Smile

As I am sure is the case with most people in the world, my morning consists of a routine. Get up, do yoga, drink some coffee (that is already ready for me because I put it on a timer the night before. Win.) And then while I eat my breakfast and watch the weather, I check my various emails. Personal e-mail. Check. Work email so that I know what to be ready for when I get into the office. Check. And then I move on to the ol’ Facebook account. I do the rounds of my 7-10 best friends to see that they are ok…what they are up to… (stalking possibly?) And then I basically go to the news feed and randomly read who shows up that day as being recently active.

This morning, a friend of mine had a post which asked “What song makes you happy every single time you hear it?” This started me reeling. Music is (as you have likely witnessed through this blog) my driving force. It’s what I’m about as much as anything else. My list of songs that instantly made me happy started spinning out of control. I thought of about thirty right off the bat. And then in turn, they stuck in my head (which is an extraordinarily weird montage, by the way.)

I walked into work today singing, smiling, bopping along. One of my co-workers said “You’re in a good mood today!” Somehow or other this made me stop short. I think I’ve been in a bad mood for about three months now.

Not long ago I read back through this whole blog, start to finish. I have to say, it’s interesting to log how I’ve changed over this time. Sure, this has been a hard year. Not just because J is gone (mostly because J is gone) but because of work stress and life stress and money stress: the same stuff that everyone on the planet has to deal with. But I feel like *because* of the whole J thing, I’ve sorta been given a pass to be kinda bitchy. “Well, it’s understandable given her situation.”

This isn’t really acceptable to me. Because the one thing I have zero tolerance for, above anything else on the planet, is excuses. Own the situation, and deal with it. Don’t try to write it off to something else. Take responsibility for whatever you’ve done, and fix it. And so in that spirit, today I say…hey, I’ve been really grumpy these past couple of months. My bad. Now it’s time to fix it.

I feel like I’m somehow less than I’d like to be right now. I’m not the girl who gets angry. Or stressed. Or worried. Not usually. Honestly (and you’d never know it from the crazy that this blog has sort of highlighted) I’m one of the more even-keeled people I know. Very laid back, and often laughing at completely inappropriate times, because laughing (and cracking the inappropriate joke)is kinda what I do. But it sure hasn’t seemed that way.

There are myriad clichés about positivity. “It takes fewer muscles to smile than frown.” Or “We determine our attitude.” Or, well, there are many and I’m sure you get the picture. But today, starting my day off singing, smiling and in a great mood, sorta changed my outlook on the day (I know, I know…you’re all sitting there saying “Um, no kidding dummy. Having a good attitude is your choice and it affects your whole world. Duh.”)

And so maybe it’s because I see J soo soon (P.S. Because of that, I will NOT be posting here for the upcoming two weeks that we are together. I’m sure I’ll have plenty to say when his leave is over, but between now and then, take comfort in knowing that I’m not thinking about writing.) Or maybe it’s because it’s fall (or because the season premiere of “Glee” is tonight?) Or maybe it’s really only about the fact that I woke up this morning singing my favorite songs. But I’m feeling really happy today, and I can tell it’s a marked difference from usual. I need to remember that there are tons of simple things that make me smile every day, regardless of where J is or what other crap is going on in life. So if you will indulge me, in an attempt for a little public attitude adjustment the following (in no particular order) are 40 things that make me very happy:

Fall
Strong, hot coffee
Watching my best friends’ children grow up
Teaching
Ben Folds
My Monday night phone date with my best friend from childhood
Talking to my father
Jazz
Really good red wine paired with really good dark chocolate
Billy Collins
College football
Truly bad puns
Summer camp
Strawberry jam (sorry Al)
Water in all its forms (rivers, lakes, oceans)
Ben Folds
Laughing so hard you snort
Sweatshirts straight from the dryer
S’mores
Pandora
The West Wing
Show choir and the songs cheesily arranged for show choir performance
(In that vein) Glee!
Singing in the shower
Ultra-super thin crust margarita pizza
Sleeping with the windows open
Hand-written letters
Surprises
Penguins
Visiting old friends
Stationery and all manner of paper product
Finding old photographs
A good mix-tape from a friend
Daydreaming
Birthdays
Holding hands
Tulips
Road trips
My friends and all their successes
My relationship with J


