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.

---------------

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.

invest.

I love the Talking Heads. It always feels like David Bryne is struggling to burst through his shell at any second and just lose his mind in a kooky, organic way. He's just feelin' it, man, and I love it. It speaks to my own kooky, organic side and I love the way music can make you feel something on a visceral, physical level. Maybe for this entry any reader should be required to YouTube-up, "Once in a Lifetime" and feel it in the background.

Pause for YouTube search.

It's been about five months since I last wrote anything. I was afraid that would happen. It's not as though my material dried up (HA!), but there's an interesting rhythym to the process of any major personal transformation and I've been mired in the "debris clean-up" phase, which also has a nice layer of "ok, what's next?" and a dash of "Dude, where's my car?" tucked in there. All of which puts a serious crunch on the desire for more vulnerability, the kind that writing this blog can suggest. And not because I know people read this, but because at times I have been exhausted by the self-examination, the problem-solving and the re-building.

When I first separated from my ex-husband, the emotions were overwhelming and intense, but often there was also a sense of giddy anticipation. The latter was partially a reflection of the relief I felt over having finally reached the day when I had the courage to make a change, and partially the excitement about the promise of a different kind of future — one in which I knew had to be better, whether we stayed married or not, because it was finally intentional. I was focused on making things right, better, more grounded and more fulfilled. I was focused on saving myself, and the momentum of that intention often felt really good. I can hear it in my writing at that time. Much was opening up around me and within me. Those close to me know that much of last year I found myself having some of (if not 'the') hardest, but also the best moments of my life. Finding yourself again and investing in yourself and others is an incredibly powerful, emotional, exhilarating thing.

So what is ridiculous about the last few months is that I've let that slip, and just yesterday I had the kind of quick, but poignant conversation where the mirror was held up for me and I saw it clear as a bell. I didn't like it. I have not been wholly myself for months. I had stopped investing even though I had convinced myself that I was. After the shock, I ended up laughing. Oh, how hard habits are to break, right?

One of my strengths, I think, is that by and large, I invest. It's made me a more capable and conscientious mother, a successful professional, a loyal and considerate friend. I am present. Being invested, in my mind, means bloom where you are planted, see and look for good and valuable things in others, empathize (much more intentional than sympathizing), remain flexible and be up for most anything. Be open to change and ideas. I'm competitive, so I am a goal-setter, but I don't often think too far down the road. I'm investing for today. I get up in the morning and I am choosing my day, my actions and my reactions to the best of my ability and all of this is pretty intentional. I feel a true obligation to my life and the people in it to invest and, as I was just having this conversation with a close friend today, living with the intention to focus on an obligation is powerful. I think it means you are conscious of the investment and this opens you up to be more present, more available, a better listener, more informed, more empathetic — there's just flat out a bigger energy to your life. I think it can take you places you never thought possible.

In my own life, I have always seen the power of intention and investment, but I would venture to say that most of us have lots of reasons why we fall short in this area. Making an investment inherently also creates vulnerability. There's real or perceived risk, insecurity, uncertainty, change. I have battled the vulnerability, more so in the past few months, and I have not been wholly myself in all areas. In some ways, I was even paralyzed by it. Not just emotional vulnerability, but also financial and physical. The positive aspects of the momentum created by the separation and divorce waned, as I was afraid it would, and real life and debris clean-up forced down any desire to stay open and vulnerable.

Investing takes time and there is no clock, nor even any milestone for the vast majority of things worth investing in. Being invested means that one thing breaks open into the next and amazing things can happen, but you have to be open for the ride. I know this and little by little, through a series of recent events, I am waking back up to all of this. This week alone, I am grateful for more than one thing that helped break my paralysis, including valuable conversations, even the uncomfortable ones. Thankfully I listened. I was present.

Tonight I'm headed over to celebrate two friends' 40th birthdays infused with good friends and a ridiculously fun 80's theme. My silly 80's aerobics instructor outfit is ready to roll and I'm feeling grounded and good. I am excited to celebrate two men who, no question, invest in their lives and for people like this, you can't help but feel grateful to know them. I'm also certain there will be some Talking Heads goin' down and I'm excited to be very, very present on that dance floor.

