Naked Thoughts

Unless I’m in a medically induced coma, turning off my mind so I can relax is next to impossible. My mind is constantly on the go, the ultimate multi-tasker, running rampant as it hops from one thought to the next.   I’m envious of Hubby who seems to have no problem putting his mind to rest. Simply turn on the TV and viola! Instant relaxation. Must be a guy-thing.

As a result, getting away from our daily grind of home, consulting and thinking about new opportunities is very important to me.  Visiting our favorite resort provides me with some relaxation as we spend the majority of our time in a poolside cabana.  This year Hubby suggested that we indulge in a couples massage.  “Come on,” he pleaded. “It will be so relaxing.”   I looked at him like he had sprouted a second head, asking “Uh, have you met me? You know I can’t keep my mind still for five minutes much less an hour”.  Persistence paid off for Hubby as I reluctantly agreed to the extravagance.

I’ve got to give the resort spa credit – I felt a bit like royalty as I indulged in a pre-massage sauna and shower, slipped into a luxurious bathrobe and slippers, then sipped herbal tea in the pre-treatment “relaxation room” while waiting for my massage “therapist”. 

My therapist was very calm, with the softest voice as she escorted me to the massage parlor – I mean “room”.  Thank goodness Hubby was already there; it would have been humiliating if they had mistakenly paired me with someone else.   “What kind of oil would you enjoy?” asked my therapist. “This one promotes balance, this one energy, this one peace…” and the list went on.  I chose “balance” simply because I gagged at the other scents. 

“Relax,” whispered the therapist.  Oh yeah, I thought. Like it’s totally normal to have a stranger rub smelly oil that’s supposed to promote “balance” all over my naked body.  Yes, technically I’m not naked all at one time, but the whole idea of being in a dimly lit room, naked, with candles and incense and other smells, naked, with a stranger rubbing oil on me is just not normal.  Did I mention the part about being naked?  Sure, there’s a sheet, but honestly that little piece of see-through muslin isn’t fooling anyone.

Trying to find my mental “happy place”, I took a deep breath, telling my mind to quiet down and enjoy the moment.  Yet my mind resisted.  How could I quiet my mind with a stranger kneading my butt, which by then was classified as an oil slick by OPEC?  There was so much oil I was afraid I’d have to pay an environmental fine.

Side one finished and my mind was still in high-action mode as I awkwardly tried to flip to my other side without falling off the narrow table.  Attempting to calm my mind and be peaceful, I tried again to go to my “happy place”.  I actually heard Hubby snoring as his therapist kneaded his butt.  Honestly, how can you sleep through this, I thought? I told my mind to listen to the peaceful, soothing music.  It was slow and soft, mainly a flute and some other instruments I couldn’t identify.  Instead of relaxing to the peaceful unidentifiable music, my mind’s thinking, “Who writes this stuff?”  I can’t imagine listening to it on the car radio; highway traffic would come to a standstill since we’d all fall asleep or go insane with the constant chiming and chanting.

Still attempting to find peace during this experience, I tried breathing slowly and deeply, counting sheep, counting backwards from 100, saying “ohm” – anything to calm my busy mind.  This is why I don’t meditate.  My mind is unable to be still for even a nanosecond. 

Finally, peace came.  I was so relaxed, the smell of the oil had become a pleasant aroma rather than an offensive odor, my muscles were enjoying being rubbed and massaged and I was ready to enjoy the rest of my time in the treatment room. 

“Thank you for coming,” the therapist said.  “We’ve left you some water and a treat, and will be waiting for you outside the door.”  What??? Wait, my mind is finally quieted and you’re leaving me? Come back, rub some more oil on me – I promise I won’t wince at the smell! 

Sigh. And just like that my mind woke up again.  I would like to think that my busy mind is brilliant, but I know better. It’s just busy.  At least it’s not naked.

© Tami Cannizzaro 2012 All Rights Reserved

Vacation Brain

Ahhh…vacation!  The time to get away from it all. To refresh and re-energize.  Yep, I’m one of “those” people, the kind who believes in taking a true vacation to get away from everything for a week or so.  No checking email, no calling the office. I tell the people I work with, “If the building burns, save yourself and tell me about it when I get back”.  No sense telling me when I’m not there to do anything about it.

Never have understood the concept of a “working vacation” either – isn’t that an oxymoron?  If I’m going to spend the money for a vacation I want to enjoy it – sans work.

