The Family Tree

One of the happiest memories from my childhood, and in fact one of very few drama-free moments with my mother, was the weekly dinner at my grandparents' house.  It wasn't the dinner so much as it was the time afterward when Mom, Nonna (my grandmother) and I would squeeze into the tightly packed galley kitchen to begin washing and drying all of the dishes.  Speakers over the fridge would pipe in whatever we had playing in the living room, so often our washing and drying system included sing-alongs with Dean Martin or Frank Sinatra.  Sometimes we'd sway and Nonna would go off-key, but for that glorious half-hour or so, we wouldn't be arguing or bitterly dissecting the latest family catastrophe.  It was almost as if we were normal.     

Last weekend, my grandmother had a bit of an accident in her house and had to be taken to the hospital for stitches and X-rays.  She was alright, but it left all of us pretty shaken.  My mother's been staying with her this week, and my Dad and I have both been visiting and checking in as often as we can.  It's been a very stressful time filled with questions regarding our family and my grandmother's future.  Tonight I spent awhile in Nonna's kitchen by myself cleaning up all of our dinner dishes alone.  It made me think about finding joy in simple, everyday moments.  Even with some awful situations at home and at work, these past six weeks have had a lot of good moments too, including some goal fulfillment.  Maybe it's the crisp chill in the air that makes us nostalgic for childhood moments or nature's way of telling us to slow down and look at the beauty around us, but fall's always been my favorite time of year.              

To kick off the fall season last month, Catherine and I went apple picking.  We did as much walking and reflecting as we did actually gathering, but it was worth it to feel the sunshine and take in the calmness of an apple orchard.  Since it was October and already late in the season, we met with lots of rotten apples, so the ones we found that were perfect and ripe and ready to eat right off the branch seemed even sweeter.  We made sure to pick apples that could be used for baking, as I had grand aspirations for working towards another goal as well - cooking something out of my realm.  I've never made apple pie before, so I hauled my 10 pounds of apples home and started sorting.

The pie baking venture was an all-day affair.  You see, I not only made pie, but learned how to make pie crust from scratch.  After a lot of flour and time in the freezer because the butter kept melting on me, I turned to the long task of peeling and slicing apples, which was a surprisingly calming experience.  I added my own spice mixture to the apples and rolled out the crust and trusted it to my rather untrustworthy oven.  When the timer finally sounded, I squealed in delight at my beautiful pie!  The crust was a bit dry and thick, but still delicious.  I've since made two more and fixed the density by tweaking the recipe, so now I can honestly say I have my very own pie recipe.  Who knew that something as simple as apple pie would be so rewarding?       

How I was almost eaten by the Loch Ness Monster

So how was the vacation?  I think I've heard that question a hundred times since my plane back from Dublin touched down.  Catherine and I spent two and a half glorious weeks in Ireland and Scotland, and the break from my daily life couldn't have come at a better time.  There is something wonderfully freeing about knowing you will be gone for a substantial amount of time at your office and all the stressing and all the preparation is finally done.  Letting go felt wonderful - letting go of work stress, relationship stress, responsibilities and more.  To paraphrase Amanda in my favorite chick-flick, The Holiday, a vacation means you're supposed to vacate your life, right?  Do things that are unexpected. 

Two years ago, I never would have dreamt I'd have the opportunity to take such a trip.  I'm a stressed-out person on a normal basis, so the overwhelming planning for a long vacation started to take a toll.  Add in the additional considerations of traveling overseas (for me, this was the first time I'd gone overseas aside from a family trip when I was 10), plus the fact that I had one week to train a new temporary worker at our company to cover for me, and I thought I'd have a breakdown before even getting on the plane.  Somehow I managed to keep it together, even with a delayed flight, a taxi ride to Philadelphia to make our connection in time, massive traffic, and running through the Philly airport to make our flight.  And then my very worst fear about traveling happened - they lost my luggage.  My precious, brand-new suitcase, so eager to see the world, had decided that Tel Aviv would be way more fun than Dublin.  Walking away from the lost luggage desk with my forms and contact info, all I could do was breathe.  A great calm washed over me - it was all out of my hands.  I did nothing wrong, I was not being punished, I had not been the one to make a mistake.  Stressing or crying or screaming wouldn't help my bag get to me any sooner, so I decided to just enjoy the trip as is.

