Organized Chaos

I have often been amused to hear people at work talk about how organized I am. They're convinced that I am naturally like that - everything in it's place, filed and color-coordinated. Even when I try to tell them it's all a self-imposed, purposeful construct that helps me get through my workday, they simply shake their heads in denial. Even when I try to convince them that it really does take a lot of effort on my part to be that way, they smirk and say "Whatever Mandy."

Regardless of what I say, they don't believe me.

I wish they would talk to my husband. Colin would tell them all about how I really am when I'm at home and I'm in my more natural mental state. He calls it 'organized chaos' but I think he's being polite. Really it's probably better described as just plain chaos.

At home, things appear randomly wherever I happen to drop them. There are usually pairs of shoes spread throughout the house, one or more in each room ('and not always in pairs', Colin points out oh-so-helpfully). My ever-present cardigans could be in the guest room, over the back of the chaise in our room, on the living room couch, or on the kitchen counter (anywhere but the closet). I am constantly in search of such small items as keys and sunglasses because I tend to set them down when I come in but not always in the same place.

The largest concern I had about our current home was the fact that we would have to share a closet. My anal-retentive, super-neat hubby shivered at the thought but he has managed well. I work very hard to keep it mostly clean - usually by dumping whole piles of clothes from the floor into the hamper even if they aren't dirty.

When we travel, Colin likes to compare what happens to the contents of my suitcase to an explosion, or, as he says, to what would happen if I "unzipped it and ran around the room shaking out the insides in small piles completely at random."

In some ways I like being organized, having everything where it should be and easy-at-hand. At work it gives me a sense of confidence and preparedness. But I have to admit that my natural comfort zone is in a state of slight (or even advanced) disarray. There's something homey and comfortable about stuff being strewn about in a way that implies use and even need. If everything is neat and tidy it tends to make me feel like I can't relax.

But, more than likely, only those of you who have actually lived with me will believe that.

Obsession

Sounds scandalous doesn't it? What could it be you wonder... The word obsession has these dark, twisted connotations of something secret, something inherently dangerous and sexy.

HA. Do you know me at all? I'm about as dangerous as a paper cut.

My obsession involves a styrofoam cup the size of my head and what comes in it. For a while I resisted. I had even been thisclose to cutting it out altogether. I kept telling myself, like any other addiction, it's expensive. In excess, it does bad things to your brain. And the second you give in to it... you have to have it again. And then you have to have it twice a day.

And then the car hops at Sonic know your name and your order and they're walking towards your car before you ever press the call button.

Colin always cracks on me because I have to drink my Route 44 Unsweet Iced Tea from Sonic exactly like this. Both hands on the cup (it's heavy!), head tilted to one side and straw in one side of my mouth. I don't know why. I hadn't even noticed it. But now that he's made fun of me I realize it every time - but I can't help it! I can't stop myself.

I love their iced tea. It's an easy cheesy way to make me pretty silly-happy. As I've given up my traditional comfort foods on my 'health quest', the comfort-in-a-cup that a Route 44 represents has become ever more important. It's a great way to get that same warm fuzzy feeling without downing 1,000 calories in a single sitting.

Sometimes I worry about all the caffeine. And the $2.05 a pop. And being known by name at a local fast food joint. But mostly, I just take that first sideways sip and sigh... Ahhh... so good. I'm completely obsessed and I've given myself over to it.

I like to think it could be worse. It could be a 44-ounce rum and coke you know.

The Worst Within Us

Yesterday in training we had to do one of those self-tests that helps you determine your 'communication style' by asking you to rate what response out of four options is most like you for about 20 given situations. Then you calculate your score, trace it to your style and learn all of the best and worst aspects of your personality and why you succeed or fail at work.

Yeesh. All that after just 10 minutes worth of response ratings?

Of course there are always some aspects of these tests that make us say 'yes - that is definitely me' and then there are others where we just snort and say 'HA. Whatever.' But it just made me think about the fact that if we really are honest with ourselves - do we actually need a test to tell us any of this stuff?

