Yesterday I wrote about the perceived shame associated with being a flip-phone carrying member of society. But I also mentioned that for as much as my phone isn’t able to do, it gives that much back to me in terms of feeling like I’m not attached at the hip to technology.

Ironically, ever since this site that I blog from — Posterous — has been plagued by site/server/database/whathaveyou issues which began more than 24 hours ago, I’ve been practically foaming at the mouth with anticipation of the site being back up again.

The fact that I’m using it to [hopefully successfully] blog at this very moment makes me happy. I hope the window of opportunity stays open long enough for me to make my way through, and doesn’t come slamming down on a finger or limb in the process.

I realized last night, while I was frantically trying to figure out how to meet my self-imposed deadline of posting by midnight, how un-free I really am. The flip-phone may free me from being engrossed in it while waiting for a coffee, getting a pedicure or just generally being part of humanity, but when it comes to blogging, I’m a sucker for technology.

Clarification: Technology that works is ideal.

Had it not been for my work-issued Blackberry saving me last night and providing an alternate means of getting my daily post in (big kudos to Facebook for working properly and allowing me to write a “Note” to get my blog done), I think I probably would’ve been a big puddle of worthlessness today. I’d have been mourning the lost of a 200+ day writing streak, and instead been reveling in mascara streaking down my face thanks to rivers of tears.

OK, perhaps a bit dramatic.

Instead, the streak continued, and today I did all my laundry. I cleaned. I cooked. Then I cleaned up after cooking. I watered the yard. I organized my closet and put clothing in a bag for Goodwill, thanks also in part to watching a mortifying episode of Hoarders. If I’d blown my deadline last night and not had an alternate means of posting, I would, frankly, feel terrible.

So for as much as I prefer books and magazines over e-readers, for as much as I scoff at Smartphones (in large part due to my being inept at using one) and for as often as I think that Facebook is truly the devil in digital form, last night it saved me. And for that I am thankful.

It’s a shame I didn’t realize how fortunate I am to have multiple blogging avenues available in order to keep a personal goal alive, but better late than never when it comes to seeing the benefit of technology.

Since I had to post from Facebook last night in the wake of the plethora of site issues dogging Posterous, here’s the one from yesterday. Gotta keep the actual blog populated whenever the window of opportunity opens, ya dig?

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A few weeks back, I wrote about how I got a new phone. Not a smartphone, just a plain ol’ phone.

After having a Blackberry with my personal cell number that my old job would partially reimburse me for, I found myself starting a new job and having a new, fully-funded Blackberry with my own, new work cell number attached to it. Without the need for two Blackberry devices, much less my own that I would now be footing the entire $130-a-month bill for, I swung into an AT&T store one day and asked them to remove the data plan so that I could use the old ‘berry as only a calling and texting device (thus cutting my bill in half).

Nope, they couldn’t do it. Every smartphone apparently needed a corresponding data plan, so I did away with it entirely – all to keep my own cell number intact.

My new phone is bare bones: it was the cheapest I could find (free after mail-in rebate), and it really does only what I need it to do: make and receive calls and texts. Despite its newness, it’s also immediately archaic since it’s a keyboard-less flip-phone…which I’ve been OK with, even though I now have to press numbers repeatedly to get to my desired letter when texting.

That is, I’ve been OK with it until recently. I was having a meeting in my office last week and my cell phone rang. I ignored it, and since I didn’t tend to it right away, I then realized it “reminds” you every minute or so with a gentle ring that you have a message waiting.

I excused myself, checked the phone, and was met with “Ohmygosh! You have a flip-phone?!”

It was a hysterical moment, because I clearly had forgotten how many people DON’T have flip-phones anymore. It’s not like I was being ridiculed, but the phone was clearly being scrutinized and judged.

For some reason it reminded me of when I was in 5th grade and, after opening my mouth and singing after school among friends one day, was laughed at and told that I sounded like Kermit the Frog.

Only I wasn’t trying to sound like Kermit.