Ireland and Scotland were far more beautiful than I had ever imagined.  There was just so much to see and do, it was hard to figure out just where to go first.  Catherine and I had done some preliminary planning and set up our itinerary, but other than that, we hadn't nailed down day to day activities, which suited both of us just fine.  My favorite day of the trip came while we were on the West Coast in the area of County Galway.  We drove through some of the greenest, most beautiful places in the world.  And even though the rain and gale-force winds started to blow, it took on a surreal sort of beauty.  At long last we arrived at the Cliffs of Moher, where I've always wanted to go.  It was the end of a lifelong dream to be standing there overlooking such timeless majesty.  I know I'm waxing poetic here, but there just aren't any words to explain how, for the first time since June, I felt totally, completely happy.  So happy in fact, that I braved the weather to climb the wet iron spiral staircase onto the top of O'Brien's tower.  Catherine and the guy selling tickets were in the tower at the base of the stairs telling me I was crazy.  But truth be told, I've never felt more calm or more at peace with everything than I did in those raging gale-force winds (clocked at 51 mph) and  stinging rain.  I braced myself on the ancient stone turret and just let myself enjoy it.         

View from the top!

It was around this point of our trip when I seriously considered never returning home.  Getting away from daily stresses put a lot of things in perspective.  Better still, Catherine and I also hunkered down in a sweet little B&B outside of Edinburgh, which forced us to walk more and also blocked us from using phone, Internet and television for a glorious weekend.  We even wrote a postcard to my boss back home saying I had "disappeared" somewhere near Loch Ness (which we didn't actually visit) and that I wouldn't be returning to work.  Although I wished we could stay forever, Catherine and I did return back to work and our normal lives.  But something had changed.  I had seen a life without stress.  A life where the hardest decision I had to make was which beer to have with dinner.  Plus my absence had brought about positive changes (for me at least) at the office and I am enjoying my job more than ever.  I promised my father I'd keep the "vacation attitude" for at least a week after getting back, and I'm trying to hold that promise still.  There's more I could write, but I'll have to save it for another post.  Before I go, here's a rundown of goals completed since my last post:

•  #1: Travel - Ireland and Scotland!!
•  #2: Road Trip - We've booked the hotels and ironed out the details of a New Years' road-trip!
•  #3: I finished my 10th book on the plane back from Ireland
•  #10: Bed and Breakfast - in Edinburgh

More adventures are to come!  Stay tuned for Catherine's new update on some of the fun (and slightly scary) stuff we ate on vacation :)     

Come Fly with Me

or How I Learned to Roller Skate, Sing Karaoke, Survive a Hangover and 

Oh Yeah, Fly an Airplane

Will’s voice crackled through my headset: “alright, you ready to take the controls?”  My stomach clenched as I looked at the plane’s gearstick between my knees.  Here we were at about 5,000 feet in the air, cruising over the Delaware Bay in a plane whose inside was smaller than my closet.  I had spent the flight over to Cape May blissfully snapping pictures from the back seat, windows literally adjacent to each of my elbows.  Will was directly in front of me, pointing out sites and listening to the radio communications.  He had mentioned earlier that if I did indeed fly with him, I would at some point have to take over so I could share in the experience.  I had thought he was kidding.  Until that moment.

           

            “Not really!” I said.

            “C’mon, it’ll be fine! It’s pretty smooth here.”

            I had in fact told him I would try, but that promise had been made with solid ground beneath my feet, not the thin floor of a Citabria and a long drop into the water. 

