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Seinfeld Syndrome

Sometimes I wish I could implement the dynamics of the Seinfeld cast to my own friendships to create a wide open-door policy. I mean, Elaine, George and Kramer can show up unannounced and talk about anything (or nothing). And even their most detrimental idiosyncrasies do not demolish their friendships. They accept each others’ ticks, make plans to hang out without any hassles, and feel completely comfortable in one another’s company. This is sort of comparable to the Friends cast. Sure there are tiffs about stolen girlfriends and lost bets, but you only need to walk into the next room or across the hall to find one of the greatest sources of love: your friends.

I know, I know. It’s just TV. But there is something to be said about that open-door policy. I feel a little ripped off when I can’t visit a friend due to the state of her living room or a conflict of naptime schedules. And I feel a little lonely when I tell friends that my door is open and they never take me up on it. No really, my door is wide open. I thrive on unexpected visits.

A Self-Conscious Narcissist

I just read a quote from someone that stirred my thoughts a little bit. It’s from a website called “Grace & Poise. The line was: “The most unhappy people are those that only think of themselves.”

Now, I used to be excruciatingly self-conscious. I still have moments when my self esteem wanes, but it was truly detrimental especially in my college years. I would walk into a restaurant and hear revelers laughing and somehow always thought that they were laughing at me. My eyes would rove about a room wondering what people were thinking about me and I would conclude that every whisper or sneer was directed at me. I was once referred to as a b—h by a friend of a friend. I was too shy to talk at a small gathering, but I came across as conceited for not engaging in conversation. I read a passage in Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance to this same effect. The main character came off as detached and disinterested simply because he was quiet. Believe it or not, I had an epiphany when I read that.

Anyhow, the deal with self-consciousness is that it is, paradoxically, narcissistic. Even though you’re thinking rather lowly of yourself, the fact that your thoughts revolve around yourself makes you self-absorbed. So, by thinking only of myself, I was very unhappy as the quote above estimates. To be happy, all I had to do was turn my attention outward and the effects were staggering.

Volunteering, striking conversations with strangers, asking questions, developing relationships, and having my own family have all helped me overcome the agonizing effects of self-consciousness.

Coddling the Inner Princess

Why do we deny ourselves the simple everyday luxuries that make us feel special, unique, perhaps hinting at regal. I am currently reading the book Wear More Cashmere which provides 151 ways a woman can treat herself to luxuriant indulgences for very little cost. And why not?

Why do we save so little for ourselves? We save the best hand towels for special occasions and guests, we save the last penny for some elusive crumb, and we tend to the mundane yet noble tasks that our various roles require.

But those cumbersome roles can hold us back if we let them. We tend to forget the magnitude of our own existences. We pull the weeds in place of tending new relationships. In the overwhelming responsibilities that we take upon ourselves, we forget the true happiness that comes from choosing a new bottle of perfume. I do not condone frivolity, but I do promote a small measure of luxury every once in awhile to soothe the soul, especially when it’s been buried beneath the weight of selflessness.

Right now I’m listening to some contemporary folk music that is raising my hair with its effect. Wrapping me up like high thread count sheets. Sometimes I forget how well music treats me. Shortly after enlarging our family, I had to buy a Vogue magazine. I’m normally not a Vogue kind of person. The style is far above anything I could afford or understand. But I just needed to completely submerge myself in something absolutely indulgent. It symbolized to me something that overcame the bounds of motherhood that seemed to tighten quickly around me. It offered a little sense of relief.

I have denied myself many things in the name of practicality and it’s taking a lot of work to come back around to me.

Notebook Obsession

Hello, my name is Jessica, and I am a notebook addict. Spiral-bound, perfect-bound, lined, unlined, hidden folder pockets, glossy untouched covers, journals, portfolios, executive-style leather folios…Oh, I’m drooling. The back-to-school sections of stores and even office-supply stores themselves draw me in with magnetic force. I don’t really know what it is. Perhaps it’s the boundless potential all those crisp white pages hold. The novels, the brilliant ideas, the lists, and oh the limitless capacities those wide-ruled lines promise make them completely irresistible to me. Add a shimmering pen and a whimsical cover design and I’m completely sold!

