Mixing it up...again

In college, I was a music major. My minor was commercial music, which is just a fancy way of saying I liked to study music that wasn’t classical. I spent a good bit of time in a recording studio, and honed several completely useless-in-today’s-world-of-music-production-and-delivery skills. 

The top of this list was REALLY understanding and being VERY good at programing the sequence of songs on an album. (Track one is upbeat; Track #2, your first single. Track #3, your passion project and/ or slightly slower off-beat-filler song to get the listener to Track #4 which is your power ballad, i.e. your second single. It’s very likely that if you look at your favorite albums, you’ll notice that track six is your favorite, though not a commercially successful tune at the time. It MIGHT BE track 7. But it’s probably Track 6.) 

And no one listens to the last track. That’s your taking out the trash track. Your Friday afternoon press room briefing. Though often it does sorta round things out. It may be the last 30 minutes of a Saturday Night Live episode, but it probably puts a period on whatever you were trying to say in your album. A goodbye. Thanks for showing up. Hope to see you next week for what’s next. 

Because I was SUPER into music and really good at programmatic song selection, I was a master of the mix tape. I mean, really, really good at it. And so in an effort to hone these skills, I had a mix tape (and later a mix CD) for pretty much every life event from “First semester of college” to “breaking up with Boyfriend XX” to “2 hour road trip that would obviously be worthless without theme music.” I have QUITE a collection of mix CDs that I have held on to for many, many years. 

So, Friday I quit my job. 

Yeah.

And have I mentioned that in order to do this, I have to drive two and a half hours to the office? 

Right. 

It gives a girl some time to think. And I felt like I really needed that time this go round. 

I’ve been dreading this conversation. Even though I’ve known it was time to leave for a very long time. Even though I have this incredible new opportunity sitting in front of me. Regardless of that, wanting to leave made me angry. I was hurt. I wanted to lash out at these people who just didn’t *get it.* I wanted them to be better. I had put five and a half years of my heart and soul into this place. I cared so.damn.much, even though I knew that was the root of my frustration. 

It’s hard to just walk away from something like that, you know? It’s like breaking up with an abusive partner. Regardless of the circumstances, there will be regret. Because no one wants to give up. No one wants to feel like a quitter. (Though my dear J reminded me that there is a difference between quitting and resigning, and that I was decidedly doing the latter. He’s a good egg, that husband of mine.) 

How was I going to tell these people how angry I was without breaking down? (I’m an angry crier, by the way. I rarely cry when I’m sad. But damn do I cry when I’m angry…which in turn makes me angrier…which makes me cry more. It’s a vicious cycle, really. One that I really effing hate.) 

As I started my drive to work, I knew that I would have to screw up my courage—get my words right—rehearse it a thousand and twelve times to make sure I said everything I felt like I needed to say without falling into raging lunatic crying basketcase woman. 

Clearly this required a soundtrack. 

Good news. I just so happened to have a “quitting my job” mix CD in my car. 

I had made this CD almost 15 years ago to the day, upon quitting my very first real grown-up job. And I’m not sure I had listened to it since. 

So, first off *wow.* Let me just tell you that apparently my rage was pretty real at the end of that particular part of my life. Songs on that mix included Cake’s version of “I Will Survive," Linkin Park’s “In the End,” and Cake’s “Nugget” (go ahead and look up the lyrics to that one if you aren’t familiar. They, um, paint a picture…) 

So yeah. I was pretty much done with that job. And kinda raw about it, if I’m honest. I had forgotten… 

This felt like a good bit of music to match my day. And it was.

The more I listened, the more it reminded me of that time in my life. How far I’d come. How much I had changed…and had not changed at all. The essence of me was still exactly the same. And that felt amazing. 

It was a really good mix. I sang along. I laughed at some of my choices. I cried through one or two that were sentimental favs from that point in my life. Exactly what a good mix should elicit.

As the end of the CD approached, I anxiously awaited the last song. How had I decided to punctuate that time in my life? 

Now, a really GOOD last song on a quitting-your-job-mix would be, like…Hands in my Pocket…you know, if you were feeling really good about it. Or maybe, a little TayTay confirming that we were, in fact, never, ever, ever getting back together (if it was more of a mic drop situation.) 

What had I chosen? I had to smile when I heard the intro to my punctuation song. 

On the Road Again. Amazing. 

