Thunderheads and Waves

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Flying eye-level to thunderheads and over a seemingly calm, sky blue ocean, I was reminded today of our impact — on situations, on the world and on each other.

From the ground, the air feels humid. Still. Stuffy. Only when we’re above the clouds do we see how much of an impact they really can have. Fuzzy streaks in the sky tell of torrential downpour and related flash flooding plaguing the news. Other planes are no doubt flying around them, cautious and with safety top of mind.

The ocean appears glass-like, but my eyes deceive me. Just when I’m sure I’m staring at a peaceful expanse of water, I can make out the choppiness and ripples of waves. Lots of waves. At first, it mirrored the sky. Upon closer inspection, it was deceiving me.

We think we appear one way, but in reality every action or word has the potential to be bigger than we intended, to spread beyond the walls we hoped they’d stay within, or to affect others when we didn’t mean for them to be seen or heard by anyone else.

One may argue that more people should be less nosy, that skin should be thicker or that we should hold tight to our serenity while letting go of all that doesn’t build us up. I agree with all these, but rooted in reality they are not.

There will forever be people who seek the thunderheads and the waves, and who will never be content to simply observe their effects and guide others away from them. They have a hand in all that is tumultuous, and we may not see it at first. But when we’re either bitten by them or sucked into their games, we’ll know it in a heartbeat. We can stay or go, contribute or quell.

At the end of the day, our choice says much about our character. Steer clear or engage? Avoid or ignite? Speak up with kindness or lash out with rage? For the lesson of the thunderheads and the waves, I am thankful.

Beautiful Things

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My parents used to love walking through model homes. I think they still do, but they don’t do it as much as I remember from my childhood.

Housing tracts, condo complexes, town homes — everything new was fair game to look at and walk through. I’m not sure if the goal was ever to move, or if it was just to dream, simply kill time or get some ideas for decorating.

One complex was fairly close by — Greenbriar something or other, I believe. I held onto the brochure for years because of its beautiful cover. The complex had been photographed at dusk, and the final image showcased the sky in every shade of blue imaginable. It was more pale at the horizon, while darker and yielding to a crescent moon towards the top of the cover. The complex itself was dotted with amber-colored lighting, and wispy palm tree tops were silhouetted against the evening light.

The photo captured my favorite time of day. Then again, perhaps it’s my favorite time of day because I found that cover so beautiful as a child. Not sure what’s driving what in this case, but I do know that every time we have a clear, warm evening when the light is just right and the sky looks like the turquoise waters of the Caribbean, I think of that complex, I remember the brochure and I’m reminded of the impact that beauty has had on me over the years.

Beautiful music has the power to bring me to tears, beautiful scenery inspires me to travel and to find my own peaceful, quiet and calming corner of the world, and beautiful design in the smallest of things has shaped the home I’ve created for myself, and will continue to shape my next one when I move again.

Tonight I am thankful for my mental collection of beautiful things, for the tangible ones, too, and for the long-lasting effect they’ve had — and will continue to have — on me. I don’t believe the goal of that brochure was anything other than to have people buy a condo, but it just goes to show the far reaching impact everything, or everyone, can have on us.

The Marathon

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You know that feeling where your stomach is in knots because of stress, worry or whatever? I’ve got it. Only the majority of my stress these days is behind me, and I am not plagued by worry. I simply feel worn out. Worn down.

I can’t travel like I used to; I feel 86, not 36. Exhaustion doesn’t go away with one solid night of sleep — it lingers for a week or two. I’m full of Zs, and last night I tried to picture my life five years from now. Ten years from now. More Zs on the horizon.

Don’t get me wrong — I’m not complaining. I just wish I wore out less easily. I wish I could run the marathon that others seem to run more swiftly than I.

When one is full, there’s an abundance of food. When one has a messy home, that means there’s shelter. When one has wrinkled or stained attire, there’s clothing. And when one is weary from work, it means there’s a job to go to each day, a sense of purpose, income and an energetic buzz to my everyday that I don’t take for granted. For all of this, I am thankful. I am grateful.

