I Consume; Therefore, I am, and Eeyore

I have been shopping a lot lately because there isn't much else to do. Last year for Christmas, I was in Montana visiting Peter. Before the Boy was in treatment, Christmas was filled with activities more than stuff. Friends had parties. The Seattle Children's Theatre, the Fifth Avenue and the Paramount had plays. Restaurants had dinner. Mountains needed to be skied.

Welcome to 2020, the year of "None of the Above."

This year, I hit the Nordstrom Rack. I bought a weighted blanket, filled with little glass beads that is supposed to reduce anxiety and help me sleep. So far, so good.

What else can make me feel better about my life? Brighten my mood? My VP send me a "Remote Break Room" snack box filled with chocolate, tea and popcorn--my three favorites--which was very nice.

I needed something that would make me smile through all of the crap. This is the present I got for myself:

Hello 2021. If it is worse than 2020, I'll have my unicorn slippers to help me get through it.

Which then begs the thought -- what is 2021 is worse than 2020? Could it be? Yes! Think of all of the terrible things we might have missed or postponed because of the quarantine? What if we forget how to be friends and sociable and offend people left and right in 2021?

Yesterday I was in a bleak mood. Two weeks ago Sunday, I was in a bleak mood. Why? Like everyone else, I had reasons to be down: my job is in flux, my family still struggles. I was feeling like Eeyore, and I didn't like my own company. I talked to my dad for a few hours yesterday, and I felt better. 

Maybe Eeyore wouldn't have been such a downer if he had unicorn slippers. One thing Eeyore had that I don't right now are friends who I see regularly, who I hang out with, for walks, for coffee, for dinner. 

I miss my friends. Even if 2021 is worse than 2020, I hope I can be around people I like and love. And if that is the case, then it can't be worse, no matter what 2021 brings.

Karen, or How I Got My New Phone

Saturday morning, I was walking to the Biscuit Bitch to get my breakfast. I was listening to a podcast on my phone when the sound died. I took my phone out of my pocket to see if accidentally hit a button to lower the volume. As I was pulling my phone out of my pocket, it hit the ground. It was not a dramatic drop, just a few feet from my hip to the pavement. When I picked it up, the screen was smashed to bits. When I touched the screen, I got glass splinters in my fingers. When I got back to the condo, I made an appointment at the Apple store on Sunday morning to get my screen fixed. First things first. Make the appointment, then decide what to do.

I had more than 24 hours to ponder the fate of my phone. I could have fixed it for $150, but that is a lot of money to invest in an iPhone 7. A three year old phone in the world of creative/planned obsolescence is a dinosaur. I could have used the Boy's old iPhone 7 as he now has an Android, but then I would have to erase his phone with ten hours of skiing videos to load my phone's data with my 500 contacts. My hairdresser (bless his heart!) told me to get a new phone.

"Get an iPhone 12. They are 5G, 4G, and LTE, so wherever you go you can use it," he said. He has an iPhone 12 Pro, and he loves it. "My boyfriend fixed the screen on his old phone, and it wasn't the same. A month later, he got a new phone." My decision was made. I was going to get a new phone. Normally, I get a late model phone, never the newest. This time, I was going to get the 12.

The next morning, I put my sad damaged little phone in a ziplock baggie and brought it to the Apple Store. 

This is when, to my own horror, I turned into Karen.

I didn't cancel my repair appointment because I wanted to get a new phone immediately, and the appointment was my ticket into the store. I didn't want a new phone dropped shipped from wherever and delivered in three days. I wanted a shiny new beautiful light green state-of-the-art phone in my manicured, moisturized and sanitized hand.

Why did I turn into Karen? But first, who is Karen? Any white, middle aged woman of a certain socio-economic group who thinks rules were not meant for her is Karen. Any white, middle age woman of a certain socio-economic group who thinks she knows better than others not in her demographic is a Karen. For example, some Karen's might now wear a mask because it is her right not to. In other cases, Karen might walk into a grocery store and tell everyone to stand six feet away from her. She might tell someone they need to buy that avocado they touched.

Karen's are not always Karen's 24/7. Sometimes Karens act out only for an hour or two a month, maybe a year. It is not necessarily a permanent way to be. Rather, it can be a way women react when they feel they don't have control over anything.

