On the over-use of vocabulary…

/ micahdl / Leave a comment
For as much as I love words, there are definitely phrases and words that I tend to use rather frequently. I might even over-use them. The two phrases that come to mind are:
“No worries!” and
“Thank you!” (which often goes hand-in-hand with “No, but thank you for asking!”)
The “No worries” thing came from when I was living in Canada. It was just a common phrase that I picked up. Other lingo from that time in my life that still sticks around are “A-boat” (which most Americans pronouce “about”), “bunny hug” (Canadian for “hoodie”), and “touque” (Canadian for “knit wool ski cap”…the Canadian version is just more efficient, if you ask me). “No worries” stuck around for various reasons, but the biggest one is that I never want someone to think they’re inconveniencing me. I’m a master planner and with that comes a great ability to cancel, re-schedule, re-organize, generally work things out. So it really isn’t ever a huge deal to me. Really…it’s no worries. Simply stated: doing something for someone else isn’t causing me great stress (if it did, I wouldn’t do it) and having to re-work my schedule, also not a huge deal.
I have also been told, many times, that I tend to over-thank…especially at restaurants. I guess I always just want people to know that I genuinely appreciate the work they do. I hate when I do something for someone and I don’t even get a simple “Thanks.” I mean, honestly: how hard is it to say “Thank you”? It’s not. I promise. Yes, at restaurants, servers are simply doing their jobs by clearing my dishes and filling my drinks, but c’mon. It can be a pretty thankless job…that, and they’re basically being forced to act like dancing monkeys for a tip. If even one thing goes awry, they can sometimes kiss a decent tip goodbye. Sometimes I think that’s really crappy; other times, I think, “Well, it’s not like it was a secret what they were getting themselves into.” So I try to at least make sure they know that I appreciate their help and work. And it’s not just at restaurants. It’s anywhere, anytime someone does something for me. It just feels like the decent thing to do, thanking them.
But outside of the phrases that I tend to over-use, there are plenty of words out there that are among my favorites:
Scintillating
Remarkable
Allegedly
Ostentations
Antidisestablishmentarianism (which I don’t get to use nearly as much as I’d like to)
Charlie-Foxtrot
Uber
This list could get really long, really quickly….

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On the guilt of happiness….

/ micahdl / Leave a comment
At what point does it become necessary to concern oneself with personal happiness? And on the same token, does personal well-being ever intersect with personal happiness? I’ve been thinking a lot about happiness lately. What makes me happy, what I can do to be happy, that sort of thing.
I grew up in a world where personal happiness was a relatively secondary emotion. In my world, doing the right thing – regardless of how it makes you feel – is paramount. It’s not only an important thing to do, it’s THE MOST important thing to do. So when it comes to being happy, I often brush my own feelings aside in favor of either doing the right thing or making sure that someone else is happy before I am.
This M.O. has brought a lot of quizzical looks my way. People tend to wonder why I do certain things when it’s clear that I’m either miserable or just plain not happy. When I quit my last job, my giving two-weeks-notice was called into question on more occasion than one. Why would I stay there for any longer than absolutely necessary when doing so basically resulted in self-torture. “Because it’s the right thing to do,” I’d say. “I don’t want to screw anyone over because I wouldn’t want anyone to do that to me.”
My own happiness has always sort of taken a back seat to me giving the perception of perfection. I don’t like people to think that anything is wrong with me. I’ve always been the strong one. I’m always the dependable, together one. I feel like if I’m not happy, I’m letting people down, in some weird fashion. We all have moments when we’re not happy and we’re all allowed to unleash that on our friends and people we trust. So why does it feel like I’m burdening my friends when I do that? I had a conversation with a friend the other day about how my life is going and I actually felt selfish for even talking about myself. Why? Because she had something happen to her that was far more painful and intense than my seemingly-petty issues could ever be. Yet she wanted to talk to and about me. I’m still not sure how to process that.
So do I think about happiness? Sure. Do I think about my own happiness? Not really. So maybe it’s time for me to start. It just seems like there are a few issues that come along with that. It feels really selfish. Concern for my own happiness could result in hurting another person. If I’m truly happy, that probably means there’s someone else out there that isn’t. Happiness almost seems like a good v. evil kind of thing. If I’m happy, that must mean someone else somewhere isn’t, right? Probably not, but sometimes, that’s what it feels like.
So I wonder why I often feel guilt for wanting to be as happy as I know I want to be?