Tonight, though slow and ready to curl up and hibernate — for a year — I realize that both the haves and the have nots will forever have things that make us all take pause and evaluate our lives. But how fortunate we are that our exhaustion comes from having much and wanting for very little in the grand scheme of things.

How fortunate we are to have a marathon before us.

And how fortunate we are to be able to run at our own pace.

Strange Happenings

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During last night’s four-miler, I swallowed a bug. I’ve heard of people doing this before — known them, even. Goldie Hawn’s character does it in Overboard and, at long last, it was my turn.

I’m not sure what I swallowed, but it was equal parts lemony and minty. It was dainty and slight, but it packed a punch for my taste buds. Gross.

This morning, traffic on the 5 freeway was wide open when most Fridays are as congested as the rest of the week. Weird.

I expected it’d be a long day at the office — maybe as late as 9 or 10 — but I left at 6. Odd…but I’ll take it with nary an argument.

Tonight I “followed” a recipe I’ve referred to many times before when a hankering for curried lentils came over me (yes, one can, in fact, hanker for a lentil). Only I didn’t follow it at all. I have no idea why I didn’t. What should’ve taken 30 minutes turned into an hour and a half because of all the stuff I threw into the pot. Strange. But ultimately tasty.

The last 24 hours have presented many “…what the?” moments, but I’ll take them all. When things go badly or not as we’d hoped, we complain. When they go well, we savor them but might forget to say thanks. But that middle ground — the unexpected, the things which catch us off guard or which make us scratch our heads — are the things, if we’re smart, that can open our eyes to how much differently — and potentially worse — they could’ve gone.

Opinion.

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So I’ve been reading a lot of commentary and opinions about Marissa Mayer’s Vogue photo shoot, and I really don’t see what all the hubbub is about.

Do I see the photos of which they speak? Sure. Do I think they’re demeaning? Pshaw, please. I’ve read a lot of praise, and I’ve read a lot of criticism of them. My opinion focuses largely on the latter.

One woman said she was in a “CFM” pose. Another said she was undoing what women have worked so hard to achieve.

What? Did I miss something? She’s not in Playboy, she’s in Vogue. She’s not making lewd gestures, her appearance was artfully directed. She didn’t install a stripper pole at Yahoo’s offices, she took down cubicle walls and embraced collaboration and efficiency.

We’re so fast to pick women apart. Of a particular high-ranking female in the White House, we criticize her hair, call her dowdy and say she needs a makeover. But when high-ranking Marissa Mayer is featured with lovely hair and appears to not need a makeover whatsoever, we also criticize.

Seriously? Somebody wake me when criticism of a man’s rugged, typically male posture takes over the WWW. I can (not really) just hear it now: “That’s not a casual pose on the cover, that’s a man subliminally calling attention to his junk! He’s sending men around the world back a buhjillion years! Look at the way he’s sitting, with his hands folded by his crotch!”

The Marissa Mayer hubbub is akin to the above male rant for me. It’s ridiculous.

Heaven forbid someone’s daughter, sister, niece, cousin or friend think she’ll never be appreciated for anything more than her looks. How fantastic would it be for said female to see Marissa in all her brainy classiness, featured in a way that the rest of us can only dream? How much more fantastic would it be if said female decided her new role model was Ms. Mayer and not Hustler, er, “talent”?

Heaven forbid women think that the definition of “sexy” only means attire above that’s obscenely short and cleavage that rivals the Mariana Trench. Ms. Mayer proves that sexy is beauty, brains and tastefulness — all rolled into one.

Articles applauded the hiring of Mayer as CEO of Yahoo, calling her “young, pretty and vivacious.” But, whooooooa, be careful that you don’t put it on display, Marissa! (Sarcasm.) She had the confidence to jump from Google and take the helm at Yahoo, but whooooooa — don’t let your confidence shine through in that cover, there, young lady. (More sarcasm.) We placed her “technical sophistication and Silicon Valley street cred” on a pedestal, but how dare we showcase the woman who delivers such things in a magazine like Vogue.