So I felt like I should end this post with one of the songs that makes me happy from this morning’s little exercise. But there are soo many that I couldn’t even decide how to wrap it up. And so, instead I offer you the following, which is a combination of several of my above loves (#22 and #23 specifically.) And even though this song has traditionally seemed sad to me (um, because I guess it is actually a sad song…) it sorta sums up what I hope my new attitude will be and the theme for my day and the many days to come. And until I see you all again friends (TWO and a half WHOLE WEEKS FROM NOW!!), take some time each day to think about the things that make you happy and smile. I know that’s what I’ll be doing.

Cast of Glee sings "Smile"

Gestalt

26 weeks left
27 weeks completed
Just days until mid-tour leave
0 pounds lost
28 pounds total
11ish months until the wedding

I have had a frustrating last few weeks (perhaps you picked up on that, no?) Life is crazy. Job is crazy. (Possibly, I’m crazy…) Worrying about J more than usual. Indiscriminately being angry with and snapping at people. And there was that one crying day (Yeeouch.) The longing for something else, anything else to give me a different perspective—a new job, a new city, a new place to live, a new mission, a new focus. Something. Anything. Waiting. (Any minute now, my ship is coming…I keep checking the horizon…)

One of the clichés I hate most in the world is the old one about being able to see the forest for the trees. I can’t put my finger on why I don’t like it. I get the image. I actually appreciate the image. But when people say it, I sorta always mentally roll my eyes (wow…I hope it’s mentally. If not, I have offended myriad folks by rolling my eyes at them while they speak. My bad.)

Maybe it’s because that seems to be the “go-to” proverb: Everybody feels free to use it regardless of whether or not they really know what it means. Maybe it’s because I’m a detail person who thrives on seeing the little stuff (typos in this blog site aside…) Maybe it’s because I actually really like trees, and have no problem studying each one individually. Maybe it’s because I truly believe in the unique character of each being necessary to build said forest and thinking of it ONLY as a collective draws attention away from the individuals vital for it to exist. (Or mayhaps, today I’m just looking to pick a fight about something ridiculous like a proverb?)

At any rate, for a long time I’ve tried to figure out some other way to say “Hey dummy, time to focus on the big picture even though the little bits are important, too” because I’m trying not to use the other phrase if I can help it. I guess I could use the *second* most overused proverb/ cliché on Earth for basically the same idea (though this one at least comes from a legit piece of literature): “Lose the battle to win the war.” At any rate, both of these little gems deal with being able to put aside the little stuff for a hot second and think about the big picture.

(Maybe… “Lucky Charms isn’t all about the marshmallows. It’s just a good bowl of cereal.” Hmmm…I’m taking suggestions. )

I bring this up because with all the drama of life right now (I hate drama, by the way) I have been super focused on the intimate details of three things: Getting a new job, bringing J safely home to me for his leave, and well, also getting a new job. My days are spent counting down the moments until I see J; or have a wedding; or until I find something else (Waiting for my real life to begin…) I step on the scale every.single.day to see if I have even lost one more ounce on the way to my goal weight… on the journey toward the dream dress. Details and counting down. I have written 64 *separate* cover letters that are packed with details and specifics. Each day, I consume myself with minutiae to pass the time. As the old saying about patience goes, “the secret of patience is doing something else in the meanwhile.”

That has most definitely been my strategy for J’s deployment. Stay busy. Stay focused on something else. And try not to notice the excruciatingly slow passage of time. Details. Details. Details. Just not about deployment. Details about anything else. Concentrating on the details about other things was one of the major thrusts of starting this blog. Let’s talk about J, sure. But let’s also talk about something else. Lots of something else. Any other detail I could come up with to pass the time.