I'm pretty aware of the worst parts of my personality - especially at work. I'm demanding. Picky. Anal retentive. I want things just-so (color-coded, natch) and I want them in full sentences dang it! I am a stickler for old-school office etiquette (don't sit in someone's office until asked, wear closed-toed shoes) and I have high expectations for my staff straight down to the newbies but also for my higher-ups - and I can be unforgiving when repeatedly disappointed. I also tend to put off assignments that I'm not interested in or feel unprepared for and I ask extensive questions about pretty much anything I'm asked to do. And I hate review notes. Nothing irks me more than having to return to something I've already finished to redo it - which is completely hypocritical because, since I'm so picky, I leave TONS of review notes.

I can come up with all of that in no time flat because I know it about myself. I'm sure there are negative aspects of my personality I gloss over but I do my best to be honest with myself (and my staffers - I admit all of these things to them up front). But I try to remind myself that there are positive aspects to my personality as well.

My main goal with every staffer is to teach them as much as possible. Anything they want to know, sometimes more than they want to know. I will stop whatever I'm doing, at any time, to answer a question or help them in any way. They are absolutely my first priority and I have been told (in more than one upward evaluation) that they know that. I'm also a stickler about not asking anything of my staff that I wouldn't do myself - and I've been told they know that too.

One of my staffers is an excellent barometer for how I'm doing at balancing out the good in me with the worst in me because she's one of those tell-it-like-it-is women that doesn't pull punches. She has told me that she likes working with me because she knows without a doubt that I wouldn't waste her effort on something I didn't think was important. (She's also told me that sometimes while clearing my internal control review notes she wishes she could smack me.)

I'm not really sure what the benefit is to my telling you any of this except to say that I think it's important that we all contemplate the best and the worst aspects of working (living, or loving) with ourselves and do our best to balance out the two. We can't always quell the worst aspects of our personalities, and sometimes we shouldn't. My pickiness may be frustrating at times for the people working with me, but there are very real benefits to having high documentation standards (and when it becomes second-nature to them they aren't quite so annoyed anymore anyway).

At least... that's what I'm going to tell myself.

In any case, it's important to realize that we all take our two wonky halves and use them to patch together an imperfect whole and there's really no reason not to acknowledge our own weaknesses because if we ignore them, they are far more likely to bite us in the butt.

Social-lite

I've decided that, for a natural recluse like me, getting married is to a certain extent like a terminal illness for your social life. Wedding bells are, in a way, the death toll for all other relationships. Your other bonds start to decay almost instantly and then quickly slide downhill into all but nonexistence.

That's exaggerating of course, but it's late and I'm tired so give a girl a break. In a way, I feel like I've been hiding under a rock since Colin and I got married, with short excursions out for knitting classes and one semester of English courses at a local university (and one blissful week in the UK with my mom). Other than that, I've been (self-)limited to only rare outings with friends and lots of time with my oh-so-lovable hubby.

Not that the hubby has suddenly become any less lovable, but I'm working on getting myself out more. I'm finding ways to be out in the community on my own as an individual rather than as part of a pair and tonight was a perfect example. Tonight, I had my first class session at a local tech center for a class in, of all things, acrylic and watercolor painting.

Essentially it took only about, oh, an hour with a brush in my hand to realize that watercolors probably require a level of finesse that I don't actually possess. But I chatted up the women at my table, discussed paint preferences with the teacher and did my best to make my 'study in values' really look like a house with a mountain in the background. I'm still thinking that maybe acrylics should be my focus but with a little Hipstamatic app magic I think it actually looks pretty nifty:

Regardless of my actual success with the painting - I really enjoyed being in an incredibly hodge-podge group of people attempting to learn something just for the heck of it. And because I also enjoy photograpy, it doesn't bother me at all to use a little digital manipulation to improve the results of my manual efforts.

Not bad for a first session. Pretty darn successful if I do say so myself.

