This blog is about the little and big thoughts that pop into my head. I once read that when Flannery O'Connor walked into a bookstore, she would want to edit her published works with a red pen. In the digital world, we have the luxury of tweaking things up after we've hit the publish button. I can be a perfectionist/procrastinator, where waiting for the ideal means little gets done. Here I will share what is not--and likely will never be--perfect.
Monday, March 31, 2025
The Apprentice: Frank Capra or Double-Down
Wednesday, March 19, 2025
Damn you, Wirecutter!
damn you
Wirecutter
making me
buy shit
I
don't
need.
you sneak
in my email
whispering
everyday
"this is the best"
of
whatever and whatnot
and I
believe you.
Do I need
12
light blue
water glasses?
I'll
find out
tomorrow.
Tuesday, March 11, 2025
Ode to the Missing Piece
Dear piece
I cannot find you.
Are you lost
in the carpet?
Under the couch?
Did the dog hide
you away?
Are you stuck
on a sweater
that went through the wash?
I am filled with
sorrow and sadness.
Where are you?
You should have
a number seven
on your face,
but I can't find it.
My dad tells me
"The piece is there
but you are convinced
it is gone
until the end."
I hope he is right.
I stress
and
I worry
of your whereabouts.
Dear piece
please
be found.
Monday, March 10, 2025
Suspended
I try to be a good citizen.
So imagine my dismay-nay, shock! when the Seattle Public Library (SPL) temporarily suspended my card.
A few weeks ago, my improv group was practicing at the Magnolia SPL branch, when I happened upon some "must reads" on the Peak Picks shelf. For those of you who don't know, Peak Picks is a stack of the most popular new releases that you can check out for two weeks with no wait, but you can't renew them. I picked up the latest Matt Haig book, The Life Impossible. I loved The Midnight Library, and was looking forward to this one. I didn't finish it in two weeks, so I kept it. I am trying not to buy (as many) books because I don't have room for many more. I prefer reading paper books over e-readers, unless it is a thriller or shlockly mystery.
When I didn't return the book, I figured I'd just pay the fines, no problem. This, of course, is not in the spirit of Peak Picks. I should have returned it.
Then the books were due, I'd get my daily email from SPL telling me I was a deadbeat. Fine. Let me finish the book.
Then I thought about the Bureaucracy. Does the Bureaucracy care that I don't return the book on time? No. The nameless, faceless Bureaucracy doesn't care. I know people might be waiting, but I'm not going to keep it forever.
Then the emails got grouchier! "Your account will be suspended," SPL told me last week.
Damn, SPL. I haven't had the books that long.
Today, my account was suspended. I felt like such a jerk for not returning my books in a timely fashion. It is easier to avoid the shame of the anonymous SPL emails by buying books instead.
After work today, I went to the Central Library, tail between my legs, and returned my overdue books. I handed them directly to a librarian so my account could be restored.
"Oh that happens to me all the time and I work here!" she said. Instead of shame, I was greeted like a sister. "Of course you should keep books past the due date! You are a reader, for god's sake!"
I told her I would settle my fines. I've paid so many library fines in my life that SPL should name a branch after me.
"We stopped fines five years ago," she said. "Now we just suspend people's accounts instead." I just figured my fines hadn't hit a max level where I needed to pay up.
So this is the new game. Instead of fines, I'll just get suspended.
Sounds like a bargain.
Tuesday, March 4, 2025
Home on the Range and Knowledge Gap
When I was early in my “career” years ago, the partner I worked for at EY in the Human Resources Consulting group told me the secret to success.
“Specialize,” he said. “Become an expert in a field. You will always be in demand.”
I had just left a job in strategic marketing consulting—my first job out of college—and was now starting a new job as a compensation consultant. I smiled and thanked him for the advice, all the while thinking I’d die if I had to do the same thing over and over, forever and ever.
I lasted in that role for two years when I decided to go to graduate school in a field completely unrelated to what I studied in college and very different from my consulting job. A year later, I had a new job in organizational change management. Thank god I had something new to learn.
