You CAN get what you want...if you can figure out what it is!

Do you want to know who you are? Don't ask. Act! Action will delineate and define you.

Thomas Jefferson

More and more lately, I am becoming aware of so many things that I do just “because”. Because it’s expected, because it’s the way I’ve always done it, or because I’ve never stopped to think about it. It’s mind-boggling. I thought I hopped off the societal pressure bus around the time that I stopped going to confession, gave up trying to straighten my hair and realized that I would never be a Carol Brady mom. I never succumbed to college all-nighters, never acquired a taste for beer; and I don’t do the 9 to 5 thing. As Rudolph and his dentist-wannabe sidekick, Hermey, proclaimed, “I’m independent!”

Ha! With age comes self-awareness and the best I can say is that I’m working on it. Take dinnertime. When Jeremy and I first set up house together, I had cozy fantasies of sitting around the table eating gourmet dinners accompanied by good wine. I was sure that’s what I wanted. Working from home and with a love for cooking, as well as deriving immense pleasure from sharing the events of the day with the man I love—who wouldn’t relish that prospect? It lasted about a month before it was pointed out to me that more often than not the love of my life was coming home to a litany of complaints about how I can’t get it all done, how everyone wants a piece of me and there’s not enough hours in the day. And hey, by the way, I’m packing on the pounds and I’m getting sick of doing dishes at 8:00 p.m. so could you come home earlier please? Oh yeah—every man’s fantasy home life! In an “ah-ha” moment, I realized that I dislike stopping work every day at 4:00 to think about dinner, and actually prefer a large meal at midday with a snack in the evening. My supportive honey contained his exasperation and let me know that was just fine, so now we often share our day’s stories over bowls of corn flakes. It works for us, but what a gyration to get there!

Everyone loves the idea of a large cozy B&B, complete with meeting new friends, sipping wine around the fire with fellow travelers and joining them for a hearty, jovial breakfast before going off to the day’s activities. How romantic! I was a huge B&B proponent. Loved them! Stayed in them all the time! You know what? I was delusional. I am so not a B&B gal. I work with the public for a living. And yes, while I love chatting with my clients on a daily basis, when I go away, I want to get away; to spend time with Jeremy alone for the most part. I like fruit and cheese for breakfast, not eggs and something that once oinked and I’m more than a little uncomfortable sitting next to the couple that I overheard having an argument (or worse!) through the paper-thin walls the night before.

In the beginning of our relationship, I spent many a Sunday afternoon pedaling and panting up hills behind Jeremy struggling valiantly to keep up with him. Why? Because I’d told him in our original get-to-know you dates that I loved to bicycle. And I do…on my comfort bike around the neighborhoods of Denver. I forgot to specify that there is a quantum leap between that type of biking and donning form-fitting outfits that do not flatter and setting out for a 30 to 40 mile day-long trek. Oops! Silly me. No bother, thought I, I’ll get in shape and I will like it. I like spending time with him, I reasoned, so how hard can it be? I’m here to tell you, it can be very, very hard! I did come up with some very creative excuses along the way in order to avoid the dreaded bike-a-thon Sundays. I convinced myself I enjoyed them. And I did…when they were over. I finally admitted to myself and to him that this was not my cup of tea. I think Jeremy was relieved. Now we cruise the neighborhoods together and when he wants a more rigorous ride, he happily pedals off solo. When he comes home, I slap a bowl of cornflakes in front of him and it’s all good.

But the best one of all came this past weekend. We decided to celebrate Jeremy’s birthday with a long weekend of camping and boating on Lake Glendo in Wyoming. “But Mom,” Alyssa pointed out, “you hate camping!” I took issue with this—I do not hate camping. I simply had some negative camping experiences and some very poor camping partners in the past. I love camping! So, Jeremy began assembling the camping equipment three days before we left, while I was in charge of food. I planned the menus, shopped, dug out the coolers and arranged for all the spices, utensils and assorted gastronomic accouterments. A lot of work, thought I, but it’s okay, because I love camping!

