How a Reunion Can Reunite You With Yourself

re·un·ion

[ree-yoon-yuh n]

 noun

1. the act of uniting again.
2. the state of being united again.
3. a gathering of relatives, friends, or associates at regular intervals or after separation

Last Saturday I went to my 25th high school reunion. (Yes, I'm that old. Stop snickering.)

When you go to these things, it's natural, of course, to ask your classmates about what they've been up to since you last saw each other. Which made me reminisce about what I was doing 25 years ago.

{Behold my '80s hair in all its glory.}

It was my senior year and I was busy being a well-rounded student.  Between AP classes, sports and maintaining really big hair I had my hands full. I had always been part of student government, but rather than go for a class officer position I interviewed for a coveted student body post: Activities Director. Sounds good, right? Not exactly.

Even my high school adviser knew something I didn't — that event planning wasn't my thing (and truth be told, never would be... but that's for another blog post). Instead, I was gently persuaded to be the Publicity Chairperson.  I wouldn't be planning the activities (that was left to my uber organized, detail-oriented friend, N.) but instead I would be writing about them. Promoting them.  Telling stories about them. In fact, my adviser thought I'd be perfect for this role because she felt I had a natural writing style that would easily lend itself to the prerequisite teen column published weekly in our area's local rag.

Hmm... a weekly column?  With my own byline? Where I could express myself? Cool! I accepted the gig and happily went along my way.

{One of my teen columns from the Tri-Valley Herald, circa 1986}

Each week I'd make the early-morning drive to hand deliver my typewritten columns (remember, this was 1986) and a few days later I would beam with published pride.

Funny how going to a reunion can reunite you with yourself.

As I chatted with my high school friends about what was next for me, I mentioned this blog and how I was thinking of (finally!) trying this writing thing. 

• M.J. loved the idea and thought it could be my own version of Eat, Pray Love (minus Julia Roberts — she hates Julia Roberts). 
• T. said that he remembered me as a girl who could do anything and to just go for it. 
• And (female) T. remarked on my amazing, positive energy — particularly when I was speaking about this project — and said it made her (someone who already has a lot of energy) feel electric.

Instead of leaving the reunion feeling like an unemployed loser, I came away even more determined to be true to my mantra and "make it so."

So allow me to say it publicly for the first time: I was, and am, a writer. 

It just took me 25 years to acknowledge it.  Thanks for the reminder, CHS '86. 

:-)

I'll Admit It: Last Friday Kinda Sucked... Until It Didn't

 
Most folks I meet consider me to be a happy, positive person. "Enthusiastic" is a frequent descriptor. But even the smiley-est of us can have an off day. And for me, that day was last Friday.

I was overwhelmed and headed for a meltdown. I despised feeling low, and actually chided myself for being negative and questioning my path. Sure, I extolled the power of positive thinking and that "happy" is a choice you make when you wake up. But sometimes you have a day that literally brings you to tears — of frustration, anger, impatience...whatever.

However, through my sobs and rants of "I feel so lost" I realized something: it was okay not to be perfect and feel 100% certain of where I was going 100% of the time. 

Of course, my impatient, future-focused, wants-to-lead-the-charge-and-be-in-control self had a hard time swallowing that pill.  Was I admitting weakness? Giving in to some unseen foe? Me no likey.

Still, in this creative journey I knew there would be times when I'd question what the hell I was doing (or not doing) and why I didn't have all the answers right now.  But I needed to accept it. Deal with it. Embrace it.  Sally Hogshead calls this stage sitting on "The Throne of Agony" and with good reason — it's not very fun.

But without an occasional valley, I could never appreciate nor recognize a peak. Which, miraculously, I also did last Friday.

Turns out that someone whom I admire for her smarts and creativity dug my blog.  So much so, that she even told her friends about it. (Yay, me!)

I may not have all the answers in this journey but I'm determined to have fun along the way — even if that means getting "lost" once and awhile.

My "Garanimals for Adults" Method of Dress — and Why I Don't Follow It Anymore

I used to have a foolproof method of getting dressed for work, which I affectionately referred to as "Garanimals for Adults."

{Garanimals tags today}

Laugh if you will (well, that is if you're over, say, the age of 35...if you're younger you probably have no idea what I'm talking about) but there's a method to my madness.

Garanimals was a children's clothing line that essentially coordinated tops and bottoms together simply by using different colored animal tags. If you were looking for a cool top to go with those groovy pants, you need only find another blue elephant (or red bear, or yellow monkey) tag and you were good to go.

{Man, I wore a lot of yellow in the '70s}

Granted, Garanimals was in its heyday in the '70s, when it shared the gimmick spotlight with pet rocks and the like. But at its essence, it was about making a decision easier (or eliminating it entirely) by providing you with several alternatives that were sure to match/fit.

For a harried Mom or Dad trying to outfit their kid, this was genius. It ensured that their kid would look acceptable (which was debatable, given the decade). And for at least one kid it made quite an impression.

But back to my "Garanimals for Adults" method of career dressing.

For at least the last decade, a suit served as my Garanimals. A jacket with matching pants or skirt was well-coordinated, professional and (some would say) boring and predictable. Once I had on those pieces I could basically take my "navy blue dolphin" or "charcoal gray panda" and change it up with a different blouse, interesting jewelry and killer heels. (Heck, even the photo of me on this blog follows my adult Garanimals methodology.) It gave me a great sense of comfort knowing I was dressing in a way that allowed me to "match" and fit in.

{What I used to dress like every day}

The funny thing is that I haven't followed this dressing strategy for the last 8 weeks or so. In fact, I've been forced outside my comfort zone of matchy-matchy to try to coordinate with - gasp! - separates and - double gasp! - flats.

Which of course has made me re-think my dressing theory, and create a new one: intentionally NOT matching, instead focusing on things going together and the overall gestalt of my ensemble. Call it my anti Garanimals for Adults, if you will.

Sure, it might take a little longer to get dressed, but it better aligns with this transitional period I'm in — by dressing "outside the lines" I'm forcing myself to be more resourceful and creative, which is exactly the direction I want to go with my life and career.

So why limit yourself to the obvious choices? Go ahead and pair a blue giraffe with an orange tiger. Life is about taking chances, and putting yourself out there for new experiences.

Remember that the unexpected can be a breath of fresh air.  And way more interesting.

Jump into the Dinghy!

Earlier this week I was having coffee with a friend, catching up and chatting about our lives.

My friend told me he had just returned from a weekend family getaway to Tahoe, where he had been eager to share a boating experience with his wife and their two kids. Unfortunately,  his young daughter was less than enthusiastic.  She was scared to get into the boat.

He tried reasoning with her, telling her there was nothing to be afraid of.  He pleaded with her — she'd love it once she just got in.  He practically bribed her, but to no avail.  She was stubborn, upset and stuck.  The fear of the unknown was paralyzing her and there was no budging her.

Or was there?

Exasperated, he confessed to me that he finally just picked her up and jumped into the dinghy, knowing that she would be happier once she was there. And you know what?  She was.  She relaxed, embraced her new surroundings and started to — gasp! — actually