Yahoo needed a makeover, it needed reinventing, confidence, swagger and it needed to be turned upside down. Is the Vogue piece not an extension of all those things, in a way? Of course it is. And for a woman who has proven that you don’t need to choose between brains and beauty, I am thankful.

Well played, Ms. Mayer. Well played.

Foot Armor

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At a recent pedicure, my pedigal asked if I wanted to go big and get the callus remover. Sure, my feet could use some extra love. Let’s do it.

I walked four miles tonight, and I’m a firm believer that taking part in said callus remover was one of the worst decisions I’ve ever made. What were soft feet a few hours ago are now on their way to being blistered feet, thanks to dainty skin sliding around in cotton socks over the course of an hour.

Thumbs down.

Just to clarify, this isn’t an admission of gnarly feet. I simply let pedigal over-pamper them for some reason. I should’ve left well enough alone. What’s that they say? Oh, right. “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”

There’s something to be said for being thick-skinned. Maybe not so thick that one can call you callous, but the same way a little toughness on your feet can help you go for miles, the same can be said for a little toughness in life. Let your guard down, and you’re bound to get a blister or two.

Tonight I am thankful for how far my feet have taken me in life, and I’d like to apologize to them for removing their armor. I’ve worked hard to never buckle at the first sign of stress, and I was reminded tonight that it’s a good way to be.

Your way.

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Do you ever look at your long to-do list and dread tackling it? I do. Every day. It’s probably why things that could’ve been done by now are still on it, years later.

Last night at JFK, I noticed they’d redone the security area in the Virgin America terminal. The result of their efforts? One word: brutal. I have a hard time seeing how it’s an improvement over what used to be — perhaps my feelings are clouded by standing in a line at least ten times longer than I’ve ever stood in before. That said, I can appreciate that the security queue is there for a very good reason, so it is what it is.

Once upon a time, revamping that line was on someone’s to-do list. In fact, it was likely on multiple lists. With many opinions and cooks in the proverbial kitchen does not always come efficiency, and I feel like that’s what was sacrificed at JFK. One idea is conveyed but then becomes cloudy, then muddy, then it’s just a big, confusing mess.

The good thing about our own lists is that we can tackle things the way we want; we can tackle them whenever we want. If there’s a completion date on the horizon, we can decide exactly how we want to do it and aren’t necessarily held to committees or boards becoming involved. We stand a good chance of being fine with the outcome because our hands were in charge; our hands were the driving force.

Things get done every day. They get done by one person, by multiple people, by companies and organizations. While my own to-do list is long, I’d lose my mind if it fell into the hands of another. Things would be done in ways contrary to the way I’d have done them, and I’d be unhappy. But having the power to do them on my own — being able to orchestrate and direct, to guide and to call the shots — is a blessing I’m thankful for, even if the list gets a little longer each day.

Not what it seems.

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My teacher had a file folder of brief, two-person plays. It was the mid-80s, and I was in third grade.

A classmate and I — we’ll call her Marissa — decided we’d try our hand at theater one day. OK, a bit of an exaggeration, but we plucked two laminated cards from the folder and went outside to read them during recess.

I can’t remember what the play was about, but I do remember that Marissa wasn’t sure how to pronounce “OK.”

As we got to the line where she had to utter two simple letters in a slightly irritated tone, she couldn’t do it.

She paused briefly, then I heard it:

“Awk, awk,” she said. I was confused, as it seemed like a bird had just entered the scene.

“What are you doing?” I asked her.

“Reading the play,” she said. She didn’t realize it was “OK” that should’ve been uttered, not the first syllable of awkward or lock, minus the “L.”

I was mildly amused. Months before, our class had taken a field trip to the newly hatched Orange County Performing Arts Center to see an abbreviated version of Swan Lake.

One of the dancers’ names was Sean, and when we returned to school and were quizzed on the performance, I replied with his name when our teacher asked us about the stars of the show. As she wrote “S-E-A-N” on the board, Marissa piped up.