Years later, I read “Range” by David Epstein about how generalists survive in a specialized world. I saw myself in this book, and understood that I was “normal” to want to mix it up and try different things.
I think of this now as I am seven months into a new job as an application Product Owner. The job has been kicking my butt, but I am doing okay. Some people suffer from imposter syndrome when they are in a new role and feel over their heads. I don’t. I feel the struggle is the price of admission. There is a sweet spot between struggling and boredom, and I am trying to work my way to the middle.
Last week, I saw a TikTok from Standford on learning. The professor was addressing freshmen, showing the gap being unknowing and knowing, and how the path isn’t linear. In fact, it is a messy, scribbly line that loops all over the place. Tolerance for struggling is what helps us persevere to get from one point to another.
As a free range generalist, I understand the concept but it doesn’t make it easier as I am adapting to a new role. I love that I am a ranger, someone who hasn’t been doing the same thing for decades.
I need to learn to love the rest of it, the hard parts that Epstein doesn’t discuss— the uncomfortable transitions between new roles, and what that looks like when we are waiting for the next idea or thing to arrive.
Wednesday, February 19, 2025
"The Call is Coming from Inside the House," or Lincoln Called It
I was at a fundraiser this week for the ACLU and one of the speakers talked about Lincoln's Lyceum Address titled "The Perpetuation of Our Political Institutions." Lincoln's main idea was that the American democracy wouldn't die by the influence of a foreign state, but rather the cause of our undoing would come from inside the house, just like a horror movie.
I had never heard of this speech before, so I looked it up on Wikipedia.
Shall we expect some transatlantic military giant to step the ocean and crush us at a blow? Never! All the armies of Europe, Asia, and Africa combined, with all the treasure of the earth (our own excepted) in their military chest, with a Bonaparte for a commander, could not by force take a drink from the Ohio or make a track on the Blue Ridge in a trial of a thousand years. At what point then is the approach of danger to be expected? I answer. If it ever reach us it must spring up amongst us; it cannot come from abroad. If destruction be our lot we must ourselves be its author and finisher. As a nation of freemen we must live through all time or die by suicide.
And then...
It is to deny what the history of the world tells us is true, to suppose that men of ambition and talents will not continue to spring up amongst us. And when they do, they will as naturally seek the gratification of their ruling passion as others have done before them. The question then is, can that gratification be found in supporting and maintaining an edifice that has been erected by others? Most certainly it cannot. Many great and good men, sufficiently qualified for any task they should undertake, may ever be found whose ambition would aspire to nothing beyond a seat in Congress, a gubernatorial or a presidential chair; but such belong not to the family of the lion or the tribe of the eagle. What! think you these places would satisfy an Alexander, a Caesar, or a Napoleon? Never! Towering genius disdains a beaten path. It seeks regions hitherto unexplored. It sees no distinction in adding story to story upon the monuments of fame erected to the memory of others. It denies that it is glory enough to serve under any chief. It scorns to tread in the footsteps of any predecessor, however illustrious. It thirsts and burns for distinction; and if possible, it will have it, whether at the expense of emancipating slaves or enslaving freemen. Is it unreasonable, then, to expect that some man possessed of the loftiest genius, coupled with ambition sufficient to push it to its utmost stretch, will at some time spring up among us? And when such a one does, it will require the people to be united with each other, attached to the government and laws, and generally intelligent, to successfully frustrate his designs. Distinction will be his paramount object, and although he would as willingly, perhaps more so, acquire it by doing good as harm, yet, that opportunity being past, and nothing left to be done in the way of building up, he would set boldly to the task of pulling down.
I didn't understand what the current administration is doing, or why. When I read the above from Lincoln, it started to make sense. I used to think Trump was like Hitler, but he's not. Germany was in immense suffering after the World War I, and a leader emerged who made the Germans feel powerful again. Trump isn't like that. We are seeing someone who disdains the beaten path, someone Lincoln described almost two hundred years ago.