It was this morning when I started writing this blog that I got the first glimpse of the proverbial Forest. Or of the proverbial Winning of the War. (Or the proverbial whole bowl of Lucky Charms?) Today, we have officially shifted over to the other side. As of today there has been more time logged Over There than what he has left to serve. We’re half-way through. We have made it half-way. Today, our engagement, a long one, which would last 22 whole months, moved inside (almost) the 11 month mark. There is now less time until we are married than since we got engaged. And although I did not lose any weight this week, I have lost twenty-eight whole pounds since I last saw J. That’s better than a pound a week. I’m more than half-way to my goal weight and my dream dress.

How’s that for taking a step back and gaining some perspective?

And so yes, this week, waiting for J to come home for his leave is going to be long and excruciating (how many times can I use that word in one post? Better put it on the list…) And yes, I’m disappointed I didn’t lose any weight this week. And that he’s still not home yet. And that I still don’t have a new job. But for just a split second, I’m going to look at the whole picture, and say, Holy Crap. We’re over halfway there (Oh, OH, Living on a Prayer…!)

One of my favorite words used by pretentious people trying to sound important is the word “gestalt.” If I had a nickel for every time I have seen it used by people in academe and the media trying to be very intellectual, I’d be a millionaire. If I had to give a nickel back every time it was used correctly in a sentence, um, I’d still be a millionaire. (As a funny aside, the same friend that I had the running bet with about working the words “blunderbuss” and “zeitgeist” into all our grad school papers and I allowed bonus points if we could correctly jam “gestalt” in there, too.)

Gestalt basically means a complete picture. Taking all things into consideration, and having one final image. The sum of the parts being greater than the whole, and yet, you’ve got to have all the parts or the picture isn’t complete. A person’s gestalt is their overall being drawn from all their life experiences (I’m paraphrasing a bit here…maybe that’s why it’s so hard to use for people…because it sorta feels like a vague term from another language that English speakers don’t quite have a word for…) But I do think I like “gestalt” better than all this forest and trees mumbo jumbo.

I basically think of gestalt like A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte: pointillism at its finest. But rather, pointillism in a person’s life. Lots of little happenings and experiences that if you step back far enough, blend together to paint a perfect overall picture of a person’s existence, one that explains completely why they act they way they do and feel the way they feel. This is a nice image to me.

It is said that Georges Seurat spent over two years, point by tedious point, painting Sunday. I feel a little like Georges today. Having spent the last six months point, by painful, wretched point, painting a picture of what, ultimately, my life might look like someday when all this waiting was over. And I’ve been lost in those details. But today, I stepped back for just a moment and looked at how the whole painting was coming along. And so far, all things considered, I have to say, it’s coming along quite nicely.

And so yes, I still wait, struggling each day to refine the art of patience, while under my breath I repeat the mantra “soo soo soon.” But let’s pause just for a minute and look at the forest…the war…the bowl of cereal. We are *officially*, on all fronts, over half way there.

My gestalt may not yet be totally complete, but I am happy to report that I like the colors I’m using to paint the picture. And the portrait of our life story may not hang permanently on the wall of the Art Institute of Chicago, but I think it’s going to look LOVELY over our fireplace.

My FRG

It was just about two years ago when J invited me to my very first military ball (I really wanted there to be a primer for this-- “My First Military Ball” with like, Dick and Jane in stick-figure form putting on formals. FYI- it doesn’t exist...but it should.) There is nothing like attending your first such event. There is pageantry. There is tradition. There are lots and lots of very important people in one room all wearing expensive clothes. And just like all other parts of the Army, there is protocol. It’s a little bit fabulous and a little bit unnerving.