Lazy Food Lover

I read Molly Wizenberg's 'A Homemade Life' this weekend and it reaffirmed one thing I already knew about myself (and have long proudly advertised) and called into startling relief something else I have ignored to the point that I was surprised to truly realize it.

I love to eat. And I hate to cook.

Pretty much anyone who's ever met me knows that I love to eat. I'm not shy about it. My motto (claimed from a much-loved movie) is 'I'm an eater.' I know all the tiny hole-in-the-wall restaurants within a ten mile radius from my house, office and major clients and I constantly seek out recommendations when I'm in an unfamiliar area. I'm also not a very dainty eater - I attack my meals with gusto and relish every last bite.

But I do not enjoy cooking.

I want to. I like to look at recipes and I say things to myself like 'oooo buckwheat pancakes - I love those! I should try that!' But the truth is, I don't really want to try that. I would much rather have someone else try that and I would happily oooh and aaaah appreciatively while I devoured everything on my plate.

This is something I need to work on. The best things in life are worth working for and food is no different. I know there are all sorts of wonderful recipes out there I would love - I just need to quit being a lazy bum and get down to the business of trying them all out.

I think I'll start this weekend. Some buckwheat pancakes out of Molly's book would be the perfect way to kick off a September Saturday morning. I'll finish my run, roll up my sleeves and make myself something tasty.

Maybe I just need to cook, taste, repeat until I teach myself that yummy things only truly come to those who cook. A little positive reinforcement experiment. It just might work if I keep at it. And I'll get to eat all sorts of lovely things along the way.

End of Summer

This weekend ended up a, somewhat unexpected, simple celebration of some of my favorite aspects of this summer-turning-to-fall time of year. We spent a clear, cool Friday night in the stands at a Red Hawks baseball game where I promptly stepped off the diet wagon in order to indulge in my love of ballpark hot dogs. Well, let's be honest. I didn't step off the wagon. I threw myself overboard headfirst into a river of nacho cheese. Three hot dogs, half a funnel cake and a mini-helmet full of ice cream later, I sat in the stands with my feet up, giggling like a schoolgirl, knowing without caring that I would regret every last gastronomical decision I had just made.

Tonight was a much quieter (healthier) splurge as we took Daly-pup to the trails. I love to take Daly just about anywhere because putting him in the car and rolling down the window is all it takes to make him deliriously happy. And really, seeing him makes a lot of people we don't even know happy. People will talk to him (one teenager once even barked at him) and he just drools happily all down the side of my car in mute response. I honestly think that driving down the highway with his head out and eyes squinted down to slits is how he'd love to spend every waking moment for the rest of his life if he could.

The trails, however, is an area that is actually not that far from our house, just on the northwest side of Lake Hefner. It's about a mile long paved loop (there's also windy single-track, mostly frequented by serious mountain bikers from what I can tell) and we go there frequently with Daly to enjoy the quiet green patch in the middle of the city. Tonight, Colin took Daly on his leash and I... I took my bike.

After years of wanting a new one (since my previous bike got stolen off my front porch in college, to be exact), I recently got myself a bike. It's not just any bike. It's a Schwinn Windwood Cruiser with a front basket, back luggage rack and old-school bell. I researched and found the exact bike I wanted, saved up and finally bought it just over a month ago. It's white, pink and black and I am, quite honestly, head over heels in love with it. I tell myself that it's a great form of cross-training but the truth is, riding this bike makes me feel ten years old again and completely carefree which is a feeling I treasure wherever I can find it.

The only downside so far has been that getting the bike anywhere is a bit of a hassle now without the Blazer (the only time I have missed that car) and by the time we got to the trails tonight my husband was grumbly and cranky and I was already sweating. But as soon as I got on and took off - I was back to the same giggly state from Friday's game (only without the powder sugar all over my shirt like some dieter's scarlet letter).

Fall is such a beautiful time of year, full of transition and depth and I love the colors and the brisk, cool air and the way the light feels different in the early evening. The light had that quality tonight, the warm golden look of a sunset that seems to be so particular to late fall. As the path curved ahead of me and the rays slanted through the trees, I was happy to be out on my bike in the stillness, circling back periodically to Colin and the pup and smiling a big goofy grin at just about everyone I passed.