“You spelled his name wrong. It’s not seen, she said, it’s S-H-A-W-N.”

“Well, there’s another way that you can spell his name,” our teacher said. “This is the way he spells his.”

Marissa was dumbfounded. How can that be? Her face was perplexed and she didn’t say a peep after that. She was wrong, and now the whole class knew it.

She was a child who loved being right, but she was slipping. First seen, now awk. What next?

I have no idea what happened to her, but to this day I think of her when I correct people. In a way, there’s a bit of Marissa in me, too. I think there is in all of us.

Sometimes a word isn’t as it seems. Other times, it’s a person. Maybe it’s a job. Either way, there’s much to be learned about the way a person deals a situation, and there’s much to be learned from them. Will we learn from them? Will we realize that which we’re thankful for, or will we pass it by?

Tonight I am thankful for the things that we’re supposed to take meaning from, and I’m thankful that for those things that were meant to teach us. They may come in the form of a know-it-all or they may not, but their lessons are all the same in terms of their value.

The Magical Moon

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I’ve always been fascinated by the moon. Its beauty is something that’s magical and captivating, and I’ve been under its spell ever since I was a child.

I asked for a telescope one year for Christmas, maybe around the age of 7 or 8. I was certain it would take the moon to new heights for me, and it did. It wasn’t the best telescope, but it brought the heavens to me; each time I looked through it, I felt as though I was holding a tiny corner of the universe in the palm of my hand.

The stars hold a special place in my heart, too. I remember staring at them out my bedroom window when I was growing up, watching them flicker and twinkle as their light made its way through the atmosphere. White, blue, pink, yellow — they sparkled in all colors, a veritable box of crayons in the sky. To this day, stars adorn various parts of my life. Bronze-trimmed, beveled mirror stars grace the fireplace mantel; a massive star of the same variety hangs in the guest room. Tin stars liven up the office — both at home and at my workplace. And around my neck most days is another star — a tiny one that’s housed in a glass locket with other charms tumbling about inside.

At 37,000 feet, I saw the moon peek out from behind the August haze. It would be awake for the duration of the night while most of us wrap up our days and turn in for the evening. As I type, it’s out my window, reminiscent of a night light from my younger years.

“No need to be afraid — I’m here,” I could almost hear it saying as we encountered a bit of turbulence.

Even while flying into darkness with the slightest bit of turquoise glow on the western horizon behind us, it keeps pace, lighting the way and shining more brilliantly than any other moon I’ve seen. It acts as a heavenly flashlight, highlighting streams and causing any body of water to glow. Such are the joys of being closer to the moon than I am most nights. Such are the unexpected perks of work travel on a warm summer weekend evening.

Tonight I am thankful for the undying spell the moon casts on me, and for the beauty it still holds decades later. I don’t have a telescope anymore, but its pull and magic doesn’t need any magnification — it will forever be a symbol of hope, faithfulness and unwavering guidance.

All We Can Do

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They say there are two days you should never worry about: yesterday and tomorrow.

I think they’re right, although you’d never know I believe it.

I find myself worrying about things I can’t control. Some I can, yes, but the ones I can’t are the ones that keep me up at night…unnecessarily. You’d think I’d have learned by now that sleep lost to that which is out of my hands is uncalled for, but apparently I haven’t.

With every toss and turn, I am no closer to redoing the past. I never will be.

Each moment I stare at the ceiling in a dark room only adds up to hours lost — and it doesn’t mean I can use those hours to magically fast forward through a day that’s going to be a doozy.

All we can do is all we can do. It’s been that way since the dawn of time, and it will continue to be that day — regardless if how many technological advancements we make.

Tonight I am determined to leave the day behind when I rest my head on my pillow, and to worry about tomorrow only once it becomes “today.” Living in the moment is one of the hardest things to do, but releasing the worry of things out of our control will ease the mind and soothe the heart.

I am thankful for today, thank yesterday for its lessons and wish the best for tomorrow.