Filed under Work

On Friendship: My Failure and Renewed Hope

I’ve not always been the best friend. I’ve hurt. And I’ve been hurt. I’ve moved away. I’ve been deserted. After Scoot and I became serious during my junior year of high school, I – intentionally or not – swore off trying very hard at friendship. What was the point?

The girls who were my age were trying to get as far away from their parents as possible while I was devoting my entire being to keeping alive my long-distance relationship with Scoot, whose mom lives just two miles from my own. They were planning for their post-college travels around the world while I was planning my wedding in our hometown. They were renting apartments with roommates in Los Angeles and New York and San Francisco while I took out a mortgage on a home in the suburbs with room for a nursery for my young son. I had a very hard time relating.

Women who were in a similar life stage to me were planning their weddings while shuffling their meeting schedules at work. They were spending $1600 a month on nannies while I was making grocery shopping lists to include ramen, Hamburger Helper and macaroni and cheese so I could afford the $200 per week I had to spend on daycare. And at work, when I sat down for my annual review, it was they who would evaluate me on my performance throughout the prior year. I had a very hard time relating.

Recently, in large part because of what I discovered when I was introduced to the world of online social networks, I have established friendships. With genuine friends. The kind with whom I can gossip about that girl. The kind with whom I can lament about my day. The kind with whom I can share my frustrations and fears and tears and hopes. The kind with whom I laugh. And laugh. And text. And laugh.

In return, they’ve shared their loves, their losses, their triumphs, their sorrows. I hear about what they ate for breakfast and minutes later, the one thing they want their kids to know about them if they meet their end prematurely. I hear about the guy who tried to talk to them when they’re happily married. I get advice about health matters. I advise them on their resumes. I get drunk texts. With pictures!

I’ve been kept company in the hospital for 48 hours through a small device that meant constant conversation. I’ve watched a minor illness turn into a major health problem. With IVs. And surgeries. And tests. And uncertainty. I’ve seen pregnancy test strips and ultrasounds and newly born babies and crawling toddlers. I’ve celebrated romance and birthdays and New Year’s Eve and just because. I’ve watched them jump out of airplanes, and jump into love. I’ve watched doubt and despair and divorce. I’ve seen them hurt and healed.

I’ve felt. I’ve felt friendship. I’ve felt all that it can be. I’ve felt all that I missed during that decade or so when I just didn’t feel like I could relate to my peers.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had my fears that I’ve deluded myself. Certainly the friend ending her relationship, that was never married, that makes more than I do, that makes less than me, that! has! nothing! but! girls! …certainly we will find something that divides us. And yet, thankfully, they’re still here. I’m still here, a believer in friendship.

I’m about to head out on a weekend away with one of my dearest friends with our four!!! boys all under the age of 9 (unfortunately, Bop can’t make it because of school). I’m looking forward to it for selfish reasons, and not so selfish ones. And when I come back I have another friend coming to visit, one who just moved to the area and who I hope to see much more often. And six weeks from now I’ll be celebrating yet another’s birthday with friends from around the country.  

Ends up, I’m kind of digging this friend thing. And as simple and easy as that sounds, I have a very hard time explaining just how happy it makes me and how sincerely appreciative I am to be able to say it.

If You’re Happy and You Know It

Hey, remember me? Yeah, I own this here little place of the interwebs. Nice to see you again. I could write a post (ok, I did…and decided not to hit publish…again) about where I’ve been but instead I thought I’d just cut to the chase and post something new. So here you go…

10 Things I Smiled About Today

1. The # I saw on the scale this morning.

2. Achieving my goal of getting up without hitting the snooze button.

3. DJ choosing to do his homework this morning (rather than tomorrow night) without any prompting.

4. Scoot baking cookies for the Mother-Son Dance Friday night.

5. Having enough calories left today to help be a taste tester of the aforementioned cookies.

6. Catching up with an old friend/colleague.

7. Seeing a new friend/colleague achieve well-deserved satisfaction.

8. Getting an email from my friend who seems to make it her life’s work to have me in stitches on a daily basis.

9. Looking at a calendar and realizing I will be seeing a bunch of my friends real soon.

10. Straightening my desk before I left the office for the night.

What made you smile today?