My friend H had her Karen moments, even though she is Asian. I remember I was visiting H in San Francisco in the 1990's and we went to a coffee. H was working in an investment bank at the time and chewed out the barista because her coffee sucked. 

"Have you had Starbucks coffee? Starbucks is way better than this. This is terrible," H said.

H had lived in America since she was seven, and has no accent. She is tall, thin and gorgeous. She is the most beautiful of all of my friends by far. She has random guys on the street tell her how pretty she is. She gets free stuff and a free pass because of her beauty. Plus, she is wicked smart. In this case, H got a free pass from the barista even though H was obnoxious. The barista should have told H to stop at Starbucks on her way to Hell. I tell this story not because H is a jerk, but because this was the only time I've ever seen her act remotely like that. It was totally out of character for her to berate the staff.

H was being a pre-Karen, or maybe a proto-Karen.

When I passed the screening to get in the doors of the Apple store, I became a full on Karen. 

"My phone broke and I was going to get it fixed, but I decided to get a new one," I said, flipping the baggie with my pathetic and smashed phone on the counter.

"You can order a new phone online," the twenty-something blond chick said to me.

"Yeah, that isn't going to happen. I am not leaving this store without a new phone, bitch," I telepathed to Apple clerk. I am not a real Karen. I would never say that aloud. Seriously--what kind of store doesn't want to sell you something? I get the pandemic and all, but please, bitch, I need a phone.*

This was going to be tough. First, I was up against my own kind -- another female. Men are easier to bend. I couldn't flirt my way into getting a new phone. Second, I was wearing a mask. I didn't have the option to smile and pretend I was nice.

"How can I order something online when my phone is a piece of garbage?" I asked. 

Right, the Apple clerk must have been thinking. This bitch doesn't look like she works retail. She probably has four computers are home from her remote work. If she wanted to, she could order a phone while she is sitting on her couch and not risk giving me COVID.

"Do you know what of phone you want?"

"I'll take a 12," acting as if I knew what I wanted. 

"Which kind of 12?" she asked.

Oh shit. I had an idea, but I wanted to look at them, like real shopping. That is why I went to the store. I wanted to shop.

"What kind do you have? Can I look?"

"We can't let you look at the phones," she said. "We stopped that policy of letting people look at phone a few days ago."

Hmmm. I could sense I was in dangerous waters. She could kick me out and tell me to order online, but I really wanted to spend ten minutes picking a color. You really can't tell from the website. Did I want the blue or the green? If I am going to spend a few hundred bucks on a phone, I want to touch it first. Or, did I want to leave the store with a phone that didn't give me glass splinters? I wasn't a shopper here with the sole purpose of getting the latest and greatest tech gadget. I wanted a phone that didn't look like it was pounded by a hammer.

There was no way this clerk was going to let me get past the Great Wall of Apple Store Desks to see the merchandise. I was going to have to pick on the fly.

"I don't want the mini and I don't want a giant one," I said. 

"What color?"

"Can I see them?" I asked. The Apple clerk winced. I could see the cognitive dissonance in her eyes. She was deciding whether or not to make a sale or to follow the rules and tell people to order online. There was always the risk that I'd walk out and decide to say "Fuck Apple. I'm getting an Android." (Ha! That's not gonna happen.) She was leaning towards the sale and I was getting my phone! She showed me pictures of the 12 on her phone. Shit. I could have done this at home. I picked the green one because it triggered some nostalgia of something. It is a sweet color, like mint ice cream. 

The clerk handed me over to Bryce to complete my order.

"Anything else?" he asked.  A phone case, please, since my last phone shattered.

I walked out happy as I could be considering I had an unexpected expense due to my own clumsiness. It was a small victory in a world where I am not having many right now. My team at work was dissolved and now I am orphaned. My career lacks certainty, which sucks because my job was the most stable thing in my life. My kids are coming back for to Seattle for Christmas, which is good but stressful. Plus I don't have my usual stress release activities--walking with friends, going out to eat, seeing plays.

So what does Karen do? When she is lacking control in her personal life, she find other ways to find success, victories, not matter how small or how petty.

3 A's v 7 A's, and Range

I've been in a lot of therapy and recovery in the past year and a half. A lot. One of the most useful things I've read was about the three A's when facing a problem or crisis:

1. Awareness/Acknowledgement
2. Acceptance
3. Action

When the Boy was sent away to Wilderness and then boarding school, I had to dive deep into these three. I have been swimming along nicely, not needing to confront anything major until I was told by my manager to look for a new job.