From that day on, I’ve been reluctant to sing in anyone’s presence, unless my warbles are camouflaged by a choir or, like, an entire arena of people at a concert.

Similarly, I’ll probably now feel self-conscious about whipping out the flip-phone in a crowd. I imagine I’ll likely keep it on silent in the presence of others, lest I be tempted to bring my brand new dinosaur out for public scrutiny.

That aside, its qualities remind me that the latest and greatest isn’t always the best. Sometimes they can be a money-suck, and for me, I’ve found that the more bells and whistles something has, the more I expect – period. The more I expect speed, the more I expect instantaneous gratification. The more I expect out of every gadget and the less I realize that sometimes the best things in life are the simple things.

Today I am thankful for my archaic dinosaur of a phone which takes ridicule like a champ, and in the meantime reminds me of what’s important for me in my own life. My phone may be a flippin’ shame to others, but it’s flippin’ freeing to me.

There are a lot of things that divide us — not only as a country, but as a world.

Political beliefs. Religious beliefs. Human rights, animal rights and God-given rights.

Money, love, sex, power.

Area code, eye color, hair color, ethnicity.

Education, income, materialistic things, things rooted in emotion.

Not forgiving, forgiving too soon, forgetting to forgive or forgiving but not forgetting.

The county we’re from, or the state, or the village, or the region.

The thing that never actually divides us, however, are all those lines on a map. Sure, some may be fences or rivers, but those lines that separate countries and counties and regions and people aren’t actually, technically there.

I was at a concert recently where the performer said one of the things that astronauts repeatedly remark on while in the International Space Station is how difficult it is to tell things apart from that high up. It looks peaceful, and the lines don’t exist. Countries blur together. We are, essentially, one. A bit closer of a look, however, and we realize that’s unfortunately far from the case.

Tonight I am thankful for the reminder that the dividing lines are there because we put them there. Sometimes it may be easier to compartmentalize and keep things in a small, tidy box so they don’t get out of hand, but dividing lines breed dividing lines. And the more we keep them where they are, the harder they become — for generations to come — to shake.

Here’s to erasing as many of them as possible.

This is my 200^th consecutive day of blogging.

Whew.

Two hundred days ago it was a new year. Change seemed to be on the horizon, and sure enough, change came.

The new year brought a new engagement. Two, in fact. My best friend began planning her wedding that’s coming up next week, and my brother also recently became engaged.

(Tangent: whenever I hear the word “engage,” including any form of said word, I think of Top Gun. “Maverick’s re-engaging, sir!”)

The new year brought a new knee, a new job and, as a result of the latter, a new outlook – a new lease on life, if you will.

It brought new landscaping in the backyard, new projects for the casa and recipes that have become new favorites after being plucked from Food Network and Cooking Channel.

It brought new changes in my grandparents, new challenges for my parents in dealing with my grandparents, and a new, semi-in-progress addition at my parents’ home in which to house my grandparents.

It brought a few new hobbies, a few new ideas of places to travel to, and a few resolutions for the new year – most of which I’ve slacked off on.

Except for this one.

Sometimes there’s no way to tell what a year will bring.

Other times, if you say you want to do something every day for a year and you find time to do it, you know exactly what it will bring.

I may not know what I’ll write about each day, but the one thing I do know is that the feeling that comes with writing – with letting my fingers fly across the keyboard, with writing about whatever I feel like without much concern anymore for how it may be perceived – is a feeling I never really new until I just did it.

One day became the day, and all the others fell into place.

Today I am thankful for two hundred days of wonderful, and for all the comments I’ve gotten along the way. Thank you for reading, and here’s to many more.

I have travel on the brain.

Not just any travel, but serious travel. Travel planned out for the next nine years. Travel based on lists I’ve made before, travel that’s based on pictures in my mind of places that I know exist. Travel that I won’t really be able to do much about anytime soon because I don’t have vacation saved up just yet, but that’s fine. More time to save some dinero, I suppose.