Mah Smahrts Iz Showing

I’ve been super busy at work, which is a really good thing given this economy. In addition to the stuff I do for my clients, however, I’ve also been spearheading a project to get my whole office involved in blogging and tweeting about the Elections we have coming up in California. This is in coordination with a project that we’re running out of our DC office where some of my very smart colleagues are keeping up on all sorts of races around the country that people will care about.

So, since you’re my very best friend in the whole wide world (you are, right?), I thought you might be interesting in following this fun little project.

Here’s where we’re tweeting: @CalVoteImpact

Here’s where we blog: Virtual Vantage Points

And here is my first post: Boxer v. Fiorina: Five Trends to Watch

I hope to see you over there and please excuse me if I’m not hanging out wherever you’re used to seeing me. It takes a whole lot of brainpower to keep from accidentally tweeting about my kids’ ear infections and silly sayings from my work account, ifyaknowwhatimean.

I’ve Felt the Calm of A Satisfied Soul

It’s been a busy week around these here parts. First week of school and all. Here are some of the things that have satisfied my soul of late:

  • Sometimes not having all the answers really sucks.
  • Talking about death and dying with kids is never fun. Especially when it feels like it may be close. Or far. Or…who knows. But it’s important to talk about it nonetheless.
  • There’s a lot of great things that come with being a parent but one of the greatest is when your kids show absolutely no resemblance to you. See also: Five nights away from home with no homesickness and no fear of waterslides.
  • “No resemblance” corollary: When it takes 31 years and one kid who asks to get on a waterslide? And enjoy it? Awesome.
  • Waterslide corollary: Going on a family date to a place you and your husband have never been even though you’ve known each other forever? Also awesome.
  • There is little more liberating to a woman than to walk around in a bathing suit in public without caring about what others might think.
  • Ends up, this confidence despite evidence to the contrary thing is genetic.
  • See also: A six-year-old who doesn’t really think he needs to go by his new classroom to meet his teacher until the first day of school because really, mom, it’s not much different from last year.
  • Mom feels better when you make him go anyway.
  • It appears as though each added year of dropping my oldest off on the first day of school allows me to get a little further away from the building before breaking down into complete tears.
  • Having the youngest beg to go to kindergarten doesn’t help. Nor does knowing you’re planning on holding him back for another year when you’re pretty sure he’d be just fine if he went on time.
  • That knot in your throat when your kid says he can get to his classroom all by himself isn’t because you’re concerned he can’t. It’s because you know he can.
  • No matter how hard I try, I always say too much when I’m nervous.
  • Traditions matter. Especially those like taking the day before the first day of school off and working from home on the first day so you can be there when the bell rings. If there was a single piece of advice I could give working parents new to the whole school thing it’d be to warn them that EVERY. OTHER. PARENT. will be there to pick up their kids’ on the first day. If you’re not, your kid will, in fact, be the only one whose parent isn’t.
  • MMS picture spam may or may not be appropriate when you don’t post pictures of your kids online. But if you got a “Happy 1st day of School” text from me and didn’t want one, please feel free to let me know. I swear I only sent it to people I thought would appreciate it. And if I thought you would, and you didn’t, I’m so sorry. I guess, I don’t know, maybe we need to go to relationship counseling or something, because we obviously aren’t on the same page. HA!
  • Whether at soccer practice, a birthday party or a parent meeting, the following this are assured to happen: A parent will tell you more about them and their marriage than you ever want to know, a parent will make it clear their kid is above yours, a parent will make it clear their kids is below yours, a parent will disappear and you’ll judge them for not being involved, you’ll need to run somewhere and be judged for not being involved, and a whole bunch of other things. It’s important to remember that as much as you love/hate a certain parent, there are other parents that love/hate you. Oh well. It happens.
  • Every woman needs a few good girlfriends.
  • There is a great joy that comes with finding out that you’ve found yours.

My Front Porch Looking In

I got home last night to my boys asleep in the middle of my bed. DJ was on “my side,” Bop on Scoot’s. Scoot told me DJ had convinced his little brother that Bop really should sleep on daddy’s side. DJ understood that mommy was coming home while he slept.

Big brothers are always a little shady like that.

He managed to open his eyes enough to know I was there. He slept with his arm across me, then early in the morning he held me in both.