I think my hands couldn’t have clenched onto the gearstick any tighter.  I followed Will’s instructions and ever so gently started to push it to the left.  The plane responded just as gently and my heart jumped.  Why were we going this way? I kept thinking.  Oh God, did I tip it forward too? Are we going to nosedive?  I felt like I should pray, but only muttered “Jesus, Mary and Joseph” and pulled the stick back to center.  The plane did not stop banking left.  Now, I don’t know if you know this about planes, but in order to get one back to a straight flight, you have to pull the control in the opposite direction until the plane starts to straighten.  It’s a lot like paddling a kayak, though I wish I had realized that sooner.  I got it back to center and Will motioned for me to bank the other way.  I did, but got a bit freaked out with the rush of freedom and responsibility and the thought that I was holding our lives nearly in the palm of my hand.  I could imagine myself slipping and sending the plane into a downward spiral and even though I had complete confidence in Will as a pilot, I worried that I would throw him something he wouldn’t be able to figure out and then bam, there we’d go into the Delaware.  And I have a fear of drowning. 

That weekend and several weekends leading up to it all made me wonder just how much control I had in my own life.  About seven weeks ago (wow, where has the summer gone?), my friend Chelsea came home to Maryland for a short visit.  She came into Baltimore and met up with Jessica and me for a night on the town.  Chelsea wanted to try out a karaoke bar after dinner, and as it was on my list, I was game to try.  That night I learned a very important fact about myself – the amount of alcohol required for me to sing karaoke is the same amount required to make me quite sick that same night and hungover the next day.  (Side note: do not do shots of Jack Daniel’s.  You are not bad-ass if you puke outside of the bar you just patronized.)  But before I learned such a valuable lesson, the three of us did a number of shots and then rocked the whole bar while we sang “Carry on My Wayward Son.”  I think some air guitar was involved and some embarrassing photos on Facebook. And we had a blast.  Not only did I let my inhibitions go long enough to poorly belt out a rock song to a room full of strangers, but I realized how lucky I was to be sharing this with two of my best friends.  I felt a lot closer to these girls after that experience, especially since it was Jessica who held her liquor the best and got us safely back to her house.  She even ran to the store to get me Gatorade, pretzels and a McDonald's breakfast sandwich the next morning (which is how I survived the hangover). I’d do the same for her a thousand times over, though I hope I never have to do so. 

A week after my drunken singing debut, I flew out to Ohio to visit my friend Meghan.  I already wrote a bit about this in my concert post – the timing of the trip was based on my desire to go see Glen Campbell in concert.  While there, we decided to go roller skating at an old fashioned roller rink near Loveland.  Now, I hadn’t been skating since I was about nine years old or so, and let’s just say my center of gravity has shifted.  Considerably.  My hips are also slightly uneven (one’s higher than the other) and it’s something I am extremely self conscious about.  I stumbled out onto the rink and after only a quarter of a lap, I fell.  My leg curled under me and the whole skate hit me right on that area between my buttocks and hip.  An inch or two to the right and I would have had a fractured coccyx.  (I blamed my paranoia on those damned medical books at my office.)  I limped away and sat icing myself and watching my friends spin by and I couldn’t help but lose it.  The trip had been a very stressful one and, looking back now, it had not been the easy, stress-free vacation I had so desperately needed.  Recently my life had been (and still is) dizzy and out of control.  I was so deep in backlogged jobs at work that I felt like I was drowning every day.  My love life was promising but still haunted by those demons of self-doubt and low self-esteem.  I seemed to be careening towards a break-down and lost the cocky confidence that my 25th year would matter or that I'd even come out of it alright.       

What the hell, I then thought as the ice pack started to melt, I don’t know anyone in Loveland.  I can fall on my ass as much as I want and no one will care.  I waddled back onto the rink and rejoined my friends.  I kept skating and eventually worked up my balance and courage to make it all the way around the rink without holding onto the wall.  My movements were still stiff and uneasy, but I managed to do it.  Tears dried and the bruise faded after several days.  But that glimpse into a breakdown had left an impression. 