I even wrote a poem about this that I submitted to a tanka poetry publication (the rejection letter was actually very promising):

The note he left
was stacks of collected
white paper
he never could
penetrate

This reflects my (ahem, I mean some guy’s) notebook obsession combined with the utter listlessness I feel sometimes when it comes to actually writing something of substance. I have a deep passion for writing but a debilitating apathy for actually doing it some days. So, when I die, I wonder if my only contribution to the world will be stacks of empty paper or if I really will be able to penetrate them with my creativity.

Flushing Away Free Time

I always wonder what the Kool Kats do when they go home from work. I like to imagine that everyone is immersed in a challenging home improvement task, slaving away at complicated recipes, penning the next Harry Potter, attending humanitarian club meetings or catching up with a handful of close companions. But I am willing to guess there’s a lot more couch glorifying and TV trance-partaking than any world-changing events happening behind those double French doors.

There’s also the choice between keeping yourself up-to-date on the best seasonal television shows and other buzz-worthy programs or crafting purses out of vintage fabric for a few extra dimes. It’s “lazy versus productive” pitched against “current versus out-of-the-loop”. Where’s the balance?

Being a mom brings with it a vault-full of extra guilt. If I’m not spending my free time building block towers for my 1-1/2-year-old to destroy, I always feel a little remorse (except during naptime). If I thought I never had any time B.C. (Before Child), I was out of my mind! Now, I really don’t have any time. Or do I?

I struggle with getting any writing, crafting, or other projects to show for my time accomplished without curious digits yanking pens out of my hand or demanding my full attention. Cleaning is feasible with Peanut around, but only to a point. Don’t get me wrong, I love engaging Peanut in wrestling, building and hiding games. But I also spend a lot of time thinking about what I could be doing with my free time. Even during Peanut’s naptime, I struggle with the what to do, what to do… When noontime on a Saturday rolls around, I often just want to crash and then I suffer the guilt afterwards of all the life-changing challenges I could’ve taken on during those blessed three hours.

The trouble is, I lose interest in projects. I start writing projects and abandon them. I print off art projects and never so much as buy the supplies. I dream about decadent gourmet dinners but lose interest in bringing them to fruition. But I feel like I need these projects to unleash my creative energy upon.

It makes me wonder if anyone else with these strong impulses to be productive actually do produce anything or if they succumb to numbness once in awhile. It’s much easier to relax into a simple lifestyle and suppress those urges than to twist wire into museum-worthy sculpture. Will the Kool Kats emerge from their basements with an amazing invention one day or do they just shop and get their hair done to rectify their status?

Fuel for the Fire

I told my husband this past weekend that the bad things that people do to me are “fuel for the fire,” so to speak. Each time I’m ignored, overlooked or have been snubbed by someone, I use that experience as ammunition for pursuing my passions. I’ll write extra pages in my novel, try to outshine myself at work, or create a goal that surpasses anything the villain has ever done. I’ve adopted sort of an “I’ll show them” attitude.

This is just how I am. I don’t think it’s good to only be motivated by someone else’s actions, but I do think that this is a very productive way to turn something unfortunate into something positive. Even if I don’t “show them,” I’m using that madness to spur myself in a positive direction.

Next time you’re faced with a snub, insult, admonition or bad review, visualize the success of something you’re working on. Place all that extra energy, emphasis and irritation you’re filled with into something productive. Instead of punching a hole in the wall, direct that energy into your passions. It also happens to be very cathartic.

I swear Honey, my book about gaming widows is going to be a best-seller!