After Scoot left this morning, I switched sides of the bed. When Bop started to stir, I whispered in his ear, “B-Bop, mommy’s home.” A huge grin crossed his face. He grabbed me tightly around my neck. Then gave me a kiss. Then another. Then more. He asked if I went on an airplane. Then started to complain about his ear draining. One of them always gets sick when I travel.

It was great to have time away, to hang out with friends and meet new ones. To laugh and joke and explore and learn. To hear how others see the world.

I enjoyed seeing the sights in the Big Apple, but the city that never sleeps has nothing on what I get to wake up to every morning.

The Three Most Important Rules of Soccer and, Perhaps, Life

When I was a kid, I played soccer at a very competitive level. The girls’ soccer movement was fueled in large part by those of us growing up in and around the best college soccer programs in the country, Stanford included.

Not to sound all egotistical, but I was a leader on my team. Whether it’s because I assumed the role, my coaches pushed it on me or my peers looked to me to step up is irrelevant (though it was probably a little of each).

I had three rules about soccer that I preached to my teammates. They had nothing to do with the strategy or tactics of actual game play, but they were important nonetheless. In fact, I’ve found these rules are applicable to so much of life that I continue to repeat them to myself, my kids and pretty much anyone who will listen.

RULE #1: You have to look good to be good.

Now, I don’t mean this literally but I take this rule quite seriously. The way we present ourselves to the world says a lot about us, both in our own minds and to those we encounter.

On my soccer teams, I was constantly lobbying for the coolest-looking uniforms and warm-ups. Before my team got with the program, I distinctly remember showing up at games and watching the other teams donned in identical warm-up suits that made a symphony of swooshing sounds as 36 legs warmed up in unison for the game. I watched the faces of my teammates as they’d get intimidated by these teams for what reason? Because they were matching?!?! Why did that matter? Well it’s not as silly as it sounds.

Soccer is a team sport. The synchronization of an identically-dressed team says something, perhaps, about their team play, their passing abilities, their chemistry. I quickly became a stickler for how we looked. Jerseys were to be tucked in. Socks folded. Warm-ups on. No random college sweatshirts that messed up our uniformed look. We were a unit. We needed to look like one.

For myself, I always made sure my uniform was clean and ready to go. I’d never wear dirty socks, even if that meant staying up late the night before a game to do laundry or buying a couple extra pairs. I also insisted that my team find a laundromat to wash our uniforms when we had overnight tournaments.

This works. You know it does. When you go to an important meeting, a job interview or a night on the town, I bet you try to wear your favorite power suit or most flattering outfit. When we look good, we are confident. When we are confident, we perform better. Of course that doesn’t mean you’ll win every game or land every job but seriously, how often do you see someone who is dumpy and/or insecure excelling? Yeah, I thought so.

RULE #2: Do not tell me how hard you tried. Show me your socks.

Soccer players are required to wear long socks over their shin guards. Nothing would drive me crazier than playing on a muddy field and seeing a teammate leave the game with clean socks. Really? Seriously? I’m covered from head to toe in mud and your white socks are clean?!?! Get off of my field!

We all go through phases where we’re challenged. I’ve gone through periods when I have had to be up at 5 am for conference calls or work until midnight or later and so have most of the people I’ve worked with over the course of my career. But do not tell me you’re overwhelmed with work when you leave at 5 pm and don’t turn on your Blackberry or laptop until you’re back the next day at 9:30 am. If you’re going through a challenging time, do not even consider complaining to me until you show me your socks.

My dad told me during my first year of “real” work that I should never ask for a promotion until/unless I’ve done the work of the higher position for at least six months. I have to dirty my socks.

RULE #3: If you miss a penalty kick, you didn’t deserve to take it.

Penalty kicks are not particularly common in soccer but they can make all the difference in a game. When, in the event of a tie, a game goes into PKs (5 kicks per team, whoever makes the most wins), one miss can be the difference between winning and losing. It’s one of the few plays where the score and the outcome can be changed by just one player.

A PK favors the kicker. Statistically speaking it should be a gimme. The best goal keepers in the world fail to block PKs all the time. If a kicker doesn’t make it, it’s because the kicker messed up. It’s not because the goalkeeper was just too good.