As I listened to it, all my rage and wondering what I was gonna say, just sorta melted away. It seems I’ve always been on the road again, happy and excited about moving on to the next thing. Because I’ve always been doing exactly what I loved. Time to go on to the next thing. Not just “I’m pissed and leaving” but instead “I’m doing what I love and moving forward to the next great thing.” 

What a freeing thought that was. 

And so I went on to the office. Had my polite and professional conversations which were very graciously received. No anger. Just excitement about what’s next. Even from the people I was “quitting.” They were all really nice interactions (that I had not anticipated) and honestly doubt would have happened had I not set my mind ahead of time with my music (at least on my end. My boss didn't probably listen to anything particularly motivating that morning...)

As I headed home, back 2.5 hours to my house from my office, I felt about 100 pounds lighter than I had in the morning. In that moment, I felt incredibly happy that my throw away song had been Willie. 

And then I thought—maybe, even then, it wasn’t a throw away song at all. But rather the end of the beginning-- the lead in to my next album. Thanks for coming. 

And stay tuned for my what’s next.

Here's your sign.

One of my dearest friends is a manager of risk. 

Well, that’s not entirely true. Her resume doesn’t say risk management. But that’s the essence of what she does. She scans the landscape, looking for even the littlest inkling of there being “something on the horizon” that she’d have to react to if it happened. It’s even better if she has the foresight to react *BEFORE* the thing happens. There’s where she makes the big bucks.

Sometimes she gets paid not to react at all. Sometimes, her oft missed-by-others “reaction”, is no reaction: to stay the hell put. And it takes many professional years to learn the difference. The do something v. don’t do something struggle is real, and requires experience, insight, intuition and some significant confidence in yourself.   

But even she will say that at the point at which there are 2983742 different “littlest inklings” on the horizon, that you’re compelled to act. Even if it might be easier to sit still. Even if you could probably ride out the impending storm by hunkering down. Even if you have almost as many reasons to not do anything at all. Sometimes you’ve just gotta move, even if it is just for the sake of proving that you still know how.

You can’t build much of a professional reputation by being the guy that disappears into the bunker every time there’s a storm approaching. There’s a difference between being risk averse and being scared.

Let me say this: She and I are unlikely friends.

We approach life from the opposite ends of the spectrum in almost all scenarios. I’m the train leaving Philadelphia going 200 miles per hour; she the train leaving Kansas City at 75 miles per hour. But in the end, we almost always end up meeting somewhere along interstate 70 around Indianapolis for a cocktail.

It’s not easy being the 200 mile-per-hour train. Most of the time, I push forward, full steam ahead (sometimes, I don’t even realize I’m doing it) and then sort of figure it out as I go along. Once I realize I’ve put myself on the Maglev, I sorta shrug and say “Huh. Look at that. Ok, how am I going to make this work?” I don’t necessarily leap before I look. More times than not, I look around and say “Wait, did I just leap?” and find myself on a path I didn’t mean to be on doing things I didn’t anticipate doing.

And let me say that for the most part this has been the bedrock of an awesome life. If I had realized I was jumping all those times, there’s a solid chance I wouldn’t have done it. (I’m stupider than I am brave.)

I got a pretty big dose of that this week. A series of *seriously* random events, over which I have no control, and which I could have never predicted, afforded me conversations with people I never would have had access to, saying things I never even knew I felt (until I out-of-body-experience heard them coming from my mouth.) This has most likely set me about a brand-new path which I had neither prepared for nor had planned for or had even articulated an interest in before that very moment. (Guess I accidentally leaped…again.)

I legit said at out loud *several* times this week “Wow, I guess that just happened.” (Also a frequent repeat of “I probably shouldn’t have said that…” and the ever apropos “Is this real life?”)   

But friends, it looks like I leaped straight from the platform right onto the speeding train.

For better or worse, I’m going to need to strap in.

My friend is likewise on the brink of transition right now. She has these amazing ideas and so much potential for a “what’s next.” And yet, right now she’s staring down all the perceived obstacles in her way. All the reasons to hunker down and try to ride out the storm. Or to make a 10-year plan to have this all happen later-on when there might be less risk.  

And I get it. That’s the part of me I wish I had a little more of sometimes. I need that perspective in my life (this is why we’re unlikely, but awesome friends. Balance, people. Balance.)

But at one point this week she said to me, “There are just so many little things, I feel like I can’t ignore the signs anymore. I think I’ve got to do this!”