You may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife

You may ask yourself, how did I get here?

Letting the days go by, let the water hold you down

Letting the days go by, water flowing underground

You may tell yourself, this is not my beautiful house, this is not my beautiful wife

Into the blue again, after the money's gone

You may ask yourself, how do I work this?

Remove the water, carry the water

Time isn't holding us, time isn't after us, time doesn't hold you back

—favorite lines from the Talking Heads', "Once in a Lifetime."

marcia marcia marcia

There are days when I'm stunned at how all of this technology seemingly came down at once. I barely had put the cover on my Smith Corona when all of a sudden I was in an AOL chat room pretending I was a writer from Miami being flirted with by a guy who was pretending he was older, semi-retired and living on the Gulf side of the same state. Hmmm. Ok, maybe he wasn't pretending. When he didn't see me being interviewed on the Today Show a few weeks later, like I had proclaimed, maybe he figured out that I wasn't who I said I was? Now that I think about it, what chat room was I in? 'Over 60 and Sexy?' Rookie mistake.

Technically I never had an AOL account. I had the standard Gen X'er approach to the whole thing at the time: No way was I going to be a joiner (insert scoffing sound). First of all, everyone was a liar, weren't they? I remember feeling distinctly vulnerable in that overloaded AOL homepage interface. What the hell was all of this? No, I am not interested in playing online poker. Ok, maybe I am, but how do they know that?! Why is there a heart next to my fake chat room name? That's entirely too cheeky and suggestive. Why are people up at three in the morning talking about cat poop and engine oil and how they could 'totally relate to Alanis Morissette's new song? Yes, I remember these things. Who were these people? Crap, I'm one of them.

I signed up with Earthlink.

From there it seemed we were all curious enough about the new fangled technology to at least attempt to integrate it into our lives. We used our brick-sized flip phones (I think Mattel fashioned their toddler version after this circa 1995 gem) and payed our $300/month cell phone bills (and yet, AT&T wonders where the aggression started?) The World Wide Web was intriguing, but I don't remember anything useful at all on the internet at that time. For one, who could possibly remember an entire address? Didn't matter, I was too busy making sure my cell phone calls were just shy of an emergency and it took too long to 'surf' anyway. Of course at the time, that word only meant water, waves and wedgies.

People that are a lot smarter than I am are debating whether or not all of this technology is saving time, increasing productivity, bringing down walls that divide us socially and economically, but the irony is that with my generation (hello X'ers!), what I hear most often is, "I don't have time for it." Oh the pessimism, oh the ennui, oh the anti-joiners...I heart my little niche generation of Rage Against the Machine'ers.

We are the generation that is sandwiched between the "I went to a bunch of Dead shows, dropped out, but now I'm your doctor" Boomers (80 million and some change) and the "I thought I wanted a career, but really I just want a big paycheck" Gen Y'ers (78 million and some change). At barely over 45 million, we are like Jan Brady — the largely ignored middle sister stuck between our do-gooder, save-the-world older sister, and our fame-seeking, lisping, blondentourage younger sister. We had the bad hair, the bad economy, the bad attitude.

So cut to 2011 and get a load of us - I saw some statistics recently that suggest that we make up close to 30% of the Facebook demographic here in the US (they don't break it down by generation, but I did some "New Math" and I feel pretty good about that statement). At over 100 million members stateside, that means that nearly two thirds of our generation joined up! I'm not surprised, but I love to laugh at how we act annoyed and reserved and reluctant. For all the reasons that outwardly it seems counter-intuitive to have these kind of numbers come from the likes of Jan Brady, I think it makes perfect sense.