We had to leave at 7:00 a.m. to beat the heat, but that’s okay, because I love camping, so it was worth it. We schlepped the bikes, the tent, the hiking gear, the propane stove and the charcoal grill so we’d have all the comforts of home. Arrived at Glendo in perfect time, found a delightful site with lots of shade and privacy and set up camp. Went down to the beach.. Ah! Idyllic. Then we returned from the beach and saw the sign that told us that we’d set up camp in a site marked “for day use only”. How we missed the sign I will never know (no wonder it was so private!), but it meant an additional two hours to tear down our temporary home, scout out another site and re-set up shop. Phew! Okay, no one to blame but ourselves. This new site was pretty buggy, but that was to be expected. We made a lovely dinner, brushing away the flies. We took a romantic walk on the beach and agreed this was paradise. We loved camping. Back at the site, we smeared mosquito repellent over the sunscreen and slid into our sleeping bag in the back of the van, propping the door open for some air. Did I mention it was pretty warm? Then the party began. A loud party. At the next campsite. By 11:15, I meandered over and asked the 30 or so fairly inebriated participants to keep it down and pleasantly reminded them of the 10:00 quiet time rule. They apologized sarcastically and I beat a hasty retreat. At 1:00, Jeremy bellowed a slightly less cordial request to lower the noise level, prompting a response not fit for a family newspaper. I think they stopped around 3:00 a.m.

We woke early, slapped on more layers of sunscreen and mosquito repellant. By now, we were just about slithering off the seats in the car, but we spent a lovely day on the lake—just the two of us. It was grand. We returned to the campsite in the late afternoon, praying the partiers would have left. No such luck. The bugs were relentless and the cottonwoods were shedding, adding a thick layer of fur to our lotion-covered skin. Note to readers: do not go camping unless you are very solid in your relationship because it’s not pretty!

I suspect both of us were putting forth a concerted effort not to complain. Finally, in a sheepish voice, Jeremy whispered, “You know, if we wanted, we could pack up tonight and go stay in the hotel up the road. It might be…..” I never heard the rest of his words, as I’d sprinted across the campsite and dismantled the tent by then. Taking this as acquiescence (he’s quick that way!), he pitched in and three hours later, we were showered and de-sunscreened, contently munching on Sara Lee pound cake and watching a Seinfeld rerun. If only we could camp, Jeremy reasoned and eliminate the dirt, heat, bugs, partiers and the schlepping, we’d have it made. I wholeheartedly agreed. Okay, we’re done with camping. We’re made for each other.

And so now I am liberated! I don’t even need a 12-step program. I admit to such untrendy things as taking baths instead of showers, liking to be asleep by 10 p.m., I’m not really a dog lover and I sometimes wear pants with an elastic waist. I’d rather have a plain cup of tea than a frappe-cappuccino-latte something or other. I think $10 a bottle wine can be quite good. And speaking of wine, most of the time, I’d rather have it at home on my cozy couch than in a crowded noisy bar—even if it is happy hour and the drinks are 2-for-1. I’d rather read a good book than watch reality T.V. And don’t even get me started on extended family gatherings. You really should try it—go ahead and redefine what you like to do--it’s like adolescence all over again, only without the acne.

Of Benefit

Do not try to dictate or force the avenue through which your paycheck comes. Spirit has ingenious ways to pay your due salary.

Alan Cohen

I was waiting for Jeremy at the Market Street Station bus terminal downtown last week and I had some time to people-watch while waiting for his bus from Boulder to arrive. Since it was a nice day, I plopped myself on a nearby bench and prepared to be entertained. The first thing that caught my eye was a large banner for a local company extolling the joys of working for them, proclaiming in large letters, "We have great benefits!"

As I sat pondering on exactly what that statement meant, I noticed the people hurrying to and from their various buses. All I can suppose is that no one I watched (and I saw many, many folks during my 20-minute rush hour sit) had the "benefit" of good benefits, for they certainly didn't seem very happy. Men trudged, women tottered on their office high heels, avoiding cobblestones, bricks and any miscellaneous crack in the sidewalk. Nobody smiled. Everyone looked kind of drained.