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On losing sleep (but only when it matters)….

/ micahdl / 1 Comment

I’m a huge fan of sleep. Like, I really, really love to sleep. The problem is that I’m a bit of an insomniac so I don’t get to do the sleep thing nearly as often as I want to. Even when I get to sleep in, particularly on a weekday (like today, for example), I just can’t seem to do it. Sleep is very elusive for me. Once every couple of days, I get the best night’s sleep I could possibly hope for. I fall asleep at a normal hour, I don’t have creepy dreams, I don’t wake up at 3am worrying about something stupid at work that I can’t change. I just have good, solid, wonderful sleep. I love sleeping like that.

So for someone like me, that loves sleep as much as I do, is there ever a time when getting to little (or even no) sleep is totally, completely, and without question worth it?

I certainly hope so! If not, there are several things in my life I’ve been losing lovely sleep over.

Christmas morning.
Leaving for vacations.
Much needed shopping dates with girl friends.
Remembering a great hug.
Simply being excited about life.
A birthday (I mean, who doesn’t get excited about that?)
Seeing my sister after way too long.
Having a brilliant idea and not being able to do anything until the idea is on paper.

Sure, there are plenty of times I’ve lost sleep over stupid stupid things. Mostly work things. Things that I can’t change or just don’t care about. If there’s one thing I learned about my last job, it’s that, at my new job, I won’t let myself lose sleep over anything unless it’s really worth it. Unless it’s something good. Unless it’s so life-changing and exciting an event, that to sleep would be to waste time.

If I’m going to lose the precious little sleep that I do get, it had better be over something fantastic, not over something worrisome. There are things I can change and things I cannot. So when I start to lose sleep, I will wake up only to figure out if it’s worth losing sleep over. Frankly, I just love sleeping way too much to be bothered with things I can’t do a thing about.

On holding on to the past….

/ micahdl / Leave a comment

There are certain things that we all have from all periods of our lives, whether they be physical “things” or simply memories that we refuse to let go of. For me, there’s a stuffed toy I’ve had since I was nearly 3 years old that I just won’t ever get rid of or give away. No way. She’s this tiny little yellow baby doll my parents got for me right before my sister was born. I got it because I was relentless about the name I wanted to give my sister. I just wouldn’t let it go. Bothered my parents endlessly about the name. So I got the baby doll in order to satiate my baby naming desires. The name:

Siffy See Soo Shalarina

Seriously. Don’t ask me where the hell a 3 year old came up with that name, but I did. And I proudly bestowed it upon that yellow baby doll. I’ve kept that doll ever since I first got it. She’s come with me to Canada and Minnesota. She’s made a bazillion different moves to a bazillion different houses. For the longest time, she held the prime spot of my bed…the very center of the six pillows I typically had. I’ve gotten a lot of awesome stuffed animals and toys since Siffy (I kind of love stuffed toys)…a fish, a lobster, an elephant, a kitty, a buffalo, and probably a million more that I can’t even remember. But none of them will ever top Siffy. None of them will ever be as special as she is.

And my parents chose a much better, much more normal (and pronounceable) name for my little sister…phew!

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On the destruction of stores to save the world….