And then I found myself both terrified and thrilled to be flying a plane with Will a few weeks later.  For about two minutes, I held onto that control stick and guided us through the sky.  After banking to the right, Will wanted me to try another kind of turn where we’d drop a little, but my nerves gave out and I turned back the controls.  Maybe it hadn’t been enough to really impress him, but I had impressed myself and that was what mattered.  The old me would have completely chickened out; heck, the old Amanda wouldn't have even gotten into a biplane.  But this new version couldn’t say no.  That freedom felt amazing - I was Amelia Earhart tearing through the sky.  Who knew when I’d have such an opportunity again?  Will had mentioned that he also had his motorcycle license, and if I could find a bike to borrow, he'd take me for a ride.  Knowing another plane ride would be a long while coming due to expenses, I grew excited for this new promise of adventure.  After we had landed and Will fueled the plane, I thanked him again and drove away from the airport, still reeling a bit from the whole experience.  I looked up in the rear-view mirror and had to wonder just who was this beaming, confident woman driving my car?  

After giving Will the controls back - look at those clouds!

I couldn’t stop smiling the rest of the way home, or even for the next few days.  Unfortunately the smile left after a day or two at work.  The unrelenting stress at the office started to build up and when it combined with some other personal stressors and disappointments, I felt myself starting to break.  I got into a very bad habit of working late, coming home, eating crappy food while watching even crappier television and going to bed an hour later.  I started to break down at work, usually in the aptly named break room or even at my desk.  For awhile I thought I might even be developing an ulcer from the twisting pain in my stomach.  I didn't understand until very recently just how dangerous burnout can be.  I asked myself when I had last been truly and completely happy.  And I realized it had been when I was on that plane over the Delaware Bay. 

Knowing when you can handle the controls and when you have to hand them over to someone more experienced is what life is really about.  Once I saw that, I started taking the steps required for me to get out of this depression.  I’ve talked to my bosses about workload and burnout and I’ve gotten a lot of support.  I started confiding in my friends and finding other ways to manage and minimize the stress in my life.  I still have a long road ahead before I’m back on course entirely, but I'm getting there.  Today I slowed down to check out a motorcycle for sale in my neighborhood.  I hope someday soon I'll even look up and see that woman in my rear-view mirror smiling again.      

Gentle on My Mind

My mother was the one to hit me with the news the other night when I called her for my weekly check-in.  Having moved out into my own apartment last year, I still call home every Wednesday night.  Usually I just nod and say my usual "uh-huh" as my mother excitedly talks about her week, from going to Curves to the latest scuttlebutt at the American Legion Post.  Instead she opened with  "did you see the news this evening?"

"No," I said.  Her voice didn't sound worried; usually when it's bad news, her register lowers.  "Why?"

"You know that concert you just went to?  In Indiana?"

I rolled my eyes upward.  In my 25 years, I'd only been to three concerts.  Of course I knew which one I had just gone to that also happened to be a plane ride away.  I had gotten tickets to see one of the only singers I love who is still alive - Glen Campbell - and only three weeks ago had cheered him onstage in Carmel, just north of Indianapolis.  It was a part of my 25 list after all, as most people my age haven't even heard of him, let alone wanted to go to his concert.   

"Yeah, Glen.  Why?"

"It's going to be his last tour."

I had already counted on that, since he was getting older and had seemed a bit disoriented onstage, even forgetting that it was actually a theater in the round (at one point he looked behind him and seemed a bit surprised to see people back there - which is where I was sitting, of course!).  But I mean, the man is 75, he's entitled to be a little forgetful.  However, I wasn't ready to hear the rest of the story -

"He's been diagnosed with Alzheimer's," my mother said flatly.  "I just saw it on the news crawl."