As I've matured (sounds better than "gotten older") I've learned that there are many different types of benefits and currencies. Some are more precious than others and their values change with time. Other than the obvious currency (money) and the typical benefits (health insurance, paid vacation) there are the currencies and benefits of my time, the people I love, my creativity, the people I hang with, my spirituality, my home, freedom and my peace of mind, among others. I've learned, for example, that no amount of money is worth giving up an hour with my granddaughter; no amount of paid vacation will compensate for doing a job about which I am not passionate; no business transaction worth the price if I am not the best fit for my client. No amount of joy can come from spending any part of my day around toxic people, or those who drain my energy, no matter what my hourly wage.

I looked up "benefit" in the dictionary and it was defined as "something that enhances someones well-being". Ah! Now THAT I can relate to. If I was to list my own personal "well-being enhancements"of living a fulfilled entrepreneurial life, it would look like this:

No set hours for "work," "home," leisure," "personal time". It all flows into one wonderfully holistic day of "me-ness".
No need to request a pay raise--ever!
Ability to choose my own daily peer group (employees call them "co-workers") thereby avoiding the need to associate with the office bore, the stinky excessive--perfume wearer, the irritating-laugh bozo in the next cubicle, the drama queen, the whiner, etc.
Pick whatever radio station I like--even if it's Donny and Marie crooning
No dress code
Commute of approximately 10 giant steps
I am never asked to compromise my integrity by a boss who puts company values over my personal ones
Well-stocked employee lunchroom
Private washroom--no need to bend down and look under stalls for feet before entering
Built-in soul rejuvenation breaks in the form of periodic calls and spontaneous daytime visits from spouse and children, walks around the neighborhood at one's own discretion, meetings with kindred entrepreneurial spirits, and periodic long soaks in the claw foot tub during business hours
License to pee while on the phone with a client (just remember to flush after I hang up)
The smell of bread baking in the kitchen (oops..."employee cafeteria") while working
An office painted light purple.....with a door...and walls...and a window
Never a need to call in sick or ask to leave early
Time off for happy hour
Never having to wait in line because I must save all my errands for the weekends
Reserved parking space
No one borrows things they don't return
A candy stash that no one but me ever dips into
"Work" that is stimulating, ever-changing and fascinating
Spontaneous "staff" meetings in the mountains
Ability to drop everything for a sale at Neimen Marcus
Starting each day with passion joy and the certainty that "all is as it should be"

Think about your own personal currencies. What do you most value? What "costs" the most? What benefits in your day to day life are truly "enhancing your well being"? The answer may surprise you!

If it's not one thing, it's another!

Okay, so I'm on this new kick (actually, I hope it's more of a permanent lifestyle change than a "kick"--some things are too important to be merely a fad) of leaving my car in the garage and shopping locally. I've always been an avid walker, but last year's addition of a cruiser bike (translation by my kid's "old lady bike") to my household, widened my traveling horizons extensively. I hadn't used it much, having no way to transport items with it, but the gift of some perfect panniers (from my children and their significant others) for my birthday last month gave me the perfect opportunity to put my new local habits into action.

On Day 1, I eagerly plotted my first trip. Hannibal's journey across the Alps had less planning. I'd offered to make a deposit at Jeremy's bank, had books to drop off at the library, had my own banking to do and wanted to pick up a loaf of bread. It didn't sound particularly ambitious, but the prep time was a bit discouraging. Wallet, check book, cell phone, keys, helmet, air in tires--I figured I had it covered. I triumphantly trundled my bike complete with sparkling new panniers, out of the garage and out to 26th Ave, adjusted my mirror and hopped on.

