sushi and Hotness

On a lighter note, in an entertainment vacuum last night (nothing was on), after some sushi and vino at the local sushi bar, we came home and threw the Casino Royale DVD into the player and watched.

I must say, after 3 months of being stashed away in my DVD case, the man is still smoking hot. No cooling off going on there.

I can't wait for the next Bond film. *sigh*

D-Day

Today is the 63rd anniversary of D-Day, the day that Allied Forces landed on the beaches at Normandy to begin the liberation of Europe from Hitler.

I bet most of us didn't even remember the date today, did we? Too busy thinking about Paris in prison, Lindsey in rehab and whatever other b.s. we seem to think important these days.

It was supposed to have happened a day earlier, June 5, 1944, but bad weather and rough seas delayed the invasion by a day. I can't imagine being one of those soldiers, mentally preparing to meet whatever fate lie ahead, and then having to wait an additional 24 hours before it happened. 24 extra hours to pace, smoke another pack of cigs, think about loved ones, pray and wonder what was about to happen. It must have been the longest 24 hours of their young lives.

Some 5,000 ships, 1000 transports with paratroopers, and 130,000 troops in amphibious vehicles participated in a landing along 50 miles of the Normandy coast, with full air cover overhead. Imagine the strategy, planning, coordination and training that had to take place to make this happen, and at a time with no computers and only rudimentary means of communications. What a feat it was then, and in hindsight now, even more amazing.

I think it's important to take a few minutes today, remember history, remember the sacrifices made by those who had the courage and will to be a part of this, and to think about those today who continue to fight for freedom from tyranny and terror.

I truly feel that we have the ability and the means to overcome evil in the world. But my greatest fear is that we don't have the will. And all that is required for evil to prevail is for good men to do nothing.

Thanks to all the veterans and their families out there for their service and sacrifice. If only the rest of us would endeavor to be worthy of it, the world would be a much better place.

Hair-owing Choices

It's June, almost officially summer, and I need a new haircut. I'm at the end of the old one. I let it go too long between trims, and its shape is completely unidentifiable now.

I have very thick wavy hair that goes really straight when I straighten it, really curly when I curl it and is mostly frizzy and wild when I do nothing with it (not an option), so I have to be careful of the cut.

I must resist the temptation to go shorter than what is requred for a pony tail because when I hit the summer hair doldrums and can't find the will to fix it, a pony tail rescues me. Plus, if there's a smidgen of humidity in the air, it goes nuts, and 'nuts' is not a good look for me.

It used to be that there was some haircut that was all the rage, and I had to have it. I was never one of those girls who could ignore the trends and let my hair grow endlessly to my butt. I've always cut it in one style or another. But nothing hits me (for me) right now. The hair style magazines either show some form of really long hair swept one way or another (which in my book is not a 'cut') or something artful, outrageous, spikey and/or purple that is quite beyond the ambition of my hair.

I need to do something with it soon, and until then, the pony tail rules. My only thought right now is a layered bob....not too short, but above the shoulders...although I've been that route a few times in my life. So I'll continue to ponder it, make an appointment and make the call when I hit the chair later this week. It's just hair. It'll grow. It always does.

Missing the Mob

This always happens to me when one of my favorite long-running TV shows comes to an end. I felt this way when 'Sex and the City' ended - like an old friend is leaving, a friendship is terminating, and I have to go into my television future without the aid and comfort of that favorite companion.

It's happening again with the final season of the Sopranos. There's one episode left next Sunday night, and then that's it. Over. Whacked. And I'm feeling really bad about it.

I've watched Tony and the gang for years and years now, been through the shock and awe of it all, been disgusted by it, laughed at it, marvelled at some of the brilliant writing, bonded with a few of the characters, was horrified by others. I've watched a lot of scenes over the years with my hands over my eyes because it was just too gruesome or cruel or awful to look at full on. But now, it's almost over, and I feel like I'm losing a friend. Oddly, I will miss the mob.

No spoilers given away here, but last night's episode made me feel weird and uncomfortable. I sort of dread next week, as the foreboding of tragedy (of some sort) hangs in the air. And as much as Tony and the mobsters deserve whatever they get, I'm not looking forward to it.

Tag Teamer

And here's the current boy of the house....Baci.

Baci (Bah-chi) means "kisses" in Italian. He's not a licker...he's a sniffer, and he gives everyone little butterfly sniffer kisses when he meets them. Hence, 'Baci' seemed appropriate, although he's Chinese, not Italian, but he doesn't know that, and we're not telling him. :)

He's very smart and has pegged some favorite human words that are meaningful to him such as 'bunnies', 'bugs', and 'ducks', which are the things he likes to watch out the window and chase in the yard when given the opportunity.

He's a jet set pet. He flies with us most of the time, going under the seat in front of us in his carrier. He loves it and is better than most kids on a plane. Now if only American Airlines would give him a frequent flyer number.

He just turned 3, so hopefully we have a while yet with him. He's just so darned happy all the time. I wish I could bottle and sell some of that.

Tucker

Following up on SandDancer's recent post regarding Ellie, I realize that I have given abundant airtime to Baci, the turbo shitzuh, but have not paid proper tribute to the late great Tucker, my Australian Shepherd who passed on last year.

Here's the last photo I have of Tucker and I. He was a very sweet boy, another little creature who was forever happy and smiling, and we all miss him greatly.