Oy.

I knew I needed to look for a new job months ago, so I started baby-steps, like telling a few friends, updating my resume, searching for jobs online. Then, I would get upset at work about my new role and my manager would talk me off the ledge and I'd feel better.

For a while.

Then I'd get upset about the changes in my job again. Then my manager would tell me "this is how it is now..." I'd get some level of understanding, but then I'd get upset a few week later. 

One of the things I hadn't realized about my job as a tech analyst is that the role is very clearly defined and limited. In my previous analyst roles in consulting, the roles were expansive. We were expected to grow, be creative and take on more leadership. In tech, the analyst's role is "Load this data."  I was missing that point until one of my co-workers explained it to me. 

I digress.

Anyhow, I realized I've been living with a few other A's in addition to the other three which are far less productive:

1. Anxiety
2. Avoidance
3. Anger
4. Annoyance

Which then lead to me becoming

• Irritable
• Complaining
• Explaining
• Unreasonable

Anxiety: I am afraid to look for another job. I was talking to three friends recently about looking for a new job. All three were very unhelpful, until I realized that they were all specialists who have been in the exact same job for more than fifteen years. Jack--the workaholic Jack--told me "It is just a job." Wow. That sucked. He later apologized for his insensitivity, and explained that as a workaholic, he had to adopt this mentality.

Avoidance: When I first realized I needed a new job, I started updating my resume and whatnot. Then I got tired and frustrated because the first job did not magically appear before my eyes. 

Anger: "Oh my god! It is not my fault my job changed! I was in the sweet spot when x, y and z happened that screwed it up!" Yeah. All true, but knowing how and why it happened doesn't change that it happened.

Annoyance: "Man, now I need to look for another job or create a new one where I work. This sucks. I wish I didn't have to do this." I had dear friend, a specialist in the same job for more than fifteen years, who while we were on the phone she searched open jobs at her company and emailed me one. "Here you go. You can have this job. Problem solved." As if job postings online are like a menu at a restaurant or a shopping cart on Amazon. I can't just pick one and automatically get it. I applied for one job where another dear friend said "You'd be perfect for that strategy analyst role!" Yes, I would be. But tell that to the HR screener or the robot who is looking for algorithms.

Which brings me back to Range: Why Generalists Triumph in a Specialized World by David Epstein, one of my favorite books because it so well describes me. According to Jack, Bill Gates made it one of his book recommendations for this year, so it is sold out on Amazon. It is hard to be a generalist in a world of specialist, especially when I am getting career advice from them and almost everyone I work with is a specialist.

Sweet Spot v Peach Pit, and Two Years Ago Today

Two years ago today, the Boy broke his foot in a soccer game, which led to him not going to school, getting behind in his work, which made him not want to go to school. His anxiety and depression were already in force. He was "hovering over the treetops," like Jack used to say. When I hear this metaphor, I think of the scene in The Spirit of St. Louis where Charles Lindberg (played by Jimmy Stewart) barely gets his plane off the ground, nearly clipping the trees. Instead of rising above the trees, the Boy crashed.

A friend of mine who is a trauma therapist says "the body remembers," and she's right. Today and for the past several days, I have been fairly emotional. I think part of this (not all, but part) is because I have been unconsciously thinking back to where I was two years ago. I was talking to a friend about horoscopes and I read this in https://freewillastrology.com for my horoscope for next week:

Author Virginia Woolf said that we don't wholly experience the unique feelings that arise in any particular moment. They take a while to completely settle in, unfold, and expand. From her perspective, then, we rarely "have complete emotions about the present, only about the past.” 

I am settling in with my emotions from the past two years. At the time, I didn't know that my life would unfold as it did. I felt like I was sliding down an icy ski slope, gaining speed, unable to dig my edges slow down or turn. I didn't know that when the Boy limped off the soccer field at Roosevelt High School, that that would be the last soccer game I would see him play in two years. I didn't know that would be the last time I would be with those families, those parents who I spent five years talking to on the sidelines, watching our boys grow into young men. Some seasons they were close to undefeated. Other seasons held few victories.

With death, we don't know when our time will come. But in our lives, there are lots of mini-deaths along the way: deaths of the way things were, or the way they used to be. I didn't know that two years ago was the beginning of the end, the death of my son's typical high school career.