Funny thing is that my family didn’t really take vacations.  A couple times we accompanied dad on a business trip to Florida; along the way we’d wait for him in the car or at a restaurant while he called on clients, eventually ending up at the beach for a couple days.  Every few years Sis and I would go to Grandma’s in Minnesota, but that was it.  No weekends at the lake, no ski vacations, no trips just for fun.  I learned about the beauty of a vacation after business school, when I had friends living in other cities.  Those friends would say, “Come visit sometime” – and whether they meant it or not, I took them up on the offer.  (Note to all of you: if you say “come visit”, know that at some point I will do just that)

It wasn’t always easy for me to take a vacation.  I was (and sometimes still am) plagued by worries: what if something “big” happens while I’m gone? What if someone needs me? What if, what if, what if?   Early on I had a great boss who heard me lamenting the “what ifs” and wisely told me, “there is NOTHING that will happen in your absence that we can’t fix when you get back”.   Logic told me she was right and I’ve tried to remember that ever since.

Last week was it – vacation time!  An entire week of fun at our favorite resort with no work in sight, and it was beyond great.  Vacation Brain kicked in for both Hubby and I as soon as we left for the airport, a definite signal that it was time to relax. We read, talked, swam, lounged and were generally lazy.  Work Brain was nowhere to be seen, as it should be during vacation.  

As with all good things, our trip came to an end far too soon and my Vacation Brain reluctantly started powering down while my Work Brain tried to wake from a nice nap.  At the airport, Work Brain said it would be a good idea to download my emails so I could at least scan them on the plane.  Sounded logical, so I tried to log-on.  Note I said “tried” – for the life of me I couldn’t remember my log-in info.  Vacation Brain clearly was still in command.  After some time, I finally remembered and logged in – a small victory for Work Brain. 

Hubby was having difficulty too.  Wanting to initiate a call with a co-worker, he started to send an email with his cell number – but Vacation Brain forbade him from remembering his own number. Work Brain, unfortunately, reminded him that I had his phone number in my phone. 

Once I was online, Work Brain commanded that I look at my in-box. Yikes – how could one person have that many emails in just a week?  My mind raced as Vacation Brain was desperate to keep me in resort mode.  Looking at the subject lines, I tried to recall what I was working on when I left town.  My mind was sputtering, with a vague memory of some projects but not enough for the emails to make complete sense.  And who ARE all these people, wanting answers from me?  Do I work with them?  I could feel the tension in my head as Work Brain fought to recover information from a week ago, while Vacation Brain attempted to keep all that information hidden.  Back and forth, the battle for control raged in my head as I read the emails, trying to make sense of it all.  Once the plane landed, Work Brain started a victory dance, knowing that as soon as we exited the jet way Vacation Brain was history. 

Sigh. Why is it always like this? Within seconds of returning from vacation, it’s as though we never left at all.  I enjoy my work but I really do cherish the little bit of vacation I take and I would love for the feeling to last longer than a nanosecond. 

Good news is the office didn’t burn.  At least I don’t think it did.

© Tami Cannizzaro 2012 All Rights Reserved

Disconnected

Ping! Buzz! Ding-Ding! My electronic devices are constantly talking to me.  Sort of like kids who are always peppering mom with a million demands – I need this! I’m hungry! When can we go out to play?  At least that’s how I imagine kids to be.  Kind of hard for me to be accurate here since my daughter has four legs, a fur coat and a ferocious bark.  Her needs are simple: food, water and some outside time – not very demanding at all.

But my electronic devices are always demanding something of me.  Read this, can you answer this question, here’s some news.  Answer me, answer me, answer me!  Just like most of us, I’m always connected, all of the time and technically always available. 

In some ways all this connectivity has made our lives easier.  Who remembers not wanting to leave the house just in case that special guy called for a date?  I do – what a waste of time that was!  At least with mobile phones and computers there’s no need to wait.  That special guy can call always find me if he wants to.  Yes Hubby, I mean you.  Hubby is breathing a sigh of relief.

There are a million good reasons for all this connectivity.  And I’ve bought into the program. I’ve got the latest gadgets so I can be connected personally and professionally.  All the time; 24/7/365.  I’m actually annoyed on occasion if I can’t get in touch with someone.  Geez – answer the call/email/text; don’t you hear the pinging?

As good as it is to be connected and as fun as all those social networks are, I’ve come to the realization that I need a break.  I seriously need a break.  With all this connectivity, I can’t seem to turn off the pinging, dinging and buzzing and relax for a while.  Hard to believe that I can’t just chill by the pool or watch a movie or read a magazine.  It’s gotten so bad that Hubby and I can hardly sit through a meal without checking our electronic devices.  Here I am, sitting next to the man of my dreams, and I’m worried about missing something “important” when my electronic device goes off.