We all mess up. Sometimes, especially on a team, we deserve to share the blame with or deflect it onto others. But sometimes our mistakes are our own. Sometimes we have no one to blame but ourselves. We would be wise to learn how to tell the difference. When we act like the victims and yet we were the kicker, we lie to ourselves, we lie to our teammates, we weaken ourselves and our team. Sometimes we just need to admit when we didn’t deserve to take the kick.

Expectations and Fear of Failure

I frequently joke with my boss that I like to keep expectations low so I can blow right past them. Though that’s usually how things shake out, the truth is that I often keep expectations low because I have no confidence that I will succeed. Sometimes this self-doubt is well-founded. Other times it’s ridiculous. I know this conceptually, but the only way I can prove to myself that I’m capable of accomplishing something new, is by doing it.

Part of my problem, and many of you already know this, is that I don’t take myself very seriously. Much of this has to do with my personality. I’m easy-going, hard to fluster and I like to joke around. But some of my inability to take myself seriously comes from my belief that there is very little that should be taken all that seriously. Life and death are serious. Abuse and neglect are serious. War and peace are serious. But all the little things we so easily get wrapped up in every day…well, I just don’t believe that most of them are all that serious. When it comes to our professional lives, I learned part of this lesson from my dad who told me in my first year of my career that people, especially young people, always overvalue themselves. They take themselves much too seriously.

The fact that I don’t take myself all that seriously is frustrating to some people, none more so than me. I put countless hours into my studies, spent $60,000 on my graduate education (the first $268.41 per month I earn for the next 2o years goes straight to grad school loans) and spent the last nine years of my life learning, thinking, talking and strategizing about health care policy. I really should act like I know what I’m talking about. Because I really do. Don’t I?

Well, last week I was put to the test in a public forum for the first time. I was invited to sit on a panel about health care reform and was asked specifically to talk about it from a federal perspective as well as the perspective of the drug industry, for whom I’ve worked in various capacities for my entire career. I wasn’t, however, speaking as a spokesperson for a client. I was just me. I was there to state my analysis and my opinions.

A funny thing happened on the way to that forum. Well, not on the way, but about a third of the way through. Ends up, I kind of felt good talking about this issue. I’m sure there were plenty of ums and uhs and the like, but I actually knew what I was talking about. No one was more surprised than I was.

Afterwards a number of people came up to me and commented that I’d done a good job. They asked for my card so they could give them to their newsroom folks (most of the audience members were in radio and television ad sales) in case a story came up and they needed someone to interview. I obliged, honestly thinking that nothing would come of it.

Yesterday morning, however, I was called by a radio producer and asked to comment on President Obama’s most recent health care proposal. Live. On. The. Air. Now, there are people who do this kind of thing all the time but let’s be honest: I am not one of them. I’d been in a client meeting all day. I hadn’t even read Obama’s proposal. I’m not like others who have gone line-by-line through every bill. I didn’t get called to the White House to discuss the issue. What on Earth am I going to say?

So I read about his proposal, wrote out a few talking points and called the producer at the agreed upon time. When I went on air I was nervous. But after the first question, again about a third of the way through, I realized that I might maybe know what I’m talking about again. Maybe. I asked Scoot what he thought and he said I stumbled a little on words like um and uh but that I sounded good. I was pretty sure that he was bound to say that by our wedding vows (I think that line is right after “to love and to cherish” and right before “no, you don’t look fat.”) but a colleague had heard it and said the same thing. He sent around a link to the interview.

The first thing I thought was, “OH MAH GAWD! I sound 12.” Which is true. And depressing. But true nonetheless.

The second thing I thought was “You know what? I sort of sound like I know what I’m talking about.” A much happier thought to be sure.

Now, please don’t get me wrong. I am not all high on myself about this performance. I stumbled, I sounded nervous, I did a whole host of things that I’d advise clients against. But the thing is…I did it.

Twenty years from now, I’ll look back at this and think, “Gosh I’m embarassed I made such a big deal out of such a soft-ball, easy interview.” But today, for me right now, at this point in my life, at this point in my career, it was just what I needed to remind myself that sometimes I can drop the low expectations, put myself out there a bit more and maybe, just maybe, not make a complete fool of myself.