My dear and darling J, the man who would wear a t-shirt, a pair of ratty cargo cut-off s, and a nasty food-stained hoodie all day every day for the rest of his life if he could, surprisingly takes these sorts of ceremonies very seriously. And upon receipt of the invitation to My First Ball, he provided me with a list of appropriate attire items to attend to. “Not too revealing. Not too short. Not too flashy. Not too loud. Simple. Elegant. Classy. And you really shouldn’t be the dressiest girl in the room.” Specific instructions. And totally vague. I was a bit lost and nervous about screwing up and making him look like an idiot.

And so in shopping for this very average special dress, I decided my best move would be to hit up a bridal store. Bridesmaid dresses sorta seemed to fit the bill in my mind. Where else could you find a cocktail party-esque dress that wasn’t cocktail dress length (obviously showing way too much leg!)? And as luck would have it, there just so happened to be a small bridal shop about five minutes from my house. I had passed it a million times and thought that it might be a good place to start. Ah, fate she is a funny thing!

I walked into the small and adorable little boutique and the owner greeted me at the door, a kind looking woman with a sweet smile who seemed about my same age. She asked me what I was looking for.

“Well, I need something not too revealing. Not too short. Not too flashy. Not too loud. Simple. Elegant. Classy. And I can’t be the dressiest person in the room.” I’ll never forget her knowing smile and understanding eyes.

“Aw, honey. Is this your FIRST military ball?” I was awestruck.

“How did you know?”

“I’m married to a man in the Army myself.” And then a long pause. “He’s in Iraq right now. “

And thus our friendship began. K helped me pick out the perfect dress for that evening. (She actually complimented J on his instructions. “Those are really good. You’re lucky he told you. Some people don’t know and they show up looking a disaster.”)

After that I would randomly visit K’s store to say hi, to see how her husband was doing, to look for party dresses. Through our tacit military connection, I felt somehow like I knew her—like that we were old friends somehow. I even convinced my friend C (the one who got married this summer) to buy her dress from my new military wife friend.

It was just about a month after her husband returned from Iraq that I found out that J was going to be going Over There.

“Listen, “ she said. “There are going to be days, when you just need to cry, and you don’t want to do it at home alone. And you don’t want to have to explain it to anyone. I know we don’t know each other that well, but any time, seriously, any time you need to do that, you come here. My sister is the co-owner, and she dealt with me that whole time my husband was Over There. Seriously. No questions. Just come here with us.”

I remember thinking at the time that she was sweet for offering, but she was right—I didn’t know her super well, and I had no reason to believe I would need to have a crying fit at any point in J’s time away, especially not in some acquaintance’s place of business.

As the time passed after J left, K and I started to really become friends. It started with just asking for suggestions for care packages for J and questions about my wedding stuff. (She was one of the first people here in town to know I was engaged. I definitely picked out my dress from her shop immediately after getting engaged.) But then I found that I started to drop by the shop about once a week just to say hi, visit my dress, and hear her news of the week. She and her sister became pals to me, ladies I actually enjoyed going and sharing a laugh with.

But the thing I hadn’t really put my finger on until today was this: She has been an amazing military wife friend. You see, people who live on a post and have family deployed—they have support groups and potlucks and the family readiness groups that help them bide the time or share the load. And when you don’t live on post, you don’t have that support group. I’m 5 hours away from the closest military support group, and even if I was there, I don’t know any of those people. It would be the equivalent of me writing a letter to Dear Abby- I could voice my concerns and I could get the “answer”, but there wouldn’t be a personal connection there. Just a 150-word stock response on page 7 below the fold.

What I realized today is that K, and by extension her family, has become my family readiness group—the girlfriend who can help share the load and give me answers that at least don’t feel like stock responses. And she’s done it since J left. The first weekend J was gone, she didn’t let me sit in my house by myself for the weekend. She drug me out on the town with her friends so that I wouldn’t be alone. So that I would laugh instead of cry. 4th of July, she brought me along to her family picnic. I didn’t know anyone, but no one cared. I was K’s friend. My fiancé was deployed. And I was there with her. So, deal with it. And everyone totally did. Because that’s what you do—you support other military families.