Thomas Friedman wrote an article in The New York Times "Why Trump's Bullying Is Going to Backfire." Friedman described the interconnectedness of the global economy where more than fifty countries are involved in creating iPhones. Friedman understand tariffs, but not against Canada and Mexico, major trade partners with many American companies. As Friedman wrote,
As the Ford Motor chief executive Jim Farley courageously (compared to other chief executives) pointed out, “Let’s be real honest: Long term, a 25 percent tariff across the Mexico and Canada borders would blow a hole in the U.S. industry that we’ve never seen.”
Yeah. What does Farley know about American industry other than running one of the largest manufacturing organizations in the world?
Trump's talk about invading Greenland? Making Canada a U.S. state? How do you think they would vote after they have been taken over by the U.S.? Do you think they'd vote MAGA? What about making Puerto Rico a state, or Washington, D.C.? They want to be states, no military intervention necessary. We can add two more stars to the flag.
Cutting funding from the National Institutes of Health? Because people like cancer and heart disease?
I think back to when America was great, and I recall when we changed directions.
We used to practice genocide.
And now we don't.
We used to have legalized slavery.
And now we don't.
We denied women the right to vote.
And now we don't.
We denied gay people the right to marry.
And now we don't.
I was a history major in college, and I can't claim to know much because history is so vast. I do know humanity has survived dark times, that people fought against injustices and tyranny.
I never expected that I would have to.
Thursday, January 30, 2025
Bill & Melinda & "None that Mattered More"
In
The Times of London
Bill Gates said
the biggest regret
was divorcing
Melinda
who knew him best
before his major success
the mother of
his kids.
Did he have
other
regrets?
the reporter asked.
"None that mattered more."
None that mattered more.
I cry
for the man who
has everything
and
nothing.
He felt
the loss,
said it aloud
to the world.
Nothing matters more
than
love
a rich man
tells us.
I find him brave
as so few men
women
people
could admit
the same.
My heart breaks, too,
for Melinda.
I hope she finds
peace
happiness
and
love.
Innies, Outies and the Hot Guy from Brazil
I am watching Severance, an Apple TV series staring Adam Scott. It is sci-fi thriller about a guy who chooses to have his work life and his personal life severed. The Lumon corporation performs surgery on the brains of their employees so they have no recollection of their home life at work, or their work life at home. They even have names for these two sides of themselves: the "Innies" are who they are at work, and the "Outies" (not to be confused with Audi's) are who they are at home.
The reason I know about this show is because the New Yorker and the New York Times have been pumping it. I've read just enough about the show to be curious but I am trying not to read too much to avoid spoilers. Which there have been a few so far, which sucks. But anyway.
Severance is creepy as fuck. I both love it and hate it. I've only watched two episodes of Season 1 and I don't want to watch it alone because it is scary. I read the end of the NYT review and it said the scariest part of the show are the two parts of our personality hiding within ourselves.
Which brings me to the hot guy from Brazil.
A week ago, I went out dancing with some friends at the Crocodile. It was an ABBA danced themed party, which was attended by
- people who own the entire ABBA discography on vinyl and were disappointed that Mamma Mia! didn't include "Fernando," and
- younger people who wanted to party and dress up like a caricatures from the 1970's.
Last night on the floor, I saw a guy--the above mentioned hot Brazilian--I met once via a dating app. This was the first time I've seen someone I met via an app out in the wild. It was surreal. A majority of the people I've met online I've gone out with once, maybe twice.
This hot Brazilian is younger than me by enough that I would get a big punch in my cougar card, but he is old enough to have a successful career. In his profile, he said he liked to dance and go to clubs, which I thought was fun. He was also an aerospace engineer, so I figured he was, ya know, kinda smart. Hot, sexy, smart, likes to dance, and has an accent? Bingo!
So I met him for a beer in a restaurant in SLU. I don't even remember when, maybe last spring? And the date was dull. He was a nice enough guy, but the conversation didn't flow. The aerospace engineer showed up on the date, not the dance party guy. I met this guy's Innie, his LinkedIn profile, not his Instagram Outie.*
Nevertheless, it was interesting to see this guy's Outie dancing. He is about 6'2'', so he stands out in the crowd. He and his all male posse were wearing sunglasses, which I guess is a thing to do in a club? It took me a good ten or fifteen minutes to determine if this was the same guy I met last spring. There was no way I was going to go up and say hello. "Remember me from one date last spring?" No.