Many of you know I have a bit of a Christmas obsession. If I could leave the tree up year-round, I would. Fortunately for my neighbors, I do not. But to get my ultimate Christmas fix, I thought it would be fantastic to visit London during the holiday season. Cottages decked out in Christmas décor, maybe some, the wonder of the season – I can’t wait. That’ll be at the end of 2013.

In 2014, a week (maybe more?) at the Grand Hotel in Michigan.

In 2015, Canada for a week.

2016 will bring Italy, and the year after I’m shooting for a week at a posh Arizona resort.

2018 is for Greece, 2019 is for Vermont, 2020 is for Ireland and 2021 is up in the air.

Speaking of Vermont, this fall was when I was hoping to do a four or five-day bicycling tour, but – alas – no dice. (In this case, dice = vacation, once again.) Perhaps a weekend here and weekend there along the coast or spent near a vineyard will help ease the pain of being Vermont-less and having a Christmas in London be further off than I’d like. Or maybe a weekend in Seattle, or a trip to San Francisco is in the cards.

All this travel talk and discussion about saving up and making sure I have vacation time, in the grand scheme of things, is pretty minor. It’s not lost on me how many people will never travel, will never have the resources or opportunity to do so. It’s not lost on me how safe it is to travel in many countries, and how unsafe it is in others.

Travel. It seems almost frivolous, but then I think about the rewards my spirit will get.

It seems low on the priority list of life, but then I think about how my list isn’t anyone else’s, nor is their list mine. Mine is mine.

Travel is one of those things that keeps us going because we have it to look forward to. And once on the journey – once traveling, once experiencing and once meeting – we savor each moment and can’t wait to do it again. In a way, it does more than merely keep us going. It fuels us.

Today I am thankful for the ability to travel, for the many places I have to look forward to, and for the blank pages I know will be filled with wonderful, yet-to-be-made memories.

I drove down to Newport Beach during lunch today to run an errand. Cruising PCH, it was beyond obvious how wonderful this part of the country is, and how blessed I feel to live in it. I’m sure we all feel that way about our little corner of the world that we grew up in, but today — with its views of Catalina, views of Palos Verdes, sun shining high overhead and a coastal breeze — I felt especially fond of Orange County. Coming from someone who prefers cool, gray, damp days, today’s weather was clearly impressive.

Stopped at a light, I was watching a city maintenance worker weed-whack the median. Next to him sat a Maserati. As the light turned green, I noticed that the car ahead of it was a Ferrari. I wondered if he ever noticed the cars around him; if he didn’t, I wondered if he ever did. I wondered if he wished he had one, or if he was quite happy with his own life.

A bit further down, I saw a mixture of kids — some on beach cruisers who seemed to lived in the area, and others who were exiting a bus that had come from parts farther north. In the bright afternoon and with only the beach on the brain, everyone was equal.

I pulled into the parking deck of where I needed to go, and noticed the cars lined up there: a 1970s Porsche in mint condition, a Fisker Karma, another Maserati. The parking deck was silent; nobody was heading out for lunch, and nobody was making their way back to the office after having been out. I wondered if people were holed up inside working to keep their cars, their houses, or if this was simply typical.

As I drove back to the office, I noticed more. Just…more. More extremes, more gaps, more of what seemed like a divide. A Bentley next to an old Nissan Sentra. A Lamborghini next to a Toyota Tercel. I wondered who had what, who wished they had more — and then I wondered who really had what.

It would be a shame to have all the nice things you’ve ever wanted, but to be upside down when it comes to that nice house. Or to have a marriage that looks picture perfect on your desk in a frame, but crumbling behind the scenes. It would be a shame to have a view of one of the most beautiful places on earth, but to feel as lonely as that vast expanse of ocean. It would be a shame to be able to talk a good game, but — in those quiet hours when there’s nobody around to talk to — to know that reality isn’t as good as the story.

All of this today got me thinking about who has what, and while we never know who’s in good standing at the club, who’s paying their credit cards on time, who has no debt, who has a relationship built on an unshakable foundation and who really has millions socked away, sometimes it’s those people that we consider the have-nots on the surface who are sometimes the ones best-suited for the long haul.