Alzheimer's has been a bit of a big deal in my family; my grandfather had suffered from severe dementia in his last year or so and it took a toll on my mom and grandmother.  Now my grandmother had been showing similar early signs and my dad's father can't even remember who we are anymore.  I had also spent one summer working at a retirement/nursing home and helping some of the residents who didn't remember me from one day to the next.  Whenever I think of Alzheimer's now, I remember the woman in her wheelchair who would start screaming at thin air - it took me two months before I realized she was yelling at a young man she thought she saw, who never answered her.  I couldn't even respond to my mother.  I tried not to think about what Glen's family might be going through or how he will be in a few more years; I can't imagine him winding up like one of the residents I used to work with all those summers ago, shouting nonsense into an empty room.  Luckily my mother changed the subject of our conversation and once I was alone later that night I started playing my collection of Glen's songs on my computer. 

I had harbored a bit of a crush on Glen Campbell since I was a teenager.  I had found one of his old vinyl albums tucked away in my mother's record collection and thought that the song titles appealed to my somewhat cockeyed view of romance, like "Take My Hand for Awhile", "If This is Love", and "Where's the Playground, Susie?" (which truth be told, I still don't really understand).  This was the Galveston album and the title track intrigued me, even if the cover art was pretty garish.  I remember going home and looking him up on the computer and buying a few CDs after sampling them.  I started with the Greatest Hits and soon learned all his biggest songs - "Gentle on My Mind", "By the Time I Get to Phoenix", "Witchita Lineman" and of course, "Rhinestone Cowboy."  The summer before college, I remember driving through my hometown in the last bit of evening light, the windows rolled down and the humid summer air of Maryland just drifting through the car as I blared "Southern Nights" from my VW's little speakers, and later I know I had some of his lesser-known tracks like "Old Hometown" on repeat in my room.  If Frank Sinatra is the singer I rely on when I feel completely heartbroken, Glen Campbell is the singer I rely on for all those wistful long summer afternoons or lazy winter nights.

I'm not sure how much I believe in fate, but I think it was no coincidence that I was able to see Glen Campbell in concert when I did.  Who knows how long or how expensive his last few performances will be; if people know he's retiring for good, it might be even harder to get tickets.  If it hadn't been for this 25 at 25 list and my goal of seeing a concert I've always wanted to attend this year, I may never have gotten the chance to see Glen.    

It's taken me awhile to write this post, or any others for that matter, not because I haven't been working on my list, but because I've just been so swept up in living.  Aside from the concert, I've been spending time with friends, singing karaoke (post on that to come!), gone roller skating, started planning for Ireland, and taken some chances on new adventures.  I can tell that I've been changing and growing as a person.  I know I still have a bit of writing ahead of me, but for now I'm looking forward to some peace and quiet.  Here's what I'm listening to at the moment, and I think it sums up my attitude right now.  It's Glen's duet with Bobbie Gentry on the song "Gentle on My Mind."  This is Bobbie's verse: "The shutters creek in autumn winds that make me draw inside myself in silence / cross-legged now I sit and watch the endless chase of leaves across my yard. / And layin' down my hairbrush, I lean back within my windowseat and find / that you're moving through the backroads by the rivers of my memory / ever smilin', ever gentle on my mind."

That's why this lady is a tramp

There's a story that's been going around lately about how I've become the office tramp.  Now, it's not what you might think.  A few weeks ago I was allowed to go down to D.C. to represent our company at a conference.  I decided I needed a nice professional outfit to make a good impression, so Catherine helped me shop for one.  I got a two piece skirt and bustier matching set with a nicely fitted black suit jacket.  It looks pretty sharp, if I do say so myself.  And the bustier is very high and doesn't even look much like a bustier.  Anyway, I told my mother excitedly about my new clothes and how great it was all going to be, to which she replied from her end of the phone, "that sounds completely inappropriate for a business function."  The disgust in her voice (probably from hearing the word "bustier") was apparent and my self-esteem took a bit of a blow.  However, when I told Catherine about it, she burst out laughing that my mother thought I was a tramp for wearing what was by all means a conservative outfit.