In the past year or so, having separated and divorced, I've been dating again. There are dozens of funny technology dos and don'ts that seem quite obvious, but some of them really make me laugh. I like 'The Office Guy' on Daily Candy's blog. His economic, quick-witted delivery slays me. I saw one recently where he was giving tips on how many post-date texts are appropriate for a woman to send. I'm a one text post-date sender and it goes something like this: "thank u." The Office Guy lays out the slippery slope after just two texts and all I can envision in my head is the Jon Favreau character in the movie Swingers calling a woman he just met at the bar, over and over again in a row, with the final message on her answering machine being, "This just isn't going to work out." (By the way, I just Googled Swingers to make sure I spelled his name correctly and this is what I got in return: "The word"swingers" has been filtered from the search because Google SafeSearch is active." WTH? a) I had no idea I even had SafeSearch turned on! b) Really? It's that offensive? and c) What else have I been missing?!) I think this is where our reluctant-to-join attitude serves us well. I don't consider text messaging a conversation, I don't think many in Generation X think so either, but we think it has its place. I will admit though, we might be dangerous with the answering machine (aka: 'voicemail' for you Gen Y'ers). Boomers leave short messages (they just want to get you on the phone), X'ers leave entire one-sided conversations, and Y'ers just hang up and text you, or they don't call you at all. I don't have a single babysitter who listens to her voice messages. The answering machine was our technology and ultimately, again, we are like Jan Brady: we want to be heard.

This is one reason why I am not surprised that we are big Facebookers. In our own way, we are still trying to be heard. When you are sandwiched between Reaganomics and a recession and are fed lines like, "you can be anything you want to be, as long as you fit in," our angst and lack of a solid rudder created a generation of kids who devoted ourselves to grounded questioning, authentic reflection about our feelings, and determined introspection. Not the doped-up introspection of "free to be you and me" or the coked-out introspection of "we can have it all," but the "what the hell are we going to do?" introspection. What were we going to get behind? What was our collective thought...irony?

I haven't researched this, but I'm pretty sure irony existed before the first X'er could talk, but we mastered it, we owned it and it became our way of being heard without being wholly transparent. Brilliant. We took feigned ignorance and interest to a new level, making Eddie Haskell look like a bit player. Think of everyone you know between the ages of 35 and 46 and I think we just about corralled all of the smart asses into one corner, yes? Not that irony is just about that. To be truly ironic, you have to be a thinker, and maybe even a brooder, and I genuinely love this about my generation. I think it's what makes us unique. We often think as we speak, question why we are leaping, and I think we feed off of perspective and experience.

We are not credited with much outside of irony, Nirvana, Winona Ryder and Eddie Bauer barn jackets, but our middle-child angst has contributed to some significant cultural building blocks. We are the generation that spiked the number of women in the workforce and we are the most ethnically diverse generation than any before us. Not having a defined path for ourselves, and due to being raised in the midst of ambiguous social change, we created our own path based on tolerance, adaptability and fairness. We were often the product of two-income households, or divorced households, with over-worked parents, during a time of economic uncertainty. As a result, us "Latch Key Kids" are more independent, skeptical and resilient, and we are the first generation to put a value on balancing a successful work life with a strong home life. We have supported advancements in personal technology (to get us out of the office), and now that many of us are parents, statistics show that Gen X fathers spend more time with their children than Boomers did.We decided we wanted more than what it seemed was ahead of us.

Some of this means that we've often been brashly dubbed, "Generation Me," but I think our cautious confidence, independence and adaptability laid critical groundwork for the lighting-speed integration of technology into our cultural norm. Yep, I put that inBOLD. Sergey Brin and Larry Page, co-founders of Google, are Gen X'ers. So is Jeff Bezos, founder of Amazon.com and Michael Dell of Dell Computers. Many top executives in ground-breaking companies such as these, and others, are Gen X'ers. We are widely considered the most entrepreneurial generation in history. Unlike Boomers, who maybe on average are more linear thinkers (think: 'step one leads to step two'), and Y'ers who are more intuitive when it comes to technology (because they've always had it), we are more independent and analytical and I think this led to astonishing innovation with measured and thoughtful integration.

So we Facebook, we Twitter, we text our babysitters and return our voice messages. We use our bluetooths and listen to Pandora and rent movies online. We pay bills online, but we would never dream of using our debit cards, and we are the first to share internet privacy and safety messages. We will accept your .ics's, but many of us also carry around our handwritten date books, and we still handwrite birthday cards and love notes. Ultimately we have been good stewards for change. We've been nearly an ideal bridge between the days of typewriters and party lines, to smartphones and Facebook. You can count on us to continue to apply our skepticism with poetic optimism, and our craving for fairness, authenticity and grounded progress.