And sometimes not. But…you just never know.

Tonight I am thankful for everything I have, and for everything I don’t have. I’m thankful for the lessons I’ve learned in life about stuff, both the important and the unimportant. I’m thankful for taking need vs. want more seriously in my 30s, and I’m thankful for the holes that I’ve been in, and the holes that I’m crawling out of. I don’t often wish for “more,” except to wish for more focus to create the life that I want to live, and more patience to realize that I may not get there at 40, but instead at 50.

I was driving home from work this evening and it seemed like everyone around me had a case of the Mondays. People looked down in the mouth, and my fellow motorists were quite the grumpy bunch.

As for me, I’m just glad that last week’s humidity is a thing of the past. I was in a fine mood, as the warm, stifling nights gave way to a lovely fog bank this evening; there was a distinct line of gray just to the north of me where it yielded to the setting evening sun. I was glad that I was on the cool side of it.

I made my way through the city streets, and as I sat at a stoplight, I looked at the driver in the car to my right, and then in my rearview mirror at the one behind me. Each person, including passengers, appeared to be unamused — if not in a decidedly bad mood.

Then to my right, walking along the sidewalk, I saw two women. They were walking two tiny rollerskate-sized dogs, and one of the dogs had a cone on its head. That dog may very well have been taking the women for a walk, as it was doing its best to peel out and gallop forward, seemingly unaware of its actual size in this big world. I’m pretty sure it thought its efforts were, in fact, making the women continue to put one foot in front of the other, but they weren’t about to tell it any differently.

The other canine seemed annoyed by Cone-Dog, but Cone-Dog didn’t care. It ran circles around the other one, playfully rammed into it a few times and performed a few partial leaps as it tried to jump on the other’s head. Yes, the other one was annoyed, but it was quite a show for the rest of us.

One by one, drivers around me looked at the spectacle, cracked up and huge grins spread across their faces while they all slowly started shaking their heads in amusement. Finally! The Mondays were on their way out, and people had been blessed by Cone-Dog the Small Wonder, Cone-Dog the Great.

Great is the person, the pet or the occasion that can take any frown and turn it upside down, so tonight I am thankful for the tiniest of pets that single-tailedly spread light across three lanes of traffic under a gray, foggy sky.

A friend of mine I went to college with would often call and ask me what I was doing.

“Getting ready,” would usually be my response. He would always laugh when I’d say this, because I think he thought there was something more specific I was doing but not saying. I’m not really sure, but I guess if I remove myself from the situation, “getting ready” is an answer that’s so nebulous at times, it can’t help but be inherently funny. It sounds like something you’d do for the red carpet, for a date, or maybe even for a job interview. Me? Just class.

At any rate, I often was getting ready. After all, if I wasn’t in class, I was usually getting ready for class. And if I was back from class, I was usually getting ready to head down to the cafeteria for some grub, or getting ready to go elsewhere to study. I didn’t spend a ton of time in my dorm room those first few years, but I did toward the back end of my college career. I guess my senior year and grad school are where my hermity traits began to take shape.

These days, I find that I still get ready quite often. For work, for an evening out, for bed, for breakfast, for lunch, for dinner. Getting ready in the meal sense can mean food prep. Dicing, chopping, roasting, sauteing, baking, grilling, mashing, muddling, mixing. Getting ready to go someplace usually involves primping.

Early this morning while I was once again doing some weeding out back, I realized — having not yet primped for the day — that I was still very much in the process of getting ready. Only in this case, I was getting ready for maybe having people over, for enjoying the backyard and the BBQ on a summer night, or getting ready just to be able to relax — because no relaxation occurs when I’m reclining next to a flowbed of weeds. That’s a direct path to irritation, I say.

I was getting ready to be relaxed, and I was getting the backyard ready to be enjoyed. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but someday again soon.