Halfway into the might, some twenty-something chick came up to him and they were making out on the dance floor. While he was wearing his sunglasses. Then one of his minions came up to me and asked me to dance. I was like "Nope."
The thing that puzzles me is how this night club player was same guy pinged me on a dating app. Seriously. I don't understand why he bothered to match with me and ask me out. Maybe he thought his Innie and my Innie would hit it off. Oh well. It is a mystery.
* I stole this comparison from the NYT.
Note: I am writing about a guy I met online, but I am 99.99% sure there is no way he or any of his friends would ever read this. Ever. And if they did, I am not sure they would connect the dots.
Wednesday, January 15, 2025
The Last Supper, the Pink Door, and Metabolizing Grief
Pedro and his girlfriend are in town for a quick visit. Last night as we were walking to dinner, we passed the Pink Door, an Italian restaurant in the Market.
"That was the last place we had dinner as a family," Pedro said. "It was the five of us: you, me, dad, Claire-Adele, and my girlfriend."
Whoa.
I didn't remember. I remember lots of last things, but not the last dinner we had a family. I found it mildly of tragic that Pedro had marked it in his mind and I didn't. When I think back, I can't remember which meal that was.
- I remember Jack had once ordered some crazy kind of fish (branzino?) that was full of bones at the Pink Door. Was that at the last dinner, or was it another time we ate there?
- I remember that the Pink Door was the last restaurant Jack and I went to before the pandemic shut down. We made a point of going to a movie and dinner, knowing the lock-down was coming.
- I remember ordering risotto and lasagna to-go from the Pink Door during lock-down because I was too lazy too cook.
I don't remember the last time we ate dinner as a family.
I can close my eyes and try to make it up, but I can't tell one dinner at the Pink Door from the next.
I was all out of sorts today and I didn't know why. Then when I told my therapist the last supper story, I cried.
"You are metabolizing your grief," Brandon said. "This is normal."
He is right, and yet it still sucks. I'd rather not have the grief, but as I know from losing a child, grief waits. You can bury it and smother it and hide it in the corner, but it will wait.
But when I look grief in the eye and accept it, it hurts, and then it subsides.
I was glad Pedro told me about the last time we had dinner as a family, that he shared his memories about the "before times" with me. He feels safe enough with me to talk about it, to bring it up, that I wouldn't freak out or cry or scream. I am not as crazy about that kind of stuff as I used to be.
This was a shared memory, even if I didn't remember it. Perhaps some grief isn't meant to be metabolized alone. Some grief is meant to be metabolized together.
Tuesday, January 14, 2025
Ickiness v. Love
This story is not a pleasant one.
Today, as I was waiting for an appointment, I was reading about Famous Writer (male) who recently has been accused of sexual assault and misconduct. If I hadn't been in a holding pattern, I might have just read the headline and skipped the meat. Instead, I dove in. The article--like most #metoo articles--was gross, but I read it in a different light.
I had a friend who years and years ago had an affair with Famous Writer. By time I knew her, the affair was over, but the emotional aftermath was still there. She was hurt, wounded, broken-hearted. Scarred.
Famous Writer had a cult following, and it wasn't uncommon for women fans to toss him their metaphorical and literal panties. My friend was an artist, and she connected with Famous Writer on a creative level.
Or so she thought.
He sent her poetry, and she devoured it. She loved it. She loved him, and she thought he loved her.
When I was reading this article about Famous Writer, I was looking for my friend. Where was her story, wrapped in the sheets? Where does she belong in the narrative and the mess that is and was this guy's life? What about the women who love Famous Writers and Actors and Sports Stars and whatnot, these guys who end up being at best creeps and at worst rapists and assaulters?