Today, I officially lost it. Like, worse than I have since the first week J left. I made the mistake (NEVER AGAIN) of turning on the news and watching a segment on what’s going on right now Over There. And all of a sudden, more so than I have been since even before J left, I was terrified. It’s like somehow or another, I had mapped out his days in my head. Here was in “X” location doing “X” job and that was safe because he WASN’T in “Y” place doing “Z.” But something about the news today unhinged me. And honestly, the situation is probably no better or worse or different than anything has been the whole time he’s been there. But I hadn’t been paying attention. And when I finally did, for the first time in months, I completely fell apart. (Like, the ugly girl crying with the quiver lip and the mascara tracks. It was not cute.)

I drove straight from work to the shop. I had planned on going by anyway today because K has had a bit of a week herself. I was going to check in on her. But just like she predicted that I might need to do, I walked in, straight to the back store room where she was building new displays, and just let go.

K and her sister were, of course, rockstars. And even though they leveled the same sorts of platitudes everyone does (You’re ok. He’s going to be fine. He’s smart. He loves you, and he’ll be home before you know it… ) somehow those ladies have more street cred to me than others do. K has been there. She predicted this. She gets it. And better still, she survived.

After about thirty minutes I was laughing again and things were fine. And then I remembered that originally I had come into the store to check on her.

“Nope. Not now. We don’t get to both fall apart at the same time. I’ll go next week. This is your day to be a wreck. But you should really pull it together…this isn’t a good look for you.”

I guess that’s what friends do. Sometimes when they’re having a crap day they put it aside and take one for the team. K… Thank you for being my family readiness group. And next week dear, it’s all you.

Nothing

27 weeks left
26 weeks completed
2ish weeks left until mid-tour leave
1 pound lost
28 pounds total
12 months until the wedding

This week Sunday night came and went without much notice from me. It was the first Sunday night since J left that I haven’t rushed to my computer to type out the week’s countdown blog .

Part of it, I am sure, had to do with the brain-dead nature of the last week or so of my life. I have literally been walking through my days in a kind of haze, operating on reflex and muscle memory more than from conscious action. Get up. Do yoga. Eat breakfast. Go to work.( Feel slightly uncomfortable.) Do some work. (Feel a little useless.) Dream about new jobs. Talk to J on the phone for three minutes. Do a little more work. (Covertly apply for new jobs.) Help a student or two. Do a little wrap-up work. Come home. Eat dinner. Completely zone out in front of the tv while speaking to no one, doing a couple Sporcle quizzes and then going to bed to stare at the ceiling for a couple of hours before falling asleep. ANNNNND repeat.

Part of this auto-pilot routine, I am sure, is about the fact that I am so anxious to see J right now that I feel like I’ve almost become mean in the waiting. Snapping at people. Having a shorter fuse than normal. Having a little more difficulty mustering a smile on command. I just miss him. And I long to have a conversation where I can see his face…where the story doesn’t get cut off due to bad reception…where we don’t have to struggle through a three second delay when telling each other the simple details of our day (I swear, this last week that has been so bad in that respect. We neither one get to finish a thought before we accidently cut each other off mid-sentence. I must remind myself daily that I am grateful for the phone and the opportunity to hear his voice regularly. Otherwise, it’d be go time with the phone people.)

I suppose that auto-pilot is a little about self-preservation and about me trying really hard not to say something mean to someone by accident. Stick to the routine, and no one gets hurt.

So, first, it feels a lot like I’ve got absolutely nothing of note to say…nothing new to report (and the fact that there is nothing new to report is pretty annoying to me, quite frankly.) And second I feel grumpy and mean and a little misanthropic. This makes for a bad combo really, as I can’t write about *nothing* (a story about nothing…perhaps I could be a writer for Seinfeld?) and I don’t really want to write about being annoyed.