An Open Letter to Patience

Dear Patience,

I miss you. No, truly, I do. I miss the warmth of your long held embrace. The calm that you exude when you’re around. The rational thoughts you put into my mind. I miss you more than you know.

I have respected you for a long time, looked up to you. I have tried to walk your walk. “Good things come to those who wait,” I say to myself and others with frequency. I have long been a fan of the tortoise. “Slow and steady wins the race.” I know your value.

But Bop, Patience. He’s killing me. I know it’s a phase. I know I let D go through the same I-can’t-possibly-live-without-my-mommy-so-I-must-cry-whenever-she-wants-to-leave-me-because-my-world-will-end-without-her phase. I know he deserves you. But, Patience, I feel like you’re pushing me away with a brute force I haven’t felt in a while.

And he’s not the only one testing our relationship. D, dude. D is giving you a run for your money too. He is awesome at night when both Scoot and I are around. But in the mornings… Gah! It’s like he knows you’re at your rarest and yet still tries to find you somewhere within me by pushing every possible button I have. Unfortunately for us all, he fails as you so often seem to have deserted me.

There are other ways you’re testing me, Patience. Many, many other ways: at work, at home, in my family, with my friends, in my community, even the dogs are working my last nerve. Sometimes I feel like others are so intent on proving that you and I are, in fact, not on speaking terms that they do whatever they can to drive us apart.

I can’t live this way, Patience. I mean, come on, your name graces the title of one of my favorite songs of all time. I need you. Yeah, Yeah, I need you. Oooo I need you. Oh, sorry…got a little carried away there.

One of my favorite (Swedish, BTW) proverbs says, “Those who wish to sing always find a song.” I hope that’s true, Patience. Because I miss you. I want to sing your song. I must find it. I have to.

Come back to me, Patience. Please.

Love,

EmmieJ

How Like a Winter Hath My Absence Been

Ever since I moved to Sacramento from Washington, DC, I’ve had people ask me if I miss DC. Usually my response is, “Oh heck no!” Why? Well…let me count the ways:

  • Hot, humid summers
  • Long, cold winters
  • Winters not long or cold enough to teach drivers how to drive in snow
  • Commuting on 395
  • Enduring 9/11 and the Beltway Snipers
  • Getting on the Beltway going in the wrong direction and going the ENTIRE way around to get to where you need to go
  • My ENTIRE family in CA
  • Every vacation day spent visiting family which does not always equal vacation

But ask me that question when I’m in a very honest mood this week and I’d probably tell you that I have a wee bit of yearning right now. Why? Well, because I’m a total dork.

It’s not the cherry blossoms, the history, the fact that Barack Obama is President, though all of those would be great reasons to be there. It’s health care reform.

*Record screech*

“What did she say?”

Yeah, I said it. I admit it. I’m a complete and total dork.

I’m going to miss being in DC for this summer’s health care reform debate.

I got my master of public policy degree from Georgetown because I wanted to be where the action is. I wanted to learn from people who actually make public policy every day. And I wanted to know that what I was doing was meaningful. That was the kicker for me. I wanted to be in the trenches DOING something…not just being an academic (like I thought I would if I pursued a law degree or a PhD).

I’ve been through this whole pass-major-health-care-legislation-during-the-summer thing once. I worked at the pharmaceutical industry’s trade association during the debate and passage of the Medicare Modernization Act of 2003. Why Congress decides to pass “good” legislation during the summer I’ll never understand, but I spent that summer working 12 hour days (Side note: I was totally pregnant during all of this…imagine how fun that was!), watching C-SPAN into the wee hours of the morning, and talking about amendments and floor debates and cloture. Say what you will about the bill itself, those of us who are policy wonks or political hacks LOVE being in the middle of a good fight debate.

Don’t get me wrong. I was just one of a very large group of people working on this legislation. But man, that stuff is fun. You don’t go to baseball practice and not get excited about a game. You don’t become a surgeon and not get excited about a surgery. You don’t become a cop and not get excited about arresting criminals. And you don’t go into policy and not get excited about analyzing and advocating for policy.

So, I’ll just say it here and now for the record. Yes, DC, I’m going to miss you this summer, as hot and muggy as you may be.

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