By 1990, The Brady Bunch was reinvented as a dramedy, The Brady's, and Jan's character had marital problems and then fertility problems, culminating in her and her husband adopting a Chinese baby girl. I was just starting college and immersed in my own dramedy, so I barely remember the series, but I think it's hilarious that this is what happens to the fictional Jan. It couldn't have been scripted as a more perfect middle-child Gen X ending. Meanwhile, I started college with my Smith Corona and ended college with my Smith Corona, but I drove off of that campus with the distinct feeling that everything was about to change. Our little niche generation was just getting to work, in the middle of a recession, with a guy from Arkansas in the White House, and 'RSTLSSPEN' was just about to sign on...

lessons learned in passing.

"If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth."

J.D. Salinger's first line in The Catcher in the Rye.

Thanks Mr. Salinger, I agree. I just don't feel like going into it. At least not the "whys" or the "why nows" or the "when did you knows" or the "how did you knows" or really any commentary on how it all happened, at least not right now. All of the analyzing, coping, struggling and enduring drained me. As of the very end of the year, I'm now divorced. It's over and I just need a breather.

Mr. Salinger lost his life in 2010, as did over 200 'notable' Americans that make the type of list that we see in nearly all year-end broadcast news features. I'm always a little stunned to see the list, forgetting some of the names from earlier in the year, or never having heard about their deaths at all, but mostly the names remind me of the profound impact these souls have had on our culture and our lives.

Manute Bol, the 7'7" NBA shot-blocker, died at the age of 47. I remember watching him in his early years with the Washington Bullets in the mid to late 80's, then picking up with him again in the early 90's when he was with the Philadelphia 76'ers. NBA basketball is my favorite sport to watch on television (1. NBA basketball, 2. professional tennis, 3. college football...if the official ranking is of any remote interest). Growing up out west, I preferred teams like my own Seattle Sonics, even loved-to-hate the Portland Trailblazers, the Phoenix Suns' Barkley years, Drexler's years with the Houston Rockets, the Lakers...we had plenty of things going on out here to keep my attention, but Manute was well, Manute. I think (I need to check this) he's the only NBA player to have more blocks than shots. I watched him because he was consistent in only one area, which was intriguing. Too tall, really, without the more well-roundedness of many pro-players, but he had a role and he perfected his one talent. I watched him because I knew I'd see some killer blocks. There is value in consistency.

Staying on the basketball theme, the legendary UCLA basketball coach, John Wooden also passed away this year. If you know anything at all about college basketball, you know he was an All-American player and then a revered coach that took the likes of Bill Walton and Kareem Abdul Jabbar through winning seasons. I think he took the Bruins to ten national championships, seven of which were in a row. All of this happened prior to his retirement in 1975, so at the age of three, I was hardly aware of his influence. What I do know and remember is his influence after those years. His very simple take on how to be successful, not only on the court, but in life. One of my favorite John Wooden quotes, which my mother would certainly appreciate is, "If you don't have the time to do it right, when will you have time to do it over?" Enough said.

Richard Holbrooke, a passionate veteran US Diplomat that served under four presidents, died suddenly in the last quarter of the year. He most recently was serving as special envoy to Pakistan and Afghanistan, arguably one of the most difficult posts in today's environment. He was known passionately as a "warrior for peace." As a personal friend of two of my friends, I picked up that Mr. Holbrooke was an irreplaceable colleague, a mentor and a diplomatic lion. One quote that always struck a chord with me is (said upon reflection after an intense Global Initiative Conference spearheaded by former President Bill Clinton): "The controlled chaos is one way to get creativity. The intensity of it, the physical rush, the intimacy created the kind of dialogue that leads to synergy." Seems to me that maybe he understood that there is power in leveraging and working with the highly emotional tenor of complex situations.