I've never really been a true fan of summer. As someone who gets hot-and-bothered easily, the 100 degree heat in this part of the country makes me wilt typically before we even reach midday. But fall... there is something completely rejuvenating for me about the feel of fall.

I'm glad it's here again. I'm glad that we went to the game Friday night and I'm glad that the ballpark hot dogs at the Brick are always as fantastic as I hope they'll be. And I'm glad that on my bike I can recapture some internal stillness, some of that just quiet joy that reminds me that I am alive, that life is good and that simple things are worth working for. Too much of adult life gets lost in seriousness I think, and I am grateful that my bike reminds me what it is to feel the wind in my hair, my feet on the pedals and the rush of simply moving myself through the world on my own power.

Tomorrow I'll be back at work but tonight I'm trying to savor the last moments of the end-of-summer feeling this weekend gave me that reminds me so much of when I was a student. Part of why I love fall I think is because for so long it signaled the return to school and, as a self-professed nerd would, I always looked forward to returning to school. I won't get to buy books and notepads and shiny new pens this year, but I can tool around the neighborhood on my bike and remember that feeling as best I can anyway.

Which is exactly what I intend to do.

Challenge: Accepted

Come ludicrously early on November 21, I will be milling about the starting line of the Route 66 Marathon with hundreds (thousands?) of super-fit long distance runners. I'll be there as the first leg of a relay team - the long leg. Testing myself for the first time in front of others at a distance longer than a 5k. Part of me is already anxious and excited.

Part of me is saying 'What the hell are you thinking?!?'

I participated in this same relay last year and ran the shortest (straightest, flatest) leg. Between then and now I have done two other formal events - one 5k and my longest race ever to date - a 10k. I didn't prepare well for either. I have had a hard time sticking to my initial commitment all the way through race day and invariably I have dropped off and struggled through the distance unnecessarily.

I am determined not to do that this time.

This week I started training - using the C25k program I've heard so much about ('there's an app for that!'). Before I've just kind of made up my training as I went along and let's face it - I'm not very good without structure. After the C25k program there's a B210k (Bridge to 10k) program that I've already downloaded - it should get me (pretty close to) ready for the distance I've accepted, 7.6 miles.

Already this week it has helped me to feel alive in that way which I think only consistent exercise can. I'm sure some of it is purely psychological but I feel the muscles in my torso and legs differently than before - they feel tighter, more responsive even just when I'm standing or walking. My posture is always better when I'm true to my running and now is no different - I'm holding my head a little higher, feeling the confidence which power over my body brings.

My body has changed drastically this year (why is a story for another post). Originally I had set a modest goal for my weight-loss efforts but I've since more than doubled it to a new, much more powerful goal. I have learned that I don't have to be restricted by how I see myself - as someone who isn't very athletic, doesn't like health food, will never be 'skinny'. That is an image I have created and it doesn't have to be reality.

This race is my next attempt to slash one of those ideas - that I'm not very athletic. I never have been, really - even as a dancer, I had the heart but not the grace, the ability. Part of why I've embraced running I think is because anyone can run - it's not a matter of ability. It's a matter of persistence. Perseverance. Sometimes just all out stubborness (and Lord knows I have plenty of that).

I have two main goals on this particular race day. A recurring one that I have NEVER accomplished - to run the entire distance without walking. But more than that, something completely personal - to stand at that starting line, with all of those super-fit long distance runners, without fear. To know without doubt that I can complete the task ahead. To look forward to that moment when I come to the exchange point and hand the chip to my husband (who's taking on 5.9 miles himself) and know that I will get there and feel completely fantastic.

Those are my goals. And I have 79 days to get there. What can you accomplish in the next 79 days that you would initially say you couldn't? Is there something you want but don't think you can have? I encourage you to make it your goal. Push yourself to do something that makes you wonder 'What the hell am I thinking?'

We'll get there together.