Too Busy

Not to join the chorus of "I'm so important that's why I am so busy" jerkwads that we all know... but look, pals, I'm busy. I'm overwhelmed these days in a way I never have been. But too busy to write? What is too busy to write - really?

My friend Kelly said to me last month, "Ten minutes is still ten minutes. And ten minutes usually turns into more than that." I'll admit that it does sometimes - and sometimes that ten minutes is an absolute grind. The plank workout move of creative output. Every second a burn.

But. She's right. Ten minutes is indeed ten minutes. And that's over an hour a week even when it's ground out one painful second at a time, which is more than I can say for the last three months. So here's to a week back in the saddle again; the saddle I'll fall out of again of course, (I'm no optimistic fool) - but a saddle happy to find a little, teeny, tiny groove in once more.

Every Single Morning:

I don't want to make my bed.

And every single night, when I come home from work: I am pleased and content to see a made bed.

But you'd think it would get easier, right? It would start becoming automatic? Even flossing is starting to feel automatic (three cheers for a new year's resolution finally embedding into daily life!) but I've been making the bed for almost three years (I think) now - and it does not get one ounce easier each morning.

Over n out, your might-just-have-a-Case-of-the-Mondays-blogger,

The Pig of (semi)Success.

Sometimes I get emotional.

Like over there, on the fundraising website for my trip to Tanzania. It's an emotional topic!

So, one month from today, I will have traveled 27.5 hours by air (Portland - Chicago - Zurich - Nairobi - Dar es Salaam) and then 6 to 8 hours by car (Dar es Salaam - Pommern) to arrive in the Iringa District of Tanzania, ready (?!) to volunteer.

But in case you don't want to (understandably) sully your soul by visiting a fundraising website, I'll share the sentimentality here, too:

ONE MONTH! We arrive in Dar Es Salaam in one month. What are we doing to prepare? Well, we've both shopped for quick-dry underwear and hiking boots, we've stocked up on Bonine and Imodium and bug spray. But right this minute? Well, Meggie is in France with 30 parentless fifth graders, as part of her last week teaching her regular students. And Emily is reading Paul Theroux's DARK STAR SAFARI, as if it will prepare her properly for German East Africa, later called Tangyanika, later still known as Tanzania.

But to the real point... having reached the goal of $3100, we're stunned. It's hard to express at times to people who ask why fundraising is humbling, but perhaps this might explain it... 

By going away from work, and family, to do this trip, by attacking our bucket list with a BIG entry marked off, we could have financially set ourselves back a year, or more, of all disposable income. But insetad, we have your help. And your help lets us continue to have a life in Portland - it lets us buy baby shower gifts and buy a round of drinks for birthday girls; it lets us put a tiny $20 bill into the ROTH IRA this month, and lets us get takeout on an exhausted Friday night. It allows us to still remain a part of this daily world, the social and professional and personal, while ALSO scratching off the bucket list item, and THAT is humbling. It is not us alone in the world taking this trip; it is only with your help that we're able to go (literally) half way around the world to volunteer and immerse ourselves in a wholly new experience. YOU are letting us be in both this world, and that world, and you are helping us take it all in with our huge, patient, loving, very scared hearts. 

So - thank you. Thank you for sponsoring and thank you for considering it. It means, quite literally, the world to us.

Crow!!

In the same cursed stretch of road last week, I rode my bike past a crow.

A crow with a broken back or broken wing, or both - flopping around in a circle, trying to lift off in absolute vain. And as I rode past, staring in complete horror with an open mouth at this tortured creature I thought, it is too big for me to run over it and make a difference, and it is circling itself out of the way of oncoming traffic.

And then?

The sound of about twenty other crows, flying in from Hell (I assume) not to save their brother - but to put him out of his misery.

See what I'm saying about bicycling = connection to the neighborhood!? Shit's getting real, people.

Squirrel!!

To, ahem, quote the dog from "Up."

When you ride your bike, it's true what they say - you become newly connected to your neighborhood, and your route, by the smells, the sounds, the feeling of pedaling uphill each vertical foot.

And this intimacy of enjoying your route also means that a lone, dashing, daring, gutsy, inspirational and incredible squirrel - who darts from under a car in front of a bike - is actual cause for genuine alarm. It could really mess you up! Or in this case, it could really mess up the guy in front of you - who almost hit it!

Tales from the road, and my wild urban life, indeed.

Usually it will.

Prepare for a month more of undecided obsession about the hair Chop. I have an appointment one month from today with a edgy, hipster, artistic stylist; will we go for it!?

