80/20

What happened to me? I used to have interesting things to talk about. I think the cosmos wanted to send me that message by randomly resending a post out the other day, one that I originally posted in January of 2010. Crazy machine. It got me thinking: the last book I read all the way through was "The Help" by Kathryn Stockett. That was over a year ago. I used to devour books, reading some over and over again. I used to watch TV. I used to read the New Yorker, the Wall Street Journal, Wired, Fast Company, People. Last few months?Nothing. Thank God for Facebook and Twitter or else it would nearly be caveman-like living in my world.

Well, that's not entirely true. I've been socializing up a storm, but I've spent a ridiculous amount of time talking about...what? I don't know. The men in my world? Likely. Divorce? Probably. My daughter? Certainly. It made me laugh recently—I was having dinner with people I really adore, but nearly the entire conversation was about wine, private airplanes and travel destinations. I can't tell you how much I love to enjoy said wine, said private airplanes and dreaming about said travel destinations, but at some point I had an out-of-body experience where it dawned on me how checked out I was. It's easy to scoff at the conversation and snub it because maybe it's the kind of conversation 'only rich people have,' but honestly, it's just the kind of conversation that people with very defined interests have. It would be no different than sitting with another group of opinionaters (my word) who might talk for two hours about composting and organic ovo-lacto vegetarianism. Another scenario in which I eventually might check out.

I don't think it's so much that these things don't interest me, I think I'm just the queen of moderation. I like to talk about a lot of things. I have a lot of interests. I am curious as to how a busy family of four composts in-kitchen without it smelling up the place and ruining the ambiance of oft-crowded marble-slab-island conversations. I am curious as to why someone feels so strongly that there be two pilots, even in smaller planes, where one is FAA approved. I'm curious why someone won't do flesh, but will do eggs, which is embryonic tissue. Hmm, I might go vegan after typing that line.

It's like the 80/20 rule (which applies to basically everything, right?) With probably 80% of things in general, I want to dive in only about 20%. I'll kill it in the remaining 20 (to round out the 100, if you are doing 'New Math'), but I think overall this makes me pretty average and...I'm ok with that.

My daughter is heading into the 8th grade in a little over a month. We will spend a big chunk of the next four months looking at high schools. I've been somewhat torturing myself with this topic for a few years. She currently is in a private Catholic school and has been for seven years. In theory, she has four private school choices and one public. Realistically, it will likely come down to two. When my brain gets all lit up on this topic, I have to remind myself that at the end of the day, wherever she ends up, she will be fine. It's just that sometimes having a choice feels like a nightmare. I can't believe I wrote that, but it's true, at least with me. All the options, the second-guessing, the questioning about the 'best path.' It's 50% stupid, and 50% incredibly important. (Just putting in percentages to keep on point.) Regardless of how much I over-think this topic, I have one goal that consistently floats to the top: I want her to have as well-rounded of a high school experience as possible. Go figure, coming from me. But does this make a person a jack of everything, master of none? Will this make her average or adaptable or both?

A friend's daughter just graduated from one of the above-referenced high school choices that is considered academically arduous. She chose to forgo, what I would consider, more of the same (ie: Stanford) and is heading to a southern SEC school with a strong Greek system. I've never met her but from conversations with her father, I take it she's ready for some new experiences, maybe a little more 80/20. A completely new environment on every level—a different part of the country and a very different social culture, but also a place where she can keep her remaining 20 sharp, a place where this is a definite value on academic and sports achievement. I'm excited for her.

In my own life, my 80/20'ness means I'm an average skier, but I absolutely love it and thank God I can participate. I haven't read all the Classics, but I devour books. I can't write a manifesto on why the financial market collapsed, but I can offer ideas on how to keep money coming in. I can't rewire my house, but I can install a new faucet. I am fiercely proud of my averageness (wow, no auto spell-correct on that one) because I think it's given me the freedom to be available to new things, keep my mind open, have enough interest in most things to learn something and participate. I know just enough about enough things that I can start and stay in a conversation with just about anyone. I know just enough about enough things to have the confidence to try new experiences. I know just enough about enough things that I can see when a door opens. I guess I would say that my averageness has allowed me to be in markedly non-average situations and I'm grateful.

This is what I want for my daughter: take 20% of things and go for the throat—be passionate, focused and engaged. Do well enough in school and work to have choices, do well enough in whatever activities interest you to be able to participate, give time and interest to your family and friends. With the other 80% be flexible and adaptable enough in life to see open doors. Doors which will inevitably lead to new things to be passionate about, things to include in the 20%.