/ micahdl / 4 Comments
 If there is one way that my inner-traditionalist fights most with my inner-environmentalist, it’s in the books department. I love books. LOVE LOVE LOVE them. I love having them and reading them and finding out about new ones. The only thing I don’t do with books that I wish I did more is mark them up. My friend, Jill, does a remarkable job of marking up and generally loving her books to death. It’s quite fun to read a book after she’s read it simply because of her markings (and don’t even get me started on how enjoyable it is to flip through one of her Bibles).  The one phrase I hate more than any other phrase is, “I just don’t read.” What?! Who doesn’t read? You mean to tell me that you have no interest in learning something new or understanding the rest of the world or simply immersing yourself in another reality for just a few hours? I mean, who doesn’t enjoy escapism from time to time? I digress…

So this whole e-reader trend really threw me for a bit of a loop. See, I’m a closet-technophile and also somewhat concerned with environmentalism. So it seems logical that I’d be one of the first to jump on the e-reader bandwagon, but nope. I pretty well ignored the gadgets for a long, long time. I stare at a computer screen for 9 hours a day, so why would I want to go home and stare at another one, just to do something I enjoy…read? On top of that, you don’t get the feelings and smells with a computer the way you do with a real, live book. You don’t have to wander through stacks and stacks at a bookstore when you have access to iBooks or the Kindle/Nook store.

But here’s the thing: I’m a pretty avid recycler. I bring my own bags to the grocery store. I bike or walk wherever I can, whenever I can (mostly because it’s fun, but saving on gas is a good bonus). I deplore wastefulness. You’d think I’d be all over this e-reader thing, but nope. I really just love paper books. It actually took Todd buying me a iPad for my birthday (I’ll have you know, I asked for a yoga mat) for me to really start embracing digital reading. It is nice, honestly, to be able to cart about 500 books and all my New Yorkers and Vanity Fairs wherever I go. It saves SO much space in my carry-on luggage when I travel (which means I’ll never be bored on a long flight or car ride again) and for that, I am definitely on board with e-readers. Plus, the iPad allows for a great deal more mobility and organization, two things that are remarkably important to me.

So while I think it’s a travesty that book stores in buildings are beginning their slow deaths, I think (hope?) this whole e-reader thing will really take off. Books will be cheaper, kids and adults alike will stop being so bored while traveling. They’re lightweight and huge, as respects storage, so college kids someday will stop having to buy $200 8-lb textbooks (so the medical advantages for e-readers are probably going to become more and more evident). And they do their small part is helping the environment. It seems, if you ask me, the benefits of e-readers far outweigh the disadvantages, but I’m open to discussion on that…

What do you think?

On loving some of the things I love….

/ micahdl / 2 Comments
I have a mere three days left at my current job. I’m excited for the changes and opportunities that lie ahead of me, both at my new day job and through Use The Clutch, but it is a little weird leaving behind something that I’ve been a part of for over five years. 
I resist change pretty mightily so when I got the offer for my new job and accepted, I had a brief moment of “buyer’s remorse”…had I done the right thing? The answer, so far, is “yes.” I’ll miss some of my co-workers and clients, that much is for sure. But the one thing I’m going to miss the most? 
The buffalo.
 

Seriously…how is that not the cutest thing in the entire world?

There’s nothing quite like driving up to the office seeing that view.  It amazes me just about every morning. In the summer and spring, the grass is crazy green and the Continental Divide is this wonderful blue-purple color and the mountains are always snow-topped. The fall bring a myriad of colors. And winter? Regardless of how much I hate (and I mean HAAAAATE) driving up the hill in the winter, seeing the snow-crusted pine trees and those lovely Rocky Mountains somehow makes it all worth it. I guess that’s what makes me a Colorado girl. The mountains and wildlife never cease to amaze me. It’s incredible, really, that every spring for the last five years, I’ve been able to watch the buffalo and deer and elk grow from babies to adults. One year, we even had twin fawns that played tag in the office lawn. It was absolutely precious. But the buffalo? Oh man…those tiny baby buffaloes are the cutest things you will ever see. I just want to take one home and snuggle it!

So now I guess I’ll have to fight the weekend traffic to come up here, sit in the Park and watch those adorable buffalo…and secretly wish I could ride one…

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On thinking about the future me….