In the meantime, last night there was much support around the Memorial Day s'mores snack for embracing a big dramatic change, and the safety mantra was repeated yet again: "Remember, it's just hair, and it will grow back. It will grow back. It will grow back."

Though an honest point was then made, to much laughter: the man in the room with ever-slowly-thinning hair said, "To be fair, that is not always true."

Quit slouching! Part Two.

A few days after the eye-opening video experience (below), I attended two work events, in rooms full of tall men.

That is to say... I read once there is a high correlation between very financially successful men and height. At both these events, filled to the brim with lawyers, bankers, financial planners, CEOs turned consultants, some who's who of Portland (including those that actually live in Vancouver because it is cheaper), there were A Lot of Tall Men.

And the truth is, no one like to schmooze. No likes small talk. No likes, as we say back in politics, to work the room. (If you really do love it, well, ok: I believe you; you're just not of the race that knows Joseph, and alas, I am).

But there can be a little thrill, a little fun, in playing the game of Schmooze. It's like acting in a play, and there's a little fun (and a little terror) in that!

So in this room of Very Tall Men, and then again a couple nights later in another room of Very Tall Men, I chuckled to myself quite a bit. Playing the part, working the room, pretending not to be shy - it is so much easier when A, you stand up straight, and B, you have tall people to look in the eye and project confidence to. Score a second lesson for the week - it is time to quit the slouching.

And will lesson three be about The Chop? (As in - the hair. Chop. Is it? Isn't it? Being cut off to a tiny, tiny, boy-like length? I'm undecided. Still.)

Quit slouching! Part One.

At work recently, I had the opportunity to view myself speaking in front of (most of) the company about an hour after I'd done the speaking.

When the memory is that fresh, watching a video is incredibly powerful.

I've always liked public speaking... the baby of the family often does. I mean, hey, we never got the gavel growing up! So to command attention and be able to say your say - it is enjoyable, it is fun, and I've never been too afraid of it.

That said, I am also new to this job and company. And I don't want to be a pushy know-it-all, so in my head, I was speaking in a consciously unintimidating way. I was casual, I was calm, I was asking for people's attention but not demanding it. I had something to say, but I wanted to invite you in, too, to ask questions and feel comfortable, not dominated by a gaudy speaker.

Well. Well well well.

One hour later, I watched the video with this experience-memory vivid in my mind. And lo and behold, no amount of "projecting casualness" is going to come from this woman. I am, to the slight disappointment of that gendered-shy-feminine-fragile piece of my Self, undeniably authoritative. No amount of tucking my chin down, no amount of peeking out the tops of my eyes, no amount of shrugging or smiling is going to convince anyone I'm not in charge. I clearly am, on that video, and frankly, I'd be all those other things I'm going for - likable, affable, funny, charming - if I just listened to my mother and grandmothers, and "Stood Up Straight!"

If I threw my shoulders back,  lifted my chin, and really spoke - I could actually be great at this public speaking thing, and not just decent. Whether or not this qualifies as a realization, or as a blog-worthy piece of self-awareness is up to you. But before you weigh in, try it. Record yourself in front of an audience and then watch it just as soon as you've had a little snack and a walk around the block. You might be shocked at what you find!

Bike Updates

Me and Linus the Girl Bike (you remember her) have been commuting to work lately - the goal is two days a week, and preferably three; I have the "out" of loading Linus onto the bus if I really can't face the ride home - or if it rains!

On day three of commuting, me and Linus passed our first other biker! Felt great.

On week three of commuting, me and Linus were aggressively honked at for the first time. Felt terrifying; I almost steered INTO the car. It should be noted that the honk was intended for the biker two behind me, who was passing the biker one behind me, and I got caught in the tangle.

And on week four of commuting, I completed a real hurdle... I went to Zumba after riding home 4 miles (mostly uphill) and made it through class! Barely. Linus the Girl Bike called me Rider the Jelly Legs after that one.

On the other hand...

I've been obsessed in recent months about the connections between our gut bacteria and food allergies, asthma, eczema, even autism. The research coming out about being too clean, and too sanitized, is fascinating, and there's a whole subcategory of this research about dairy (which I personally react to in various ways) and skin/digestive/bacterial issues. The superbugs and fecal transplants and microscopic curing of insane food allergies in children... this stuff is the Best. If I was fifteen, I really might go into medicine or biology; that's how much this fascinates me.

But. There's a line. My great-grandmother said we all have to eat a bushel of dirt before we die, and she was right, no doubt. But this article about changing stations that are never cleaned, and the norovirus that brought down most of the employees of an auto dealership after a little kiddo had an epic, explosive shit situation in their bathroom... that's the line. That's too much dirt. That was enough to make me want to use Purel! And the force of nature no further can go.