Simple Girl

Tossing Out Bricks

We're coming up on the close of another year -- eighteen months (seriously?) into my two year plan, if anyone is keeping track. Time again to reflect and resolve to do better next year .. nay, to BE better.  Ugh. Let's instead review the Simple Girl philosphy -- you are fine just the way you are.

The lesson begins with reading Anna Quindlen's 1999 commencement speech at Mount Holyoke College. In the speech, Anna likens the quest for perfect to the feeling of "always carrying a backpack filled with bricks on my back."  Okay, read it now. Really. Read it, even if you think you've seen it before.  I'll wait.

While written for and delivered to women, what made me think of this speech recently was a comment from my 27 year old son, exhausted from the expectations (or lack thereof) of family and friends: "I feel like I just need to be perceived as perfect."  The comment struck me to the core, and no one who knows me would be confused as to where the boy might have learned this from. Thinking back to Christmases past when 10 varieties of home-baked cookies were Martha-Stewarted in little tins and gifts opened one at a time, in turn, and laid out on neatly made twin beds like an FAO Schwartz display. Traditions were rules to be followed and dissension was met with disappointed mommy eyes.  

Oh so sorry kid!  If I knew then what I know now!  This year, I tossed out the Christmas brick. No cookies, no tree, no expectations or disappointment. No trips to the mall (praise Jesus)!!  Better still - no competition or feelings of inadequacy that my Christmas was or was not more perfect than your Christmas. 

And now on to New Years and another pile of bricks.  Real Simple magazine which promises "life made easier" offers "85 expert strategies to improve your life for good" in its January issue, including: reduce your debt, lose weight, clear clutter, learn to say no, cook smarter, reenergieze your style, and -- my favorite -- be happier now.  All written in the imperative, the last sounding more like a command.

PUHLEEZE..... Sounds like 85 more bricks to me. So, what would Anna do?

"Begin with that most terrifying of all things, a clean slate. Then look, every day, at the choices you are making, and when you ask yourself why you are making them, find this answer: for me, for me."

Before you sign up for a gym membership or Oprah University, pay just $29.95 in 12 easy installments for that nutrition system, agree to host the class reunion, say 'yes, I'll marry you,' put your kids on a macro-biotic, organic, gluten-free, soy diet, purchase the complete works of Shakespeare or that unfortunate (but trendy!) fur vest, ask yourself ...

Might it be time to take a brick or two out of the backpack, instead of putting another one in?

Be Simple Girl.

Fear of Flying

First off, apologies to Erica Jong for ripping off her iconic book title for this post. While I remember reading this novel in the 70's, I don't really remember its message; I mostly remember that it had "dirty parts" in it.  I stole the book during one of my babysitting gigs while I was in high school. Uh...now that I think of it ...apologies also to the DeSilva's. 

That dog-eared paperback was buried in the kitchen trash decades ago, but my literal fear of flying stays with me -- a self-perpetuating condition that seems to get worse with every flight.  In fact, the more uneventful trips I take, the more afraid I become. The odds of something dramatic happening are now piling up against me.  I am -- as my Dad would say about his favorite Red Sox slugger in a slump  -- "due". 

My take-off ritual involves closing my book and my eyes just before wheels-up and counting slowly to 120. Everyone knows the first two minutes are the most dangerous. I have one hand on my iPod and wait for the magic "ding" that indicates we are at 10,000 feet and "it is now okay to use approved electronic devices." For some reason this calms me. The next count is for my glass of wine. I try to sit as close to the front as possible -- partly because the ride is allegedly smoother and partly because I figure I'll get served faster.  After that, I'm okay.  Unless there is unexpected turbulence, then I jump out of my skin. A bump or two is fine as long as that seatbelt light stays off.  What really irks me is when the light comes on and the pilot says nothing.  Not a word.  Usually, the voices from the cockpit won't shut up ("ladies and gentlemen, over to your left is the city of Omaha..."), but a little turbulence and they go silent .... ergo, something must be terribly, terribly wrong. Right?

On a recent business trip, a few of my colleagues also admitted that they "hate flying" when I spoke of the upcoming weather forecast.  "Epic winds" of 50-60 mph sustained with higher gusts predicted.  I worried about this for two days before my flight home and spread my concern around like the H1-N1 virus to anyone willing to listen. 

Then I boarded the plane -- Southwest, so you pick your seat (and the all important seat mate).  I always choose carefully. I do not like to talk to people on airplanes. I do not, generally, like to talk to people, truth be told. So, if you find yourself next to me on a flight, you are usually greeted with a polite smile as I put my heaphones on and lift my book. This seat choice on this flight, however, was a gift.

As I made my way to the window seat, the gentlemen on the aisle immediately began to chat me up, asking questions about my business, my trip, etc.  Not so long ago (i.e. the inbound flight), I would not have engaged, but in 50-60 mph sustained winds (with higher gusts predicted!), I was chatty Cathy. His kind smile and curiosity were like an extra seat belt to me in that moment and I am just selfish enough to take full advantage of such a gift.  As the plane bounced into the sky, Mr. Chamberlain kept his eyes on mine -- even while I sniveled and turned all shades of white and green --  and never stopped talking through what now seems like a only just a few minutes of a bumpy departure.

The conversation was, in fact, delightful... and may even prove to be fruitful due to some business connections made, but I maintain that it was a rare gift. Still you have to wonder... What gifts are born out of fear? We're advised to face our fears head on: afraid of heights? try parachuting!; dread public speaking? join Toastmasters. These are the obvious answers. But what if what we are most afraid of is being ourselves?  letting our guard down? admitting we are afraid?

While I will never try parachuting as therapy, in my ongoing quest for self-improvement I've downloaded a podcast to help me conquer this fear of flying (more in a later post). My face is still red thinking about what a coward I was that day -- I might even have said "tell me a story" to my very understanding seat mate. Still, it turned into a positive experience -- this post, a networking opportunity, and a new outlook on talking to people .... at least on airplanes. I am, afterall, a work in progress.