As I rounded the corner, I realized that in my bicycle's recent trip to Wheat Ridge Cyclery for a tune up, the seat had been lowered to be just a tad too short. Stopping the bike on Yates--a mere two blocks from my starting point, I hopped off, flipped the lever to raise the seat, only to find that I couldn't press the level back into position as it was hitting the bracket of my newly installed panniers. Now, I have many talents, but bike mechanics is not one of them. I fiddled and pushed, and did manage to get the lever pushed over to a position that tightened the seat, if not locking it in all the way. I tested the seat--it held. Okay, I'll ride it this way until Jeremy can look at it. Off I went....about 10 feet before the right pannier fell off with a dull thump to the street. Back off the bike, causing the seat to twist so that the horn was facing two o'clock instead of high noon. Reapply pannier (more bike mechanics) and tie it down with bungy cords which I happened to have. Okay, this looks awful , but it's secure, at least and I can have Jeremy fix it when he gets home. (Jeremy's list was getting quite extensive and I was less than three blocks from the house!)

Wrenching the seat back into position, I took off again for approximately three blocks of pleasant riding, after which I realized I'd forgotten to bring my bike lock (how on earth was I going to go into all the local shops to run my errands if I didn't have the lock???) and had left my water bottle sitting on the kitchen table. With the seat twisting madly from side to side every time I stood up on the pedals (or dared turn my head for that matter) and the bungy-anchored pannier bag brushing up against the back of my heel with each rotation of the pedals, the car and the mall were starting to look pretty appealing.

Arrived at the library, where I was able to dump my books in the book return bin and avoid leaving the bike unlocked and unattended. Then, off to Jeremy's bank--scootching my butt every half block or so to straighten out the seat I got pretty good at it--although several motorists shot me some quizzical looks.

Now, keep in mind, that I am used to banking at my small neighborhood bank. I haven't set foot in a large banking institution in probably five years. The banking that Jeremy usually does is via the ATM, but I didn't have his card, so I had to go in and actually (gasp!) deal with a a human!I'd forgotten that large banks are very different from what I'm used to--very outside of my comfort zone. Very crowded! When I arrived, there were at least 15 people in line. I knew Jeremy was counting on me to make the deposit (and given the list of honey-do's I was accumulating for him, it seemed only fair that I complete the task) so with no other options, I ignored the bike rack conveniently placed outside the door and trucked into the branch--bike, bungied panniers and all. My plan was to leave the bike between the sets of double doors, which I could do, except for the fact that the counter for people to fill out deposit slips, etc. was right there. With options dwindling, I pushed the bike off to one side as best I could and prayed the customers ahead of me would move through quickly. They didn't. I stood in the line clutching my bike helmet (which ratted me out as the offensive boob who'd left her bike smack dab in the middle of the bank's entrance) and watched as people virtually straddled the bike in an attempt to fill out their forms. It would have been pretty funny actually, if I hadn't been so mortified. I made the deposit, murmured one final apology to the crowd (who were being mercifully kind and patient with me) and fled!

On the road again, where I developed a powerful thirst and had no water with which to quench it. Twist, twist, twist, went the seat, Plop, plop, plop went my heel brushing against the pannier. I blew off the bread shop and headed for my bank, where leaving the bike by the door and running in and out to do my own banking took all of 20 seconds, I finally headed for home, witnessing a near-miss that involved much squealing of tires and brakes along with verbal insults and finger-pointing (and you know which finger), that fortunately was between two cars and had nothing to do with me. Nonetheless it left me shaken and edgy.

Phew! Safe at last! When Jeremy came home, I proclaimed to him that it had been a "bad pannier day" (mostly because I like saying the word "pannier") He showed me what I was doing wrong with the seat and he tightened it up, modified the pannier to make it stay on and stop the heel-slapping business, and gave me appropriate spousal clucking and moral support. I put my lock in said pannier to keep it there for all times and Jeremy added a water bottle holder to my spiffy bike.

I'll post another blog that tells of my future bicycling adventures. Things have gotten much better. My friend and colleague Barbara Winter says if you want to learn to do something well, you need to be willing to do it badly at first. If that's true--and I believe it is--then I should be the best darn pannier-totin' bike rider Northwest Denver has ever seen!