My life isn't always complete disaster. I have had many "sweet spots" in my life, where things were going along swimmingly. I think of a sweet spot like the part of a tennis racket that makes a beautiful thump noise when the ball hits it, the part with all of the power. Or, a sweet spot could be the best part of a peach, after you eat through the fuzzy skin and before you get to the pit. While the Boy was imploding, my job was going well, and it was a sweet spot. I liked what I was doing, I was learning a ton, I liked the people I was working with, and the type and nature of the work blended well with my personality and interests. My job had kept me sane and was a source of stability when my family was imploding.

Now, the sweet spot of my job has imploded. I have reached the peach pit, the ugly, inedible part. Like Virginia Woolf said, the emotions I felt at the time of the implosion didn't manifest until months later. In short, my little work group was dissolved, disbanded in June, and then my work partner was laid off in August. In September, I learned I was passed up for a promotion as I was an analyst and not a developer. 

Fine. I trudged along. I trudged and trudged and trudged. The more I trudged, the more irritable I became. I tried to claw and convince (argue with?) myself and my manager and my team that we needed to go back to the sweet spot, where my life was good. Why did my sweet spot turn into a peach pit?

Part of my problem is that I need to recognize that the sweet spot has gone, and something else is now in its place. 

I was talking to a friend tonight and she reminded me of Glennon Doyle's recent book Untamed. Doyle talks about burning it all down, and then rebuilding. We need to burn things down if we want to rebuild them. 

My life is burning down. The fire is already here, and uncertainty lies ahead. I could look at this with fear and trepidation.

Or I could say "Bring it on."

Sleigh Ride

When my daughter was in sixth grade, I learned of a Seattle holiday band concert tradition. The last song of the December concert was "Sleigh Ride." The kids would get dressed up in Santa hats and have blast. When Claire-Adele and the Boy went to high school, the tradition continued. All of the band would play together, with at least one hundred students on the stage. Mr. Brown, the band teacher, conducted. Roosevelt High School has a world renown jazz band, and as such, has a wonderful brass section. The trumpets were the stars of the show. The volume and energy of the song was kinetic. One of the most wonderful things about live music is feeling it in your chest.

"Sleigh Ride" was one of the most joyful parts of the holiday. I miss it with the Boy being gone and I am sure the other parents miss it because of COVID.

Introspection Overload & Possible Literary Antidotes

In less than twenty-four hours, I attended three recovery meetings. The day before, I met with my sponsor. Last week, I dealt with some pretty heavy revelations in therapy that knocked me down.

This afternoon, I had a case of introspection overload. I am starting to understand the intensity the Boy went through when he went to Wilderness therapy and then therapeutic boarding school. Looking inside is hard.

Today wasn't all bad. I heard some good stuff:

• Don't quit five minutes before the miracle.
• My higher power steers the boat. I row.
• Meaning: My inner knowing (as Glennon Doyle calls it) can tell me what to do, but I need to act on it. How much do I stall or wait, even on little shit? For example, I am kind of bored with my meditation podcast. Have I found another one? No. How hard is it to find mediation podcasts in the middle of a pandemic? Yeah. I have no excuse.

The hard part about the introspection overload is that I don't have my usual releases because of the quarantine. In a non-pandemic world (I would say normal, but who knows what that is anymore), I would go for a walk with a friend, go for coffee, go to dinner, go dancing, which would then balance out a day of heavy insights.

But I don't have that.

I do, however, have a dog I can walk, which is good. I live close to Pike Place Market, which is fun, even if my main purpose to shop there is to get groceries. I did stop by Metzger's Maps and bought a book about Alaska and a book about National Parks. (A woman can dream, right?)

I also found a book on inner peace, which resonated with me.

What else could I read? I found some books on my shelf that might cheer me up, some of my favorites:

These books are hilarious and make me laugh. I snorted the first time I read Bossypants by Tina Fey.

These books are in the category of "It could be worse..." I could be a nurse during World War II. I could be held hostage in a South American country in a palace. I could be living in a modern version of King Lear.

Or, it could be WAY worse. In Station Eleven, there is a pandemic that wipes out 99.99% of the human race and a few thousand people are left on the planet. Instead of being isolated in my condo, I could be stuck alone on Mars.