Miep Gies, the Dutch woman who, with her husband and close friends, helped hide Anne Frank and her family from the Nazi's in a secret set of rooms in Otto Frank's company offices in Amsterdam, died in January of this past year. How could anyone possibly understand the stress that she lived with during those years — the fear of being discovered, the fear of the discovery betraying the lives of her friends? And yet, showing up to work day in and day out with this enormous secret just on the other side of a door. Yet, when asked if the worrying consumed her, I am humbled by her response: "No, on the one hand the workload did not allow any time for worrying and on the other hand, we had the satisfaction of doing the right thing."

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So after reflecting on these "notable" deaths and what I learned from their lives, what I am interested in saying is: thank you. It was not the worst year of my life. It was the most challenging for sure, but there were many, many lessons, some that were downright soul filling, tucked into that year. It's fitting that much of the events of the entire year came together at the very end and fell on the heart and mind of a woman who feels it all. So as I sit here, mere days from it having slipped into the archives, I can say with absolute certainty that in many ways, it was the year of my life. The one where I’ve never felt so alive, so human, so scared, happy, desperate, awkward, empowered, loved and inspired.

Perspective is a powerful teacher and I’ve had more cause to reflect this year than any year prior. Just as with the reflections on the lives of the "notable Americans" who passed, the stories and moments that others have been willing to share with me during this past year were powerful. Moments that were incredibly honest, sometimes shocking, always illuminating, and always a reminder of how complex we are as humans. I was grateful to hear, witness or experience these moments, so in honor of them, I'll end by envisioning a year in which the following might have happened. I would love to sit and talk about any or all of them, whether they happened to me or someone else, because if we let our life’s stories be heard, they might tell us what’s next.

This year…

…you might spend two hours in a snowy hot pool with your pre-teen daughter and her friend, having the conversation of a lifetime, while an entire bar full of twenty-something après skiers are just on the other side of the glass and you, not being a twenty-something, might start out feeling self-conscious (maybe it’s because you are in a bikini), but an hour in, you might look up into the sky, let the snowflakes fall and melt on your eyelashes and feel very, very happy to be your age and stage.

You might sit at a dinner table with a woman who’s husband walked out on her, her boyfriend who’s daughter wanted to change her last name after he and her mother got divorced, and a husband and wife whose relationship led to the divorce from a close friend of yours (who obviously was not in attendance) and find yourself drinking champagne and talking about their crazy neighbor and too-spicy penne ala vodka.

You might have many EVCFs (Email Volley of Confusion and Frustration). So many in fact, that you might create an acronym for them.

You might receive a wildly expensive gift on a first date, making that (too bold of a move) the precursor to it being the last date, and secretly wonder if you could sell it on Ebay to pay your legal bills.

You might write your ex a manifesto on love, life, self and marriage that ends up falling on deaf ears, but you might save it and think you should present it to your next love and say, “This is what I want. Are you in?” You might think it’s silly to waste a good stream of consciousness.

The greatest two words all year might be “or not,” also known as: "not your responsibility."

You might feel so incredibly fucking excited about the life that is opening up all around you that you can't stop yourself from singing at the top of your lungs while driving down the street and wondering if the people in the neighboring cars are as happy as you are. You might think not.

You might be obsessed with all forms of electronic communication, so much so that you might experience the unfortunate event of someone accidently opening the bathroom stall and you not being sure what is more embarrassing — the texting or the partial nudity.

You might find that your already close relationship with your mother actually had room to grow. You will be eternally grateful for her support.

Your best friends might have the best timing and they might save you, over and over again.

You might find yourself in a hot tub with half a dozen singing choral opera singers.

You might lose your cell phone in a hot tub, when you are not even in the hot tub, because a man trips and knocks your wallet out from under your arm because he might have been stunned to see a woman try to kiss another woman. That might not be only time that year that you get propositioned by a woman.

You might experience the toughest moment of your life when you tell your daughter that you are separating from her father, and over the next year, she might blow you away with her transparency, her intelligence, her responsibility and her resilience. It might be the most difficult, but the most inspiring thing you will see all year.

Your funniest childhood friend might say that you are funny.