Now I'm not one to flaunt what I've got or even wear anything remotely suggestive.  At least, I wasn't until a few months ago when I started getting more confident about how I look and act.  Wearing better fitting (and sometimes even a bit sexy!) clothes does wonders for how you feel about your body.  When you feel good about how you look, it shows.  I've had some issues with body image, but nothing too major.  Anyway, I feel like learning to dance has helped me find a lot of confidence.  I find I'm taking chances and by going out to salsa clubs, I'm meeting people and putting myself out there.

Which brings me to a completed goal (finally!) - goal number 22: Put Myself Out There.  Something about social dancing used to make me very anxious and uncomfortable.  If you've ever seen the film Marty, I was definitely Clara - all alone on the sidelines of the dance hall getting passed over by guys and not having enough guts to take the initiative.  I never even went to my senior prom.  But this new challenge to try a dance class helped me to get over that shyness.  Imagine my surprise when all the guys in my class were also nervous and couldn't dance!  I'm still a bit shy when I go to the salsa club, but even that's starting to change.  And there's a lot to be said about pretending to be confident - about two months ago I met a guy there I really liked and with a lot of encouragement from my wing woman (Catherine), I got up the nerve to give him my email address.  We have since started to hang out with other salsa folks and very recently have been on a few dates.  I'm not about to spill my whole story here on a public forum, but what I really want to say is that at long last I feel good about myself.  I have no idea if anything serious will happen or not, but that's not the point.  The point is that I'm taking a chance again.         

Another plausible title for this blog post would be "I Wish I Were in Love Again."  I've always chuckled at the lyrics to that song, which talk about all the awful aspects of being in love, yet the singer nevertheless wishes to be in that place again.  Here are some of the best lines: "The broken dates, the endless waits /The lovely loving and the hateful hates/The conversations with the flying plates - I Wish I Were in Love Again."  During a phone call with a college friend of mine who is now in San Francisco, I told her about this conundrum.  Taking a chance on love (ha! another Sinatra song title!) is really just opening up your heart to a whirl of emotions, like going from a merry-go-round to a roller coaster.  But when it comes right down to it, I'd rather be on the roller coaster, plummeting blows and all.  Because even when you go through all those endless waits and broken dates, it's the experience that makes it all worthwhile.  I don't know now if it's been the salsa or the new clothes or even just meeting the right people at the right time, but that confidence I've been faking since January is finally starting to feel more genuine.  I promise to keep getting out there taking all kinds of chances on life and on love, and for you, dear readers, I promise to report back.  :-)

Let's Face the Music and Dance

Celebrity Sightings, Random Acts of Elbow Violence, ABBA, Cupid, and oh yeah, Salsa Dancing

I can hardly believe six weeks ago Catherine and I launched this blog and pledged ourselves to 25 resolutions for 2011. This past Wednesday we were able to cross off the first goal on both of our lists. That’s right, we finished our first level salsa class! Tonight, our dance studio had an all-levels salsa night mixer. There was a lesson beforehand, followed by salsa, meregue, and cha-cha dancing (as well as something called “machato” or “machado” – we’re not really sure how to say it or spell it, and the closest thing I could find online is “maxixe”). The three hours of dancing marked the capstone of our learning so far and seemed like a good time to give you a bit of a taste for what we learned.