So this week I’ve disconnected.  Thanks to technology, I was able to schedule this post days in advance.  As you read this, Hubby and I will be sitting in a cabana by a beautiful pool at a resort.  Hopefully I’ll be reading a book or a magazine – the old fashioned way, not on an electronic device. That would be too tempting.  Maybe we’ll be watching a movie or a sunset or simply talking to each other, uninterrupted. 

What’s that?  You want to know if I’m really disconnected or if I’ve slipped up and peeked at my electronic devices? I’ve done it before so I’m convinced I can do it again.  Since this post was written in advance, you’ll have to trust that I’ve stuck to my guns and disconnected.   

Trust me; just don’t ping me.

© Tami Cannizzaro 2012 All Rights Reserved

Do I Hear Flushing?

It’s easier to get a job if you have job.  At least that’s what I’ve always been told.  To be honest, it has never really seemed that easy to get a job if I’m currently employed.  Mainly because I’m too busy working to put much time and energy into looking for another gig.  Not to mention the difficulty trying to have confidential calls with recruiters or potential employers, especially while working in cubicle-land.  With conference rooms booked and stairwells that echo, that leaves the bathroom or possibly the car.  Flushing is not a sound anyone wants to hear over the phone, much less a potential employer. And sitting in a stuffy car is hardly conducive to intelligent phone conversation. Yep, looking for a new job while I’m working has always added even more stress to my life.

The simple solution would be to prepare financially, then to leave the current job in order to focus my energy on finding a new one.  On paper, this looks great. Yet somehow I’ve never been able to do that. I’ve come to realize that I have a hard time letting go of things.  No, I’m not a hoarder; I can purge my closet of clothes and I don’t purchase toilet paper by the truckload.  It’s just that I have an innate sense of wanting to finish whatever I start.  And the word “quit” is not in my vocabulary.  Nope; mom and dad did not raise a quitter. 

Most of the time, this is actually a good trait.  I had a boss once who told me I was like a bulldog.  It was a compliment, although it took some explanation. He said he knew that he could give me any project and, just like a bulldog holding onto his favorite squeaky toy for dear life, I would never let the project defeat me.  He could count on me to be successful.

Unfortunately, my bulldog instinct can sometimes get in the way.  Like when I realize that a job is no longer right for me.  It’s quite a predicament.

Sometimes it’s not easy for me to recognize that I’ve outgrown my job.  The feelings of uneasiness may be confused with the occasional frustration we all experience from time to time at our jobs.  It takes time to truly identify the signs.  For me, it’s the lingering day-in, day-out frustration that is so frequent it feels like a huge boulder is on my chest and I’m about to buckle from the sheer weight.  It’s not about being incapable of doing my job; it’s about no longer getting satisfaction from it. It’s the time when the bad feelings begin to outweigh the good. A no-win situation, at least for me.

I remember being in this position some years ago.  It felt like I was trapped, unable to escape.  Hubby will tell you I’m a commitment-phobe on many levels, which is partially true. I have a hard time committing to a pair of new shoes, much less a new job. And don’t get me started on my commitment fears when it came time to get married; Hubby still wonders if I’m in this for the long-haul.

In the case of this particular job, I felt trapped, like a wild animal who just wanted to run as fast as I could away from whatever was trying to hold me down.  But the bulldog in me would not let go, especially without another job to go to.

Which leads to my question: Is it ever OK to walk away from a job without another one waiting in the wings?  Seems like it should be, yet for me this is almost impossible and unthinkable.  I get worried about things that are rational and even some things that are not: Will we have enough money? How will I explain this during an interview? What if the new job is a mistake? Will I ever work again?  But my biggest concern is my reputation – even though logic tells me that 99% of my friends will not care. I simply don’t want to be known as a quitter.   

All this to say that my bulldog tendencies + my aversion to commitment + illogical thinking under stress = more stress when looking for a new job.  It sure makes for tough interviewing.

As I continue to be open to new opportunities, I’m hoping the commitment-phobe in me stays locked away.  I don’t want to miss anything good simply because I’m afraid to make a mistake.  In the meantime, if you hear a muffled conversation in the bathroom, it’s just me trying to interview. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t flush.