You might discover that your 20 year old college nickname is actually spelled with an 'i'.

You might not know how to tactfully change your relationship status update without sparking awkward commenting, while your ex just simply unfriends you and then posts a photo of you on his Match.com profile. It might just make you laugh hysterically.

You might find that bacon is good in every scenario, including emergency abdominal surgery.

You might believe in fate.

You might lose sleep, your appetite, your confidence, your money, your momentum, your faith in some and your confidence in others, but you might gain yourself.

You may find that some friends are necessities and some are luxuries.

You might realize you have to stop putting yourself in these situations!

A convertible ride along the lake, or a walk over the Golden Gate Bridge, or an hour and a half wait in line to eat breakfast, or a conversation on a rooftop bar, or radishes and dip on a summer's day, or racing your daughter down the ski hill, or dancing by yourself, or having your photo taken in Chelsea on a luminous night by someone who thinks you are beautiful, might be salve for your soul.

You might spend three hours with nothing more to do then sit, drink a few beers and debate the President’s handling of the economy, the concept of Jumping the Shark, inventing a leather coat life vest, is there a good Catholic democrat?, giving your children a sense of their Jewish background, and the fairness of how the snow removal debacle in 2008 lost the mayor his job. The last one might spark more debate than any of the others, but that might be due to what number beer you are on.

You might have the best and most interesting conversations of your life.

You might learn that you should put the oxygen mask on yourself first.

Your faith might be restored over a cab ride in your favorite city in the world.

You might look like a fool, feel like a fool, be taken for a fool, but not have any regrets and that includes the hysterical crying when you put the cat down and the psychics (plural), just to name two.

You might cry every day, just once.

You might find new perspective on friendship, motherhood, ambition, humility, patience, endurance and loyalty.

You might receive the birthday card you've always been dreaming about.

You might apologize…a lot.

You might disappoint, but you might inspire.

You might be disappointed, but you might be inspired.

You might be congratulated, pitied, hit on, avoided, smothered, rejected, helped, hurt and saved. It might be overwhelming at times.

You might find yourself not knowing what Florence and the Machine are actually signing about, but not caring because in the way she sings about Happiness, for the first time in your life, you might feel it coming at you like a freight train.

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"Dont ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody." — The last line in The Catcher in the Rye.

I don't know if I agree with that one Mr. Salinger. I would have rather shared, learned and then maybe lost, then never shared at all. This year, more than ever. So I think I prefer: "What'choo talkin' 'bout Willis?" Are you smiling? Me too. Rest in peace Gary Coleman (1968—2010) rest in peace.

And here begins, a new year...

over the limit.

This entry will be short and sweet...I'm so sorry for the email barrage that may happen as a result of the re-publishing my blog! I took it all down and now it's all back up and if you subscribe (thank you!) you may receive all of them, again, in your inbox. Just know that I don't think so highly of the entries, or myself, that I felt you would want to take another look. Haha!

Happy New Year! I've missed this outlet and will be back soon...

for the love of madonna.

I went to church this morning on my way into work. Last night, I tried going to the small, neighborhood church that is affiliated with my daughter's school, but I couldn't get into the sanctuary, so I chose to go to a different one this morning that I thought might have a better chance of being open.

St. Joe's is a large, beautiful Catholic church built on a hillside in a dense residential area minutes from downtown. The whole site is really a compound taking up an entire city block with a large K-8 school attached. The sanctuary itself probably holds several hundred people and it's stunning with two-story high, rough hewn wood ceilings, stone walls, luminous stained glass and of course, well-worn dark wood pews. It is the church that I went to when I first moved here in college, and the church where my daughter was baptized eleven years ago. It's affiliated with the Jesuits, which has a history of social justice, so they were respectful of our decision to select Jewish Godparents, provided my mother, a lifelong Catholic, stood with us during the ceremony. I honestly, no question could feel God in the moment the priest made the sign of the cross on my daughter's head with holy water dripping down her cheeks.