As for me, I got the cosmic message and I'm back on the horse*. I read the Wall Street Journal cover-to-cover the other day. I cracked open this month's Consumer's Report and I even caught an episode of "Khloe and Lamar" right after a double-header of "Real Housewives of New York." Hey, I'm not ashamed. I am pretty sure both will come up in conversation someday soon.

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*A few things I read last week that might be of interest:

"14 Ways to Save America's Jobs" by Bill Clinton, Newsweek, June 27

http://www.newsweek.com/2011/06/19/it-s-still-the-economy-stupid.html

"Harnessing the Power of Feedback Loops," Wired, June 19

http://www.wired.com/magazine/2011/06/ff_feedbackloop/

"City vs Country: Who is Healthier?," Wall Street Journal, July 11

http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052702304793504576434442652581806.html?KEYWORDS=urban+vs+rural

A documentary that I watched this week that was heart wrenching and beautiful: "Steal a Pencil for Me" http://www.stealapencil.com/

taking the pot.

I had a great moment at around 3 a.m. on the 4th (ok, 5th) of July. I took the pot. It was not a particularly elegant win, nor a clean one (in that I was brought back into the game after getting knocked out), but it was a damn fine capper on a fantastic vacation. I think it may have impressed my companions, which of course is always a plus, but the truth is, I won because I've played with these friends before. I knew what the last two standing might do and I went for it. Since then, I haven't been able to shake a comment a male friend of mine said recently about dating at this age and stage—"everybody's played a few hands."

It's easy to link poker analogies and dating. We can go all in, float, bluff, check, raise, ante, show your cards or muck. Sometimes you realize you are just drawing dead and sometimes you need a backdoor. I've played a few hands myself.

Over a year ago, my ex posted a profile to the dating website, match.com. I found out about it because he came up as a suggested match for a friend of mine. In reality, outside of the no way in hell was he going to date my friend part of it, I really didn't care that he was on there. Frankly maybe he'd be nicer to me if he was getting some lady attention, but I heard he posted a picture of me on his profile. Uh, no...also not going to happen. I've been brought up to speed by many male friends about why someone would think it's smart to do such a thing, but I still shake my head and laugh. Am I seriously supposed to be flattered? I'm going to call that an overbet.

I had to sign up in order to see the photo so I could ask him to promptly remove it. Mission accomplished. I also allowed myself five minutes of unbecoming behavior by reading how he described himself. Now THAT's an experience—reading how your husband of 14 years describes himself. Things that make you go...hmmm.

Cut to last week. I'm bored and inquiring minds want to vacation trawl. I sign back in and look around, which I never did the first time. I know a few men and women who have been on match.com. I truly don't have any cliché reason not to want to be a joiner. I get what it's supposed to be, why you might choose to be on there, and how it can work for many people. I'm not a snob about it (I don't think), I'm just, let's say, not there yet? I'm not wholly comfortable with the idea of this particular medium I guess. I've been totally open to being set up and asked out by mutual friends, so I'm not shy about the stranger quotient, but I think the idea of total anonymity is freaky. I think a couple of good tells are helpful.

Pause.

Hmmm...well, what the hell? I'm on vacation and I might be a little bored right at this very moment. Let's throw something up there and see how this crazy machine works.

So this is what I wrote, direct cut and paste:

Profile Header:

Is it acceptable to wear my NorthFace with heels?

About Me:

"Dont ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody." — The last line in The Catcher in the Rye. Not sure I totally agree Mr. Salinger, but for now I might exercise some caution...I'm not so sure about this match.com thing, so I might take it a little slow...

Two photos: one 'hiking' (but wearing tennis shoes and jewelry) and one basic head shot. Took me a total of about 10 minutes, tops.

A few hours later...oh my God: 308 profile views (many are repeats), twelve "favorites," 32 winks, seven "they're interested" and 16 emails. Shit, I can't breathe. I just winked at someone by accident, replied to an email with nothing in the box, added someone to my favorites and other tragic technological errors. Huh? Who is this guy? 58 stubbedmytoe from Canada? My required "Looking For" window is so tiny, on purpose: 39-42 within three miles of my house. Stubbedmytoe, easydoesit, hellooonewman and bringinthecharm really don't like to follow rules I guess. Creativethinker69 is HOT, but is he really looking for a woman 25-38 within 1,500 miles? Yep, he is. Man, this is like watching a train wreck. I can't take my eyes off of it. Quick...hit refresh.