© Tami Cannizzaro 2012 All Rights Reserved

Hitting the Wall

I’ve done it. I’ve hit the wall.  Didn’t see this coming. And I thought things were going so well. Guess it had to happen at some point.  After all, it’s been a while since the lay-off and lots of things have happened.   

My enthusiasm has left the building.  I’m tired of networking, bored with looking, frustrated with consulting despite that it was my dream opportunity.  How did this happen?  What’s going on?  Maybe it’s really the flu.  Nope, no fever, so that can’t be it.

Hubby wanders in to find me staring off into space, TV blaring to some inane daytime show.  He tries to coax me out of the funk, but it’s too late.  Mr. Funk and I are BFF’s now, and we vow to hold on to this feeling as long as possible.  We’re holding a full-blown pity party.  Too bad I didn’t send out invitations for others to join us. Oh well; that would mean getting interested in something and using energy.

What’s happening to me?  This is not who I am.  I’m the problem solver, the one who figures out the next greatest move and acts on it.  And if I can’t act on it, I at least share it with someone who can.

Too many coffee meetings. Too much time to read about unemployment rates, the poor economy and the sad state of the Kardashians.   Poor beautiful rich girls.  Life just isn’t fair, is it?

If we believed what the media told us in January, the unemployment rate decreased slightly and we should have been jumping for joy.  The skeptic in me, as well as an informal focus group of my friends, said that things were not that rosy in the job market.  I’m not sure where the media gets these stats.  And now, a quick scan of the paper indicates more lay-offs both locally and abroad. 

Despite such news, I keep trying to stay positive. I head outside to sit by the pool for a bit, convinced that some vitamin D from the sun will help chase Mr. Funk away.  Unfortunately, I misjudged the sun and got more than I needed so now I’m doing my lobster imitation. 

Maybe I just need a break from everything; a change of scenery.  We’ve got a vacation planned and hopefully that will do the trick.  Just getting away from it all; sitting under a cabana at a different pool, with people waiting on me all day while I catch up on all my fashion magazines. 

I’m going with a positive attitude, that I will come back refreshed with a different outlook.  And if I happen to run into the Kardashians while I’m there, I may just ask if they have any job openings.  After all, it would be fun to hang with the rich and famous.   

© Tami Cannizzaro 2012 All Rights Reserved

MOMIL (Mean Ol' Mother In Law)

In-laws.  This word can strike terror into the hearts and minds of loving couples everywhere. It’s the one thing most people dread when they get married.  Lots of questions raised about in-laws: Will I like them? Will they like me?  Will they put pressure on the marriage or will they know when to butt out? 

We’ve all heard the horror stories, right?  About in-laws who have keys made so they can drop in unannounced at any time.  In-laws who prefer one grandchild over another. In-laws who insist that things go their way or else.  They don’t like our cooking, our careers, the way we clean, they way we dress, the way we live.  Yikes! It’s a wonder anyone ever gets married.

Let’s be honest; we’re really talking about mother-in-laws, aren’t we?  I’ve rarely heard much said about father-in-laws, although I’m sure the stories exist.  It seems like mother-in-laws are the ones who take the heat for just about everything.  It doesn’t matter if you have a very close relationship with your own mother or a strained relationship; either can make the spouse nervous. 

Early in our marriage, or maybe even before the actual wedding, I was sharing the legend of the bad mother-in-law with Hubby’s mom.  My mother-in-law.  She and I laughed at it, especially when I told her that now she would forever be known as my “Mean Ol’ Mother-In-Law”.  Or MOMIL, as she started calling herself. She even signs emails and cards to me with this moniker.

MOMIL is actually quite an impressive lady.  Either I’m lucky or she is, if I may be so bold, but we have a mutual respect and admiration for each other.  She has more gumption than many people I know.  My father-in-law retired just as we were getting married.  At that time, MOMIL had spent her life raising kids and volunteering, and had a passion for the church.  She decided it was time to go to graduate school to pursue a theology degree to become a minister.  At the young age of fifty-six!  For most of us beyond the age of thirty, the thought of immersing ourselves in a graduate program that included classes in Hebrew would be a torture that was too much to bear.  But not MOMIL.   She dove right in with students younger than her own children. 

Two years later she graduated.  And two years after that she became ordained.  MOMIL had finally embarked on her career – in her sixties.  Taking the reign of a church as the one and only minister is tough for anyone, much less someone who is a bit more advanced in years than the average college graduate. But MOMIL jumped in, fighting one challenge after another in pursuit of her dream career.  I’m embarrassed to say that in this day and age she even fought gender discrimination.  Seems like we should be past that.