Getting ready is a work in progress. Getting ready implies that you will feel differently — and ideally better than your current state — once the getting-ready is complete. Getting ready means forward motion, action and improvement.

I’ve been doing a number of things lately to get ready for my 40s, even though they’re not necessarily around the corner. I’ve also been getting ready for my retirement. Yes, it’s a ways off, but I’m pretty sure the latter is a big one that you can never really prepare too much for.

Tonight I am thankful for being able to do, to plan, to prepare, to craft, to mold, to shape and for being able to ready myself, my life and my existence for whatever life I wish to create.

What are you getting ready for?

As for me? Bed.

Sometimes I set out at the start of a day and I have a whole list of things to do. Go here, then there, and on my way to that place, I’ll swing through this place. On occasion, the “start” of my day may not be until 3 or 4pm, but those are the days when I tend to be the most productive (having slacked off most of the morning and early afternoon, my guess is that I subconsciously feel guilted into action).

Some days I’ll wake up, get ready, and have nowhere I really need to be. On days like those, I tend to let my thoughts rule the day.

If, in the middle of my makeup routine, I happen to randomly think of a place I’ve been before, I’ll usually make it a point to go there once I get in the car and head out. I figure if it came to mind, there must’ve been a reason.

Often I’ll just be in the mood for an iced coffee, so I’ll try to pick the Starbucks I’m familiar with that requires the most driving (while remaining in the state) to get to.

While we’re nothing like the seed head of a dandelion that’s prone to drifting wherever the wind takes it, there’s a simple pleasure in letting a whimsical thought or tiny curiosity guide us through our day.

This evening as the sun went down and after the afternoon’s festivities, I found myself in Palos Verdes as the fog was tumbling lazily across the streets. The weather didn’t seem intent on clearing up much or giving way to the stars, so I headed home. As I rounded one of the many bends, I must’ve hit a part of the peninsula where one microclimate transitions to another; with perfect music and an open moonroof — just as the piano swelled in the song — the fog broke and my view of gray became a view of the twinkling coast. It was perfection, and it’s a view I would not have seen had I not decided to let the wind take me where it wanted.

Tonight I am thankful for the simple things: aimless wandering, beautiful discoveries, good friends, fun conversation and new chapters in life.

Idle time is a funny thing.

The bright side of idle time is time when you may intentionally be doing nothing except unwinding, recharging, sitting, thinking, wondering, listening or just generally being.

It’s time when your only company may be a cup of tea, a warm mug of freshly brewed coffee, a glass of wine, a fire in the fireplace, the crashing waves on an empty beach or a sunrise. Better yet, a sunset.

It’s time when you might choose to read a book — or not. It’s time when you might want to make a list of things you want to do, or places you want to travel — or maybe you’ll just mentally file them away for later resurrection.

It can be renewing, centering, calming time. This is the idle time that I love.

The bad side of idle time — the dark side, if you will — is when there are things to get gone, but you just can’t seem to get it out of neutral.

You sit there, pressing on the gas a bit, hoping to gain a bit of traction and feel some movement in a forward direction. Even just a little would be reassuring.

Instead, feelings similar to those you may have while actually sitting still in a car — trying to go somewhere — also come up.

Frustration. Confusion. Irritation. Maybe shame.

Why can’t it go? Why won’t it go? What did I do to cause this? What more can I do to try to fix this? Who’s looking at me right now? Who’s judging?

This side of idle time is the one that gets under our skin and makes us vow to be better the next day. After all, if there wasn’t something we desperately wanted to get done, this face of idle time would never show itself.

And having it show itself could be the very catalyst to help spur us to action.

Here’s to hoping the dark side of idle time is used to our benefit, to help us be better, to help us be even more centered and grounded than we were during the bright side of idle time.

Tonight I am thankful for the tiny catalysts which, at first, are often unseen. I’m thankful for their annoying, “Are we there yet?” quality that makes me want to take every step towards flooring it, just so that I can turn around in time and say, “Yes, we are — in fact — here. Mission accomplished.”