In my mind (and often out loud, if I'm honest...) I said to her, “OF COURSE YOU HAVE TO DO THIS!!!! Why the hell are you waiting for all these signs from the universe? Get on the damn train, already. This isn’t the Polar Express. There’s no magical ticket (also no Tom Hanks.) And contrary to popular opinion, it's unlikely to get easier later.”

And then of course I’m reminded what she does for a living. Her mind is hardwired to mitigate risk. And

this new path with her is a road full of pretty sizeable, potential-risk potholes. It’s in these moments I’m reminded how we’re such different beings on so many levels. And I forget that I'm the kid barreling down the tracks headed towards St. Elmo’s for a Manhattan. And that she's MORE than one had to scrape my million-miles-per-hour, splattered-on-the-road ass up off the highway.

I just don’t want her to miss happy hour, you know?  

Our conversations got me thinking about why it is that we so often feel like we need a sign before we act. So many of us choose not to rely on our gut or the market landscape or research (or the writing on the wall…) before we make our move. We wait for some magical, cannot-be-ignored, from on-high moment to make our path seem inevitable and sure.  

I’m here to tell you friends: That shit doesn’t happen very often. I think we’d all do well to learn to let our gut guide us a little more.  We're smarter than we give ourselves credit for, I think. Most of us have figured out how we tick, and like my friend does professionally, when to hunker down, and when to move. It takes courage to take the chance that seems ridiculous in that very moment.   

I’m not here to say that proceeding without a plan (like I often do) is the smart or safe path. The number of times I’ve scrambled and struggled and fallen flat on my ass is more than I care to count. I would likely have benefited from at least a little more forethought on several notable occasions. 

But you know what? My intuition has never failed me. Not once. Even when I totally failed.  

One of my favorite, annual reads is The Alchemist. I feel like it speaks to me because I have always subscribed to its moral:  When you’re on the path to achieving your personal destiny, all the world conspires to help along the way. What a freeing thought. If you’re doing the right thing, help will appear when you need it.

As naive as that may sound, I guess I’ve always just assumed that I was doing the right thing (whatever “right” means…)  because it has always seemed like I had help when I needed it most—If I was supposed to move forward with something, help always appeared. If it was an uphill, horrible struggle that I had no support with, I could move along without much regret, trusting in the thought that it was time to shuffle along.

So maybe that’s it. It’s in the recognition of the help all around you—When you finally realize you have all the support (and motivation) necessary to do what you know in your gut you *have* to do. Maybe that’s the magical “sign” we need. Or better still, the sign which appears... when we're ready to see it. 

But I would say this: There ain’t a sign in the universe bigger than the core of your person knowing that you’ve GOT to do something. You don’t need anyone else to tell you that. And once you’ve recognized it, there are no more excuses. Get on the train already.

My husband is fond of saying that if you go looking for meaning in something, you’ll likely find it there. And I think that’s true to a great degree. So here it is. Time to look up. Take notice of the the supports around you. Take a deep breath, examine your gut, and leap (ahem, you know who you are…)

Here’s your sign.

The universe and your support system are all ready for your greatness.  

 
And me? I’ll meet you in Indy, regardless of how long it takes us to get there.

The meaning of life, the universe and everything

 

Each January we welcome ourselves into the new year ahead. We start fresh, looking forward to a year full of new beginnings and often the kicking of old habits. RESOLUTIONS ABOUND! Things to do, and stop doing. Things to toss; things to keep. Money to save, and money ear-marked to spend. This is the time to lay it all out there, often publicly, for accountability or attention (or a little from column a and a little from column b.) 

We’re probably all going to lose 20 pounds and save more money, in 2018, yes? 

Now I ditched resolutions a long time ago, partially because at some point in our history, the meaning of resolution morphed from “the thing about which you are resolute (definite; unyielding)” to meaning “completely unrealistic goal that you are almost certainly not going to accomplish.” 

I don’t enjoy setting myself up for failure. Life is hard enough as it is. Resolutions felt like an extra layer of pressure I didn’t need in my life. Like watching Game of Thrones. 

However, for those of you who know me, you know I can’t pass up the opportunity to reassess things. The only thing I like more than planning and organizing and setting goals (and completely overthinking things) is…well, let’s be honest. There’s nothing I like better than those things. 