MOMIL had guts.  She was willing to fight for what she wanted, even when naysayers told her she was too old and, heaven forbid, too female.  Nothing was going to stop her and she figured out a way to make this dream a reality.

I am hearing from many who are looking for work that it’s too difficult to find anything in this economy, that companies aren’t hiring, that companies only want younger workers.  I’m appalled when I hear people in their forties and fifties say they’ve given up because they are too old.   I’ve even had people tell me that they hate their jobs/careers, yet they say they are “too old” to do anything else. Are you kidding me?  Once you hit your mid-thirties I think you should be able to try anything that you want. Just set your mind to it and go for it.  Do you want me to send MOMIL over to knock some sense into you?

When I think about all that MOMIL has accomplished – at an age when most folks are considering retirement – it gives me hope.  It gives me courage and strength to know that it’s never too late to try something new and go after your dreams.

Now in her seventies, MOMIL finally retired last weekend. Sort of.  She gave her last sermon at her church; there was a luncheon for her afterwards; we took her to a family dinner.  Then we waved goodbye as she drove off to a church conference meeting – in preparation for her new part-time ministerial job at a different church.  Once again, she looked at the situation, decided what she wanted (to work part-time), went after the job and got it.

To anyone reading this: still think you’re too old to find a job or work that you love?  Way to go, MOMIL!

© Tami Cannizzaro 2012 All Rights Reserved

Plenty of Room

All I could hear was Hubby’s side of the conversation, an occasional question, followed by “uh-huh” and a splattering of other information.  Hard to tell exactly what he was talking about or who he was talking to for that matter.  Of course my fever and congestion had me so foggy that he could have been singing Lady Gaga and I wouldn’t have recognized it.

“Of course you can stay here; there’s plenty of room”, followed by a click of the receiver. That’s when I perked up, propping myself up from the couch enough to ask him who he had been speaking with.  Not that it really mattered at that point because apparently we were about to have company stay with us.  If I’d had any strength at all or if my senses hadn’t been dimmed by the heavy antibiotics, I’m sure I would have shrieked at him about the fact that this was probably not a great time for company.

After all, I hadn’t seen the outside world in a week, much less had a shower.  Our house, which was usually clean enough for a surprise visit, had the stale smell of take-out containers and was decorated with used tissues, cough lozenge wrappers and assorted blankets and pillows strewn about.  The dog hair was piling up all over the place, making our carpet a mélange of texture and color.  All I could do was lay back on the couch and hope that the dishes in the sink would miraculously put themselves into the dishwasher. 

“Seriously, sweetie, is it really a good idea for others to be in the same house with me?”  I could see he felt bad for even offering.  Hubby had been sick too, although he managed to recover quickly.  My illness was stuck to me, like gum to the bottom of a shoe. 

Nothing to do at that point but accept the fact that we would have guests.  Lovely guests too, it’s just that I was in no shape to host, seeing as I was barely able to make it from the bedroom to the couch.  So I made it my goal to feel better by the time they arrived.

That time is now, and unfortunately I’m not much better.  I did introduce myself to the shower, which was great, but my head is still foggy and I can’t seem to go anywhere without some sort of liquid to soothe my throat.  Hubby has helped rid the kitchen of the piles of take-out containers and showed the dishes how to get into the dishwasher.  Yet the dog hair remains, left for me to handle while Hubby is out. 

I realize the company will be here soon and the dog hair has to go.  But where does it have to go, I ask myself?   Still shrouded by the head fog, I wander the house trying to figure out what I was supposed to do with the dog hair.  Ah-ha! The vacuum cleaner.  I see the vacuum; even have both hands on the vacuum.  Yet somehow it’s become freakishly heavy and I’m unable to move it out of the closet.

Wow, why is vacuuming so hard? I must be weak from the flu.  I try to push the vacuum back and forth, but the hair just seems to stay put.  Oh, it would help if it was plugged in.  Trying again, I start to make head-way.  After just a few back and forths and sweating profusely from the fever, I take a break.  Next thing I know the dog is waking me with her kisses, urging me to get up before the company arrives. All I want to do is lay on the carpet. When did our carpet become so comfortable?

Ding dong!  Oh no; are they here already?  Where’s Hubby?  The dog’s bark tells me it’s not our guests, just our neighbor asking something about the yard, or the trees, or the fence, or something.  I lay back down to rest on the carpet.

Sigh.  I hate being sick.  Just hope I’m better before the doorbell rings again.

© Tami Cannizzaro 2012 All Rights Reserved