/ micahdl / 3 Comments

It’s funny to think of leaving a legacy. Probably because I’ve always felt that I’m just too young to be thinking about it. My grandparents left (or will leave) incredible legacies, but they’re, well, OLD! The reality, though, is that their legacy began far before they were “old” (which is a stupid word to describe any of my grandparents because they, like my parents, refuse to let their minds age with their bodies. They’re amazing). It does make me wonder, though, what people will think of 50, 60, 70 years from now when they hear my name.

If I could choose what people would think, I’d want them to think that I was really successful; that I did something with my life that I was passionate about; that I raised good, decent, smart children; that I loved with reckless abandon; that I sang songs whenever I bloody well felt like it; that I didn’t fear; that I took adventures and traveled until I finally kicked it; that I was in the middle of the best joke ever when my family surrounded me when I died; that I didn’t give a hoot what anyone thought as long as what I was doing felt good and right (morally, ethically, emotionally); that my faith was evident, real, and not cliche; that I had friends from every part of my life; that I never gave up; that I fought hard for things I was passionate about.

Yeah. That’s what I hope people think of when they hear my name a bazillion years from today.

So now, it’s just a matter of living a life worth being thought of in those ways. That’s really the hard part, isn’t it? So many days go by when it doesn’t even cross my mind what someone might think of my life in the future. I do things that are wrong and ugly (take my road rage, for example) and I think things that my parents would be appalled by. Hey, it happens. I’m human, too, ya know.

Maybe it’s worth thinking about my legacy on a more regular basis. Maybe it would help me live a more productive and passionate life…

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On finding the time….

/ micahdl / Leave a comment

It’s not easy for me to lose track of time; let’s just put that out there. I’ve become known in my circle of friends as the person who can plan her life in 15-minute increments. I’m super Type-A and can admittedly be kind of a control freak sometimes.
So when I do lose track of time, it’s a big deal for me, personally. One of two things can happen: 1) I can completely lose my head and fall apart or 2) I find that I’m just enjoying something so much that I really don’t care. It’s hard to think of that last time I actually lost track of time. I’m constantly looking at a clock and wondering what time it is.
That said, I can be fairly certain the last time I didn’t care about how fast or slow a clock was moving, I was probably laughing hysterically. Those are my favorite moments in life. I have a couple girl friends that can reduce me to a mess of snorts and giggles and knee slaps in a matter of seconds. Those are the moments in which I really could not care less about what time it is. I crave those times of laughter and want them to last as long as humanly possible. I lose track of time when I’m with my closest, dearest friends. Being with those people remind me that life is more than a series of events that need to be gotten to, accomplished, and moved on from. There is a time and a place for organization and planning. But more importantly, there are times when turning off the phones and disregarding the clocks are crucial.
So if you’re like me, take a chance on not knowing (or caring) what time it is. And if you’re the opposite of me, remind us Type-A characters that taking time to enjoy life and get lost in it isn’t the worst thing in the world…in fact, it might be the best time we have all week…

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On radiation, love, and acceptance….