It’s *my jam. * 

You should know that most of the time, my head is *spinning.* I have a LOT going on up there in about 82 different directions simultaneously. So, the beginning of the year finds me not making resolutions per se, but rather taking the time to write it all down. Get it out of my head. Map it out and start to draw connections between ideas, and getting rid of the stuff that feels like clutter. It’s the kind of mental spring cleaning that I desperately need and look forward to doing. 

And this year (thank you Christina Wallace) I mapped it out IN SPREADSHEET FORM (yeeeeeah, that happened. It’s an 8-tab Excel sheet. It’s super impressive, if I do say so myself. You know, if you’re a SUPER nerd.., which I am.) 

Basically, I take this brain-noise, throw it all out there, find the themes, take out the trash, and develop a roadmap for my year. What’s this year going to center on? What is it about? And since I am a lover of words, instead of resolutions, I typically try to come up with a guiding word for the year. A mantra, if you will.

Having just one actionable idea for the year ahead helps me to focus my energy without pinning me down with super specifics (drill down to the big picture? Oxymoron, what?) 

Now the beauty of having a January birthday (beyond Gladwell’s Outliers theory, which I’ve gotta say, is compelling) is that once I come up with my WORD, it sort-of ends up being the theme for that year of my life. 

This trip around the sun, I think about this one guiding principle. A natural bookending to all things lived. And if it ain’t about THAT, put on the shelf for next year. 

As I stumbled up on my 42nd (yeah, there that is) year on this Earth, I pondered my word: 

• J and I have now been married 6.5 years. And we're good. And we're happy. We’re in a groove. 

• We just bought our forever home with no plans to leave. I’ve never had that before. Previous to this? I lived in 15 apartments/ houses over the last 24 years, in 7 states. Oofa. 

• Our family is complete. No more kids. Just us 4. Plus a picket fence (it's not picket.) Maybe a dog someday.

• Our kids are in the schools that they will attend until they are in high school. 

• There's no foreseeable change in my job. Or city. Or home. Or finances. 

Finally. FINALLY. I get to settle in. Make a home. Make a budget. In what will become my hometown. No more insane changes. Now is the time I really get to hang things on the wall (both literally and metaphorically.) 

I get to establish habits. And routines. And traditions. No more "I'll lose the weight when I'm done having kids." I'm done having kids. Now's the time. I’m not getting younger. It’s not getting easier. 

No more "when things settle down, I'll look into writing that book." Things are as settled as they'll ever be. Now's as good a time as any. 

No more "I'll make a budget when I don't have so many crazy incidental costs." I'm as settled as I'm getting. Now's the time to figure out my savings and retirement and insurance and college funds. 

I don’t think I realized how transient I felt in my life until this Christmas, when I got to do things like put the Christmas tree up, you know, where our Christmas tree will go. And decorate the house in a way I want the kids to remember. I didn’t realize how little stock I had put into traditions (which are really just routines to which we assign meaning, right?) until I put effort into it this year and realized that it was kind of a first. 

I WANTED the routines to mean something. 

I had told a friend that I thought that my word this year would be establishment. The establishment of routines and traditions and life as it will be for us. You know, to *get* established.

But the more I have reflected on it, I think my actual word is constant- “a situation or state of affairs that does not change.” 

Finally. 

Exhale. 

When Douglas Adams wrote the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, he thought that it would be a hilarious joke for this master computer to work for years and years and simply spit out “42” as the meaning of life, the universe and everything. There was no deeper meaning in his mind—just a fun number to say to confound the masses. (Hilarious.) 

In the years following, people found it very hard to accept that it was random. That it just meant nothing. So much so, that multiple lists abound on the interwebs of “important events in world history centered on the number 42.” There has even been a group of Cambridge astronomers who have found an important connection to the age of the universe and the number 42. 

Know what it is? They call it the “essential scientific constant.” 

Forty-two is the constant. Right.  (Thanks, Universe.) 

I was trying to explain this all to J this evening and, ever the skeptic, he scoffed a bit. 

“Go looking for meaning in something and you’ll find it there.” 

Heh. I suppose that’s true. 

But isn’t that what we’re all doing? 

Maybe I’m looking too hard for a connection to my Constant mantra and my 42nd birthday. Maybe it’s just another year, and another birthday and another mantra. 

Or maybe, 42 really will come to bring me the meaning of my life, my universe and my everything—a reminder that however random (and hilarious) it might seem, there is some consistency to the galaxy, and our lives…if we look for it.