Ok, so Intense-Interest-in-the-Cultural-Study-of-Internet-Dating Hour is over. Profile is now hidden. A male friend that I told this story to suggested that the winking thing is just guys sitting on their computers winking constantly until they get a hit and then shouting to themselves, "Fish on!" I did get a wink that had a follow up email that said I deserved more than a wink. How is he so sure? (Insert snarky emoticon.) The emails ranged from entire novels of explanation and emotion, to "Just saying hi." One guy said I was so (bleep'ing) beautiful that he didn't expect me to respond. Um, ok, belief manifested I guess. One said he is a 'change junkie.' I think he was maybe trying to sound spontaneous, but all I could picture is me being discarded at the needle exchange. Another one in particular caused me to pause. He said my Salinger quote suggested I am smart, the photos suggested I am kind, and being on the site suggested I am sad. WTH? He was doing so well up to that point ('well' being somewhat subjective here.) Honestly, I know I am probably coming off like an incredibly vain, snobby, anti-joiner, but the truth is, it was overwhelming and totally terrifying. Who's holding the big slick (did you just go there?) and who's just a calling station?

I guess I think about it like the poker game at 3 am: In that game, I was engaged, I was investing, I was willing to push it because I knew enough about the game and the other players to not be timid. To really use my skills and be present. But let's be real, I'm not going to show up at The World Series of Poker and last even beyond the first round. I don't really know how to be in the game blind. It'd be like my first hour on match.com—inappropriately winking at people, betting out of turn, wearing ridiculously over-sized sunglasses and asking if anyone thinks it's good that I have an eight and a nine, off-suit. At least they are serving free drinks.

Joking and poker analogies aside, the idea of what I would write as my "About Me" is intriguing. There's something about that process that is really illuminating. What would I want to say about myself and what I am looking for? What are the non-negotiable traits or deal breakers? The idea behind doing a really honest, well-crafted profile seems to me to be critical. It's what makes monthly poker games with your friends so much more interesting. The more you know, the better you play, the better the game. Even the best players in the professional circuit spend an unbelievable amount of energy looking for tells and researching the top players. It's why we could play until 3 am—it's just a better match up.

So, after some initial thought, I thought I take a stab at maybe what I would write.

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About Me:

On paper I think I'm a total cliché—small town cheerleader, city sorority girl, tennis player, professional woman who recently installed bathroom faucet all on my own (hear me roar). I'm passionate, willful, driven and loyal. I prefer not having a schedule. I'm independent, but prefer the company of friends and loved ones. I love the madness of large, boisterous families. My mother and my daughter are my heart and soul. I think two of the best things I own are my driver's license and my car. I notice and am attracted to good writing and well-crafted expressions of ideas. I'm wordy. I need funny to be a noun. I live more as a verb. I can be grey. I like the idea of getting on an airplane having made plans that morning. I love my home. I think I am aware of the energies around me. I think I am sensitive to the diversity and relativity of our lives. I like to debate. I don't like loose ends. I believe people by and large manifest what they believe, a.k.a.: we drink our own cool aid or poison first. I can overcomplicate simple things. I can make simple things meaningful. I think I make people feel heard. I like to be heard. I like it when a man orders for me. I like to be touched. I am sentimental and romantic in the Big Idea sort of way. Music, mountain air, cut grass, dirty tennis shoes, boat engines, snowflakes, sweat, laughter, big cities, back roads, singing at the top of our lungs, words and books and good human souls are like oxygen to me. I push. I can back off, sometimes away. I will look for and see the other side. I will engage and invest. I am spirited but responsible. I don't like to be talked about, but I love to do or experience things worth talking about. I try and live with intention.

What I'm Looking For:

The big funny. An advocate for self and others. Creative, adventurous, generous, intentional. Structured enough to be responsible and successful, flexible enough to be present, and smart enough to know how it all comes together. Someone With Ideas. A measured risk taker, a confident and patient listener, an opinion former. A family man. Comfortable in nearly any environment, comfortable in his own skin. Someone who thinks the sun rises and sets within the walls of his own home and his own heart. Someone who wants to come home every night—home being wherever she is.

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It's probably true, we've all played a few hands and maybe sometimes we fold maybe too early, maybe too late, but I'm still game and I fully intend on taking the pot again. I think for now though, I prefer to ante up at my friends' houses (shout out to the 6-pack!) I think it's ok to have some tells.