But Sunday is countdown day, and I’ve grown accustomed to starting the week off with writing…by clearing my head for the days to come. To start anew. Getting the ugh out and moving on. So herein lay my writing troubles, and the blank slate come Sunday night.

So, what to talk about? When I sat back and really thought about the last week; things I might write about, things that affected me, stories worth retelling, I realized that it wasn’t that I had absolutely nothing to say…it was that I had absolutely nothing nice to say.

Ok, so that’s not entirely true. I had two really good job leads that I’m cautiously keeping my fingers crossed about. I had a dear friend, while out doing her own job, try to find work for me as well. I had a scholarly conversation for the first time in months that actually made me feel invigorated and smart and useful. I have single digit number of days until I see J again. I got my student evaluations of my teaching back this week and they were really kind. I went dancing with a girlfriend of mine that I don’t play with nearly enough. And man, did we have fun. And I had several really quality phone conversations with people that I love. So ok, some nice moments were in there for sure, but nothing really write-worthy.

Yet on the other side of that coin, I had about four separate, unrelated incidents this week where people were actively rude to me, doing and saying things to be intentionally hurtful to my face, behind my back, and just loud enough to be able to say they didn’t know I was listening, yet totally knew I was listening. (What, are we in junior high?) I sat through what was probably the most awkward and uncomfortable meeting of my life where the future of my job was openly discussed by about 30 different people. (Seriously, I was like “Um, you guys…I can *hear* you. I’m sitting right here.) I had several people who, even though they weren’t really saying anything negative per se, choose to engage in that conversation about me, not in their own offices, or over coffee in another building, but rather about 3 steps from my open office door. Not TO me, or WITH me, but rather about me.

It’s often easier to think about these latter, uncomfortable events than the former, good ones. But when I sat down to recap my week, to think about what I would write about as my week began, it was only the latter that came to mind. I was hopping mad, and I was going to talk about it right here for all the world to read (or, ok, you know, the 26 of you who read this thing…)

But then, that wouldn’t make me any better than the people I was complaining about, would it? Passive-aggressively talking about others in a big public forum that was not to their face, but rather about them to others in an attempt to be hurtful? In fact, it would make me ONE of those guys. I don’t want to be one of THOSE guys. Those guys are mean.

My academic advisor in graduate school (my mentor, my former boss, and my dear, dear friend) had quite a way with words. He could spin a phrase like no one I have ever met. I used to keep a list of his “-isms”, little gems that only he could come up with and get away with saying. And he said these things with a slow and steady southern drawl that made my little heart happy every time he spoke. It was his voice this week in my head, with one of the his custom one-liners that helped me refocus my energies. “You know, it’s not knowing the right words to say to the jackasses…it’s being smart enough to know when to shut the hell up and walk away.”

Or in other words, if you can’t say something nice, maybe don’t say anything at all. (Maybe all I ever needed to know I really *DID* learn in kindergarten.)

Perhaps even in mentioning all this I haven’t quite succeeded in “shutting the hell up and walking away.” But I sure could have done and said so much worse (there are three other versions of this week’s blog in the trash can to prove that fact.) But I did not. And man am I glad I didn’t, because no good comes from perpetuating that cycle.

I am going to try desperately to focus on the positive. And one of the first steps in that, and I’m looking at YOU trash-talkers, well, I’ll not be listening to you anymore. I find that you bother me much less when I can’t hear you. I’ll just remember to keep my office door closed, my head down, and focus solely on my work and the things I can control. Because that’s all I can do. There are some people who are always gonna wanna keep talking when they should , in the immortal words of my mentor, “shut the hell up and walk away.” And the only thing I can control is that I’ll not be one of them.

It has been said that diplomacy is the art of thinking twice before saying nothing. Truer words were never spoken. And in that vein I shall end this post. Because I’m happy to report, I’ve got nothing to say.