Strong Internal Desires

Have you ever had that feeling like you were meant to do something profound? Like trolling along through your day-to-day life wasn’t nearly enough? Like you were missing something you were supposed to be doing? I’ve been having one of those days…months…years really. I feel this strong internal urging to do something amazing, but am at a loss as to what that something might be. As silly as this might sound to some, I feel like with being on “this side” of 30, that prime time to shine is running out.

I don’t necessarily desire celebrity or barrels of money. I am not being lured by selfish desires. It’s not so much about status as it is about making some sort of impact for the benefit of others. I can’t turn this switch off, nor do I want to. I’m just trying to figure out where this internal drive is leading me.

The two magnetic forces that are attracting my “like crazy” are all things nature-related and writing.

But this also makes me wonder if everyone has the same pestering feeling. You watch all these people trying out for American Idol who enter the auditions completely convinced that they have what it takes to entertain the entire country and then they’re complete flops. Is this inkling a complete lie then? Are these people just completely crazy? Am I then crazy?

On the other hand, I’ve read about moguls of different niches that felt that strong push as well. Perhaps it’s just how in-tune we are to our real talents, not talents we convince ourselves we have, that determines whether we succeed or fail.

People in Passing

Sometimes people you meet only once have a profound effect on you. Perhaps it’s because you don’t have enough time to find out about their nuances, idiosyncrasies or other challenges. Sometimes those moments are better left that way, without complication, with one day planted in perfection in your mind.

There was a boy in college who took a friend and me on a canoe ride. It was perfect weather and my friend and I were even dressed up a little in flowy skirts. (One fisherman laughed and asked us if we were going to prom, but we weren’t THAT dressed up). The boy educated us about a few flowers and animals. He obliged to our whims, allowing us to “just float” for awhile, as we took pictures of reflections, Lily pads and other flora and fauna. We stopped to put our feet in the water in this little knee-deep inlet where we thought we spotting mink swimming and took more pictures.

I have never seen this boy since then and probably never will. But this happens to be one of the most poignant memories I have of enjoying pristine nature with some of the best company I’ve ever had.

There was also the man at the Kilgore Oil Museum. This man was the most friendly docent I have ever met. He had shimmering eyes and smiled warmly at me, a little non-descript 10-year-old visitor. After talking with us a little bit, he bent down and handed me a hand-carved (by him) reindeer with little eyes and a red pom-pom nose. To this day, I bring out the little reindeer to put alongside the nativity scene and remember that man who became the highlight of my experience in Texas.

Flashback to a Breakdown

So, I’m sitting in the middle of a boring presentation at work and something triggered a memory of me having a small breakdown. I don’t know what the trigger was. Perhaps the presenter alluding to an over-worked staff on an assembly line that wasn’t allowed to run to the bathroom without someone to relieve them that triggered the memory.

Oh how I love my job! There is not one smidgen of sarcasm in that statement. I really do HEART it. I am so thankful to work in a place that is so thankful. They constantly do little things to improve morale. Even when the economony is reeling, they offer little gifts to make us feel valued. Aside from that, I get paid to write and I can’t ask for more!

So, maybe I was reliving those scary moments in my life when I was beyond overworked and looking for a small pocket of air. One of those moments where I was pushed beyond my normal outward composure was during an Education class in college. The professor broke the class into groups of 4-6 people for a final project and paper. We were all supposed to meet outside of class *gasp* and collectively put together a presentation, a lesson plan, a handout and a final paper (did I mention that I dropped the Secondary Education portion of my major?) Trying to find a time when all 6 people could meet for the amount of hours required to put together that type of project was Impossible, with an upper-case I.

I was working full-time and going to school full-time with little time in between for sleep. I barely knew who my parents were though I lived only a mile from them. Let’s just say, we ended up with a D on the project *gasp again for this Magna Cum Laude* mostly because one person forgot to hand in his handout. With that, we would’ve been bumped up to a B.

As normal behavior for me, I immediately made an appointment to talk this project over with my professor. Now I’m not the type to whine. I’m the type to take a situation like this with a proactive approach and see what could be done to make it better. And every single time, without fail, I made the effort to talk alone with a professor, my grade got a boost. So, there I was, asking this professor what I could do.