I am a Walrus

Thanks to the quarantine, I am turning into a walrus. I barely move and I am gaining weight. If this quarantine continues for a few more months, I will gain enough weight that the only way I will be able to get around will be to swim or float in water where buoyancy will help me to move.

How did walruses evolve to be so massive and lumpy? They don't look like they should be able to move, at least on land anyway. According to my internet search, walrus live in the Arctic and eat marine animals near the ocean. Perhaps their mass keeps them warm in that climate.

A few months ago, I started on the Keto diet not to lose weight, but to stop gaining it. I bought a bathroom scale. I wore my work clothes during the day just to make sure I could fit in them when the quarantine ends I go back to the office.

Then I thought, fuck it.

It started Wednesday, where I ate all day. I had a quaffle (a croissant cooked in waffle iron--pure carbohydrate heaven) for breakfast instead of eggs. I had leftover pizza (from the freezer) for lunch, popcorn in the mid-afternoon. I snacked on pistachios and crackers before dinner, which was salmon, salad, rice and beurre blanc.

Lauren, you might be thinking. That isn't so terrible.

You are right. Then I attacked a pint of cookies and cream with a spoon before I went to bed. I live alone. I don't need a bowl to eat ice cream. I can eat it straight out of the carton if I please.

This is my confession. I need to admit my weakness in order to reverse this trend. I've worn yoga pants to work every day this week. Yoga pants--a fancy way of saying "sweats." Now I know everyone is wearing sweats, but I thought I had enough willpower, that I felt better when I got dressed up. What happened?

Maybe it is December, the month most like the Arctic that is driving me to comfort? Maybe walruses are right. Maybe it is cool to be comfortable. Relaxed. Chill. Lazy.

Last week when one of my children was in town for Thanksgiving, we went shopping at Nordstrom. It was Thanksgiving weekend, and there were more workers in the store than shoppers. Will people go back to wearing regular clothes again, where we dress like humans for fun and decoration and not just for functional purposes? I think of these stores, what will happen to them. Will they go out of business? Will their stock tank? For now, retailers and clothing stores may suffer and struggle. 

Then I think of all of the new clothes I am going to need when this all ends. 

Wheat Field with Cypresses

I wish Claire-Adele were here

to finish up the sky.

AOC & Knocking Down the House

This weekend, I caught the Netflix documentary Knocking Down the House, the story of four women Democratic candidates running for the U.S. Congress and Senate in 2018. All of these women were first time candidates and outside of the establishment. Freshman Congresswoman Alexandra Osacio-Cortez was featured. If you have time to kill (and who doesn't. It's COVID quarantine time!), I recommended taking a peek.

I had never followed AOC before and I didn't know much about her before I saw the show. I knew she was super progressive and from New York, but that was about it.

Wow. She is a dynamo. Regardless of party, that woman has some amazingly strong campaigning chops. She is politically gifted. She knows how to inspire and rally people to her cause. From the right, a comparable person from might be Sarah Palin: someone who came out of nowhere (aka Alaska), made a big splash on the national scene and scared the hell out of those who didn't agree with her. AOC is the same. Her talent put a bullseye on her back, a sharp target for the right.

Having run for a local office in a big city, I have attended dozens of candidates where I not only had to campaign myself, I saw at least a hundred grassroots candidates. I've attended political fundraisers for incumbents.

I have never seen anyone fresh out of the gate with her skills. I've seen lots of people in their twenties run for office--City Council, the State Legislature--to get the experience. These "kids" are in a sense buying a lottery ticket: they don't know if they can win unless they try, right? AOC would mop the floor with these other newbies. She has incredible poise and is so articulate for the first time candidate. Granted, AOC is cute and spunky and had some very experienced campaign professionals working for her. But when you are on a stage and the moderator is firing questions, you are on the stage alone. Your campaign manager can smile adoringly at you from the back row in the arena, but that is all the help they can give. They can't put words in your mouth, or telepath you a witty and sharp answer. That had to come from inside.

The show is a little misleading -- the filmmakers show her working as a waitress (which wasn't untrue) but they omitted the shinier parts of her resume, like her bachelor's degree from Boston University and her experience as a campaign organizer for Bernie Sanders in 2016. She was a first time candidate, but as my dad would say, she didn't fall off the turnip truck.

Nevertheless, I was impressed. 

Plus her boyfriend is so adorable. He's a big lug who is both smitten and supportive.