I heard on the radio this morning that the other Madonna (Ciccone), is opening up a string of ultra-luxe fitness gyms around the world called Hard Candy. None of them, initially, will be in the US. Once again—way to go Madonna. Ingenious. Make us hungry for it instead of letting us be the first to trash it. The first one is opening up in Mexico City on November 29, then other places like Argentina, Russia, Brazil and of course Europe will follow. Another reinvention, she rocks. So here I was, sitting in traffic, on my way to church, reading my horoscope on my phone and thinking about two Madonnas.

The sanctuary visit was my mother's idea. About ten years ago, when trying to sell my house in the downturn after 9/11, she came over and buried a small St. Joseph figurine in the backyard, upside down. We got an offer within a week. Today, I'm trying to finally put my divorce to bed, and in light of the tears that I cried over the disappointment of it all the other night, she said, quite simply, "go light a candle." So I'm sitting in my car, the taillights in front of me glowing red in the reflection of heavy rain drops, the sound of the wiper blades cutting through Madonna's Hard Candy news report and reading my horoscope on my phone, which had the ominous advice to not let myself be 'emotionally blackmailed.' I never like horoscopes that have good advice but imply that something will happen that requires the advice. Ugh. Will someone try and emotionally blackmail me today? That sounds fun.

What would Madonna do?

I am a very spiritual woman. I was raised Catholic, my mother even taught my Catechism classes (!), and I love that I share this cultural background with 1.1 billion other souls on the planet. Ok, ok, let's be honest, it's the most culture a white girl from a small'ish agricultural community in the Pacific Northwest is ever going to achieve (well, technically I have a Jewish step-family with a Japanese sister-in-law, and I'm twelve and a half percent Cherokee, but that is definitely another blog entry...stop laughing, you know who you are).

I love that you can go to a Catholic church in a different city and the mass is still essentially the same. I believe in the meditative quality of the rituals and I absolutely believe in God. I believe in the concept of worship and the intellectual study of religion and faith. I was raised a Jesuit, which is anchored in the aforementioned concept of social justice, as well as humility. I am decidedly not the most humble person I know, but I do try and I whole-heartedly believe in the Big Idea of humility as it plays out in and around our lives. Therefore, I am not interested in tackling the issue of priests and celibacy, but I strongly respect the notion that they have humbly reduced their lives to the very simplest of devotion, and thus, this is a person that I am comfortable talking to me about God. I believe in a lifelong investment in your own spirituality, which for me means it's highly personal, grounded in the humility of accepting what we don't know, and working hard to have faith. I am on the farthest end of evangelism as you can get. So much so, that I would venture to say that most of my friends do not know how spiritual I really am. That being said, I am always interested in discussing faith, religion or spirituality, but I often listen more than I contribute.

I'm a fan of both Madonnas, having grown up with both of them, but the modern day holder of the moniker had me thinking this morning. About disappointment, about reinvention, about survival. For as incredibly strong as she is, I bet she's been emotionally blackmailed a time or two, but she survived and thrived. So did the original Madonna. Both of them are survivors and both of them reinvented themselves. Mary went from being Joseph's wife to, well, you know the rest of her story and Madonna Ciccone went from being Madonna Ciccone to, well...Madonna. How dare I compare the virgin mother of Jesus to an oversexed single mother, you ask?...humility. I think you do the best you can and I think the Virgin Mary would agree with that.

This morning, the sanctuary was totally empty and very dim. The candles previously lit by other visitors were peacefully flickering in the corner. I stood there for a minute and let the magnitude of the quiet settle over me. I've been meaning to come here and have a talk with God. I wanted to reconcile the disappointment — mano y mano. In that cavernous, dim, empty, beautiful sanctuary, I lit candles for my daughter, for a friend of mine with a child my daughter's age who had a brain aneurysm a few weeks ago, for my friend who is beating ovarian cancer, and one for those struggling with or enduring a loss of any kind, then I sat down in a pew and prayed. Prayers of gratefulness, guidance and reconciliation. I am doing the best I can and whatever drives the Madonnas' resolve and reinvention maybe we will never know, but I'm inspired by it and if someone has the audacity to emotionally blackmail me today—bring it...I'm channeling "Like a Virgin."