I explained to her that, according to the criteria created by her, the entire group should not have been penalized for the shortcomings of one person. One measly handout. One slacker in the group. She said she wouldn’t change the grade. Then I asked her if she’d be willing to offer some sort of Extra Credit opportunities to keep the old GPA in prime shape. She recoiled.

That’s when I lost it.

Right there, in that foreboding professor’s office, I let loose a cascade of tears and barely coherent words, complete with heaving and blubbering. The whole works. I had absolutly no control over it.

It wasn’t just the D, it was what it stood for. I had diligently researched my portion of the project (she basically downgraded me for the depth of my research as well, which, in my opinion, is bad sportsmanship since they teach to delve the depths, but anyway…), completed countless other projects for five other classes in the same period of time, studied, put in 8 hour shifts at a thankless job where I nearly froze to death one day, basically ate crumbs on my way out the door, slept an average of 5 hours a night for early classes, paid my own tuition and other bills, had no free time for socializing with dear friends and this lady was going to tell me I wasn’t doing enough? The weight-bearing activity finally crushed its host. To add insult to injury, she suggested I make an appointment for counseling in the Psychology department. (Truth be told, she did take me up on the Extra Credit suggestion and I think I ended up with a B in the class).

I know I know. Don’t be the victim here. That’s not my intention. I am just thankful to have come as far as I have. Life is a little less degrading and a lot more fulfilling these days. It’s sometimes nice to look back and see how far I’ve come and to see how many bloody knuckles it took me to get here. Ahhhhhh!

I Know, I’m Full of Ideas Lately

A woman’s purse is an empire.

I mean, seriously, you can find anything in there. A woman could rule the world as long as she had a nice satchel standing loyally beside her. And she’d be pretty darn lost without it. It holds practically everything we could ever need, and in emergencies everything to rig together, McGuyver-style, what we don’t have.

A woman’s purse also holds all sorts of mysteries. My mother used to chastise us if we ever looked in her purse without telling her. It gave our little imaginations something to toy with every time. I mean, what could possibly be in there that would merit such a response from her? Did she have some dirty little secrets, some little black book that we could potentially come across and accidentally betray her supposed innocence? Birth control? Another credit card dad didn’t know about? Oh, the suspense.

Perhaps it’s the delicacy of the whole money subject that makes us guard our purses with militance. If our checkbook happened to open to a particularly delicate page or the number of credit cards betray our bad habits. What then? Some deep private secret could be revealed inside a gum wrapper. Entire personalities can be gauged by what’s inside and we sure don’t want everyone knowing how much we make.

Here’s a lesson for men. You MUST condone a woman’s desire for choosiness when it comes to her empire. She will have you covered when you pop your pants button. Her entire identity rides upon the shape, style, size and material of her purse. It’s essential that she find the perfect one, no matter the price tag.

Here’s what you’ll find in my favorite Green Monkey purse, a very revealing list, I would say:

1. Moist towelettes (I have a son and I wear makeup, what more can I say?)
2. Pocket mirror
3. Cinnamon Gum
4. Nail Clippers
5. Lip gloss
6. Small notebook with to-dos and shopping lists in the front and family gift ideas and favorite (baby/character) names in the back.
7. Checkbook
8. Cell phone
8. Several envelopes of money to differentiate the baby’s Christmas money from the leftovers from the water bill, because I’m really bad at keeping it all straight.
9. Sunglasses
10. A ton of pens, because where I work, we could fill buildings with pens
11. Stamps
12. Pocket knife (dare I tell about how I forgot to take this out of my purse on the last flight I took?)
13. Various gift cards (did I mention, I’m a big saver?)
14. Various receipts (and also a tracker of every cent spent?)
15. Card holder for all my membership, insurance, credit and debit cards with a few pictures of the fam mixed in.
16. A cute change purse with lots-o-change.