/ micahdl / 2 Comments
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been the type of person that wants to look my very best nearly all the time, even when I’m camping. Call me crazy, but that’s how I’ve always rolled. Pretty everyone that’s ever known me knows this to be true. I took it to an extreme once when people started making fun of me for this and took a curling iron on a camping trip. It was a giant “F*** you!” to a lot of the people that had made fun of me and it was done in jest and irony, but I did it nonetheless (no, I never used it. I’m not that dumb).
For whatever reason, I always want to make sure I look my best, but I fail at that a LOT. This failure stems from my own feelings of inadequacy so where I fail, most people probably don’t even see it.
My lips are constantly chapped. I have rough, worked hands. My feet are vein-y and look weird. My breasts are approximately two sizes to small (I’m like the Grinch of boobs). I have a gut that I can’t seem to get rid of despite my best efforts. My cheeks are a little too wide, especially on one side, thanks to my molar removal surgery when I was 17. I have an inexplicable scar on my forehead that I try to cover with my bangs most of the time. I have bowed legs and am knock-kneed (yeah, it provides for good entertainment when I’m running…it’s worse than Phoebe, I swear). I have birthing hips and an ass that won’t quit.
On top of all that, I tend to speak my mind at inappropriate times. Sometimes I tell bad jokes and say things that I regret because they come out so much differently than I intend. I can be lazy and rude. I’ve been known to go for the cheap laugh. All of which are the product of some situation or another.
Junior high and high school were rough for me, like they are for so many people. I was anorexic and probably mildly depressed for a good few years (though few probably knew that). The one person who probably should have known never would have because I hid it THAT well. I don’t even think I admitted it to that person until well after high school and it was a painful conversation to say the least.
I still carry all of those issues and insecurities with me and I probably always will. But I’m coming to terms with the fact that I will never be perfect and, maybe more importantly, no one is expecting me to be. I read something the other day that struck a chord with me and resonates with a mantra that I want to carry with me always: A mother who radiates self-love and acceptance actually vaccinates her daughter against low self-esteem (Naomi Wolf).
I have a lot of issues and things that I think are “wrong” with me, but I don’t ever want any spawn of mine to think that he or she has to be anything they can’t, don’t want, or don’t need to be. So I’m working on trying to carry all my “mistakes” and insecurities proudly and be okay with all of them. I’ll still try to have a flat belly, but I’m not going to deny myself a good burger.
Like she said in “Eat Pray Love“: “I’m so tired of saying no and waking up in the morning and recalling every single thing I ate the day before. Counting every calorie I consume so I know exactly how much self-loathing to take into the shower. I’m going for it. I have no interest in being obese. I’m just through with the guilt. So this is what I’m going to do. I’m going to finish this pizza and then we’re going to go watch the soccer game, and tomorrow, we’re going to go on a little date and buy ourselves some bigger jeans.”
And now here’s a picture that maybe isn’t my favorite: 
 
Yep, bow-legged, crazy, and WHOA! Check out that five-head!
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On creative disasters….

/ micahdl / Leave a comment
The other day, my creativity came up in conversation with my husband. We’re both rather creative people, to be honest. He’s written several books and has come up with no less than three different universes for those books. It’s pretty amazing. I’m looking forward to hearing the stories he comes up with to tell our kids at bedtime (because, sorry honey…A Game of Thrones is NOT, I repeat, NOT an acceptable bedtime story for a toddler). He has a wonderful imagination and I never tire of reading his stories (especially the “love stories” that he writes when I ask him to).
My creativity lies in a different type of story-telling and even more in the ability to envision events and see them through to completion. Todd is forever going on and on about how he thinks I’m a great writer and that I should put that to use in the vein of story-telling. I’m not quite sure where he gets that idea. I tried writing a story once and it was kind of an epic fail. I’ve actually written a number of stories, all of them for one class or another. Fiction is a beast to write, no lie. It’s not my favorite thing to do by a long shot. My best story-telling comes when I’m simply re-telling a story that’s already happened (that, I can write some damn fine poetry).
My family is a huge mess of hilarious stories. I will never tire of telling stories of my dad’s many (MANY) home-improvement injuries or my brother’s travels or my sister’s inability to distinguish Queen from Def Leppard or my mom’s many years of teaching (and her inexplicable punch-dancing when I sing the “Team America” theme song). I guess if I wanted to write a book, something Todd is really itching for me to do, it would be something of a memoir based on my family. The problem there is the problem that comes with many memoirs: no one really cares (except maybe for the people mentioned in them).
My own life story is what can only be described as “beautiful disaster.” Seriously. There are so many points in my life that make me think, “Well, that wasn’t bright, was it?” or “How am I still alive?” or “What possessed me to think THAT was a good idea?” Those are really some of the funniest parts, even if they involve me admitting my own stupidity.
I doubt I’ll ever write a book, much less one about my family, but if you’re ever in the market for a good story, especially one that involves injury and mayhem, then I’m your girl.

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