Well, before I finish that story, I should go off course a bit. Catherine and I have a game of spotting celebrity look-a-likes. I think it started when we were at the airport and thought we saw Sally Field. Today was an extraordinary day for celebrity sightings, quite possibly because I was in such a good mood. First, I saw Jimmy Stewart on the light rail. Then when we reached the dance studio, the instructor for the class looked like Liza Minnelli (and acted a bit like her – I thought she was going to break into song at one point). And finally one of the guys from our beginner’s class came and when I danced with him under all those colored lights and disco balls, he suddenly looked just like Robert Duvall. But I want to focus on the Liza look-a-like right now. She went very fast and kept stressing the lessons were for the intermediate class, which Catherine and I braved. I’m proud to say that for the most part, we kept up well. Sure, I had a few missteps and topples, but I was still learning. And then I had to practice with a partner whom I had never met before and, well, let’s just say I tried to do a spin and accidentally whomped him in the stomach with my elbow. And forearm. And probably some wrist too – it was so embarrassing! Luckily it must not have hurt or he felt sorry for me and my overflowing apologies, because he danced with me again later in the night too. Catherine also turned into a dance machine, having guy after guy ask her to dance. Afterward she said she was a regular “dancing queen” and you know what, I believed her. A lot of dancing is about confidence and release – having faith enough to let go and know you will be alright.

Earlier this week, I was talking to our friend Rachel, an avid swing-dancer, about how much I've been enjoying salsa. "It's a good way to let go," she said. "I mean, swing helps me give up control - you just have to follow." I found myself doing just that tonight. In fact, there were times when my dance partner would try to get me to do a complicated move several times in a row and on the last try, I just closed my eyes and stopped thinking. And it worked, no wayward elbows or tangled up wrists either! In fact, looking at it now, that’s really what I did in our usual weekly classes too. In the first few lessons, I kept trying to be in control. I wanted to make sure I didn't slip or take a wrong step. But as we went on, the more I let go and just trusted my lead, the better the dance went. I still had to know what I was doing and how to cover during a misstep, but it went much smoother. It was a great, liberating feeling – how wonderful to have enough confidence to let go!

Which brings me at last to my last point. I believe certain things (people, events, etc.) come into your life at certain times for a reason. Taking salsa recently has been a great way to dive into my 25 goals, and it’s also been a good way to loosen up those other white-knuckled grips of control I’ve had on my life. In case you are one of the very rare people out there who have yet to be bombarded by Cupid-themed advertisements everywhere for chocolates and diamonds and oyster dinners, let me tell you that Valentine’s Day is upon us. Technically, Monday is the big day, but everyone wants to celebrate Saturday - that's the purpose of Saturdays, after all. Now, I have been staunchly against Valentine's Day for the past few years. Not just because I’m still stuck in some rebellious phase, but because of some personal tragedies, none of which I should delve into on public cyberspace. Usually Valentine’s Day would render me useless; my time spent steeping in depression and isolation. But I digress. I've been very grumpy so far this week (par for the course), but my mood changed unexpectedly after salsa class ended Wednesday night. I logged onto my email after a dizzying last class (seriously, how many times in a row do you expect me to do an underarm twirl?) only to see more ads for Valentine's Day. I simply rolled my eyes and tried to ignore them. Then tonight I faced the same promotions as I got online, but this time something clicked. My mood change wasn’t just about finishing a goal. It was about letting go and having the self-confidence to find my way. If I'm ever going to relax and enjoy life again, I need to calm down a bit. Beating myself up about past failures and breakdowns isn't going to do any good in the present. I think I’m finding I have more confidence lately, in salsa and other areas too, and am starting to restore faith in myself. “Always keep your feet under you,” our instructor said tonight. Stay grounded, but keep moving. It’s hard to face those other 24 goals wondering if I’ll have courage enough to finish them all, but as salsa has taught me, I just need to face the music and dance.

End notes: 1) When she's not swing-dancing, Rachel's rockin' the world of publishing in her blog: Trac-Changes. 2) Also, a fun list of types of dances. 3) Yes, I used another Sinatra song for my title. This may become a theme. Be forewarned.

It's February Already?