I don't blame friend for not seeing him as a creep or rapist. I can't. He probably didn't assault her. He didn't need to. She was willing and gave him consent. She was a fan with an open heart. She only saw one slice, one angle of his life. She didn't see the other women and how he treated them. And what Famous Writer did to my friend wasn’t a crime, but it was certainly part of a pattern.
My heart breaks for my friend again. My heart broke for her years ago, when she wished Famous Writer was in her life. And it breaks again today, as I see her as one of the many, many women he used and abused, even if she was willing.
Monday, January 13, 2025
Paragons of Virtue
Many people who go through divorce suffer a change in their financial circumstances and need to amend previous spending patterns. Even if people go from "affluent" to "less affluent," it still can kind of suck to have to make budgeting choices where before it wasn't needed.
My divorced friends and I are going through this shift, and they wanted someone to write an article celebrating our new sense of thrift. Here are our accomplishments of the week.
- Kathryn went "book-bathing" at Barnes & Noble. She walked through the store and didn't buy any books.
- Jessica went to Nordstrom Rack and only spent $40 on things she intended to buy in the first place.
- I ate dinner in on Friday and Saturday night instead of going to Le Pichet.
- Paid for $2 all day parking at North Seattle College this weekend when we played pickle ball, and
- Paid our car tabs instead of letting it slide.
NPC & Acceptance
I am a heartless, cranky old bat.
One of my twenty-something former co-workers got married this Sunday and I didn't want to go to the wedding.
I left Andy's team about five months ago for a new role in the same company. I moved from the second floor to the sixth. A week after I started my new role, Andy appeared at my new desk, wedding invitation in hand. Beaming. The invitation had fancy envelope, a wax seal and everything. I was surprised he figured out where I saw and brought me an invitation. Silently I thought "I don't want to go." We rarely worked together on the same projects, but we had the same manager and our desks were near each other. I figured I was getting the elementary school birthday party invitation logic: if Andy was inviting anyone from team, he had to invite everyone from his team. I really couldn't say "Sorry I can't make it to your wedding six months from now. I have a haircut appointment."
I don't know why I didn't want to go other than I am a cranky old bat. I didn't want to spend six hours of a Sunday on someone a barely knew. My good friend and co-worker Tracy was also going, so I figured I'd go along.
Sunday morning before the wedding, I played pickleball, went to brunch with teammates (which was a riot), and then left at the last possible moment for me to go home, shower and change my clothes. Turnaround time from post-pickleball mess to wedding ready was thirty-four minutes.
When I got to the wedding, my co-workers Tracy, Amy and I were all plopped at a table in the back, as expected. I saw all of Andy's friends, his family, his bride's family and friends. Andy and Sasha had met at church, so half of her side and half of his side knew each other. I felt like an NPC--a non-playable character--in a video game. My role wasn't to participate or tell cute stories or even help, but simply to watch. Observe. Witness. Why did they need me there?
I knew Andy was religious, but I didn't understand the depth of his faith until I was at his wedding. Reading of his vows, Andy said he thought he would never get married, never be a father. He willingly accepted god's plan that he might always be single.
Wow.
I have to admit after sitting next to Andy for two years--not gonna lie--I thought the same thing. How is this guy ever going to get married? I couldn't imagine him on a date, but there was no way I would ever ask him about his love life. Andy is a sweet guy and couldn't be mean if he tried, but I didn't see him having any savvy with women.
The interesting thing that Andy said, given his religion and faith, was not that he prayed and prayed to get married. Instead, he said he willing accepted god's plan for him to be single.
A week later, he met Sasha.
What I find so remarkable and heartening about Andy's story is his acceptance. A guy like him could have ended up some crazy incel, blaming women up and down for not wanting to date him. Instead, he did the opposite. He accepted his lot. He wasn't resigned or bitter or resentful. He openheartedly accepted his singleness with grace.
In the end, it was the most inspiring wedding I have ever been to. I've never been happier for someone getting married than I was for Andy.
Who knew that a heartless, cranky old NPC bat could be so moved? That faith and acceptance could be contagious?