I feel as though this year has already started off in a headlong rush, so I thought I’d take a breather and get down some of what’s been happening lately. I can’t quite check off any of my goals just yet, but I’ve started several of them. Here are the highlights:

1) Salsa Dancing. Our class is three sessions in, and I’m still loving it! It’s so much fun to meet people and get moving to some great music. I’m feeling more confident, even when I do get the steps wrong. Still haven’t stepped on anyone’s toes, though I came very close!

2) Wine Tasting. My lovely coworkers gave me a wine journal to help me start keeping track of wines as I try them. Tonight I made my first entry for a glass of Gewurtztraminer. I’m still not entirely sure of what I’m doing, but it’s nice to make notes and read up on things like aromas and flavors. Plus I now know how to pronounce the name of the wine – go me!

3) Time with friends. It’s been tough getting out and about lately because of the snow and ice, and I’m sad to say that there have been days when I’ve been too tired to do anything but sit on my couch in my pjs watching television or reading a book. But I have tried to stop that and my calendar for the next few weeks looks nice and busy – book clubs, birthday dinners, and all kinds of mayhem. I’ve also reconnected with an old friend of mine from middle school. What did we do before Facebook? Wait, don’t answer that….

4) Light Rail Buddies. I haven’t really made friends with anyone I commute with just yet, but I have talked to some of them. It usually involved the train not coming as we shivered on the platform with snow drifting down onto our heads. I’ve also run into my friend from college, David, on the train from time to time and that has also been a nice surprise. We didn’t realize that sometimes when I work later, we wind up on the same train.

5) Books. I made a decision to read 10 books outside of the ones I’ve read so far for book club, and to date I have read 2. First was Mark Rotella’s wonderful history of Italian Americans and their culture – Amore: The Story of Italian American Song. I loved it so much, mainly because I grew up with that music. It was not just the story of Italian singers, but of all Americans with Italian heritage. I could see my grandfather in those stories and for those 264 pages, it was like he was here with me again. That’s the power of good writing. The second book was also well-written: Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen. I really enjoyed this novel of a circus vet that is told in the present (when he’s a 90+ year old man in a nursing home) as well as the past (when he first joined the circus). It’s very touching, especially the present day chapters. I read the whole thing in a week because I was so enthralled. I’m so excited to keep reading, too. I’ve got some of those books I mentioned in my earlier post coming up, as well as two more I got for my birthday: Julie & Julia and Film Club: A True Story of a Father and a Son.

6) And, drumroll please, I am going to a concert! I am so excited, I can hardly sit still. First, I should explain a bit about my music taste. Almost every singer or band I like have either retired, split up or died (most fall into the last group). So when I saw that Glen Campbell was not only out of retirement, but that he was finally touring in the US, I knew I had to see his concert. As fate and luck would have it, he is performing in Indianapolis this summer, and I am going. My friend Vanessa is coming with me, as is our friend Meghan, who lives out near Cincinnati. It’s going to be a great trip and a wonderful reunion! I know most people my age don’t know who Glen Campbell is, but gosh darn it, I’m thrilled and I’m going to enjoy it!

7) Upcoming Plans. I’ve been making a few plans for the near (or far) future too. I’ll probably go ice-skating soon, thanks to some coaxing from my friends. I’m also planning a roadtrip to a winery (that’s right, two goals in one!) and a trip to Ireland later this year. Sometime in February I also plan to have a writing weekend to myself where I just relax and focus on getting back into writing.

Looking through my list again, I realize that many of my goals are not quantifiable, so they cannot really be reached. I mean, how can I check something off my list like “Be Happy in My Work”? Although it’s been a stressful few weeks, I do feel a renewed energy this year towards my job and hope that I continue to stay on top of tasks and get more organized. Maybe at some point in the year I will feel more confident, and therefore happier with myself, in this role. These goals are all really just guidelines for how I want to spent this year and I think the only way I’ll get all 25 checked off the list is to sit back on New Year’s Eve and be able to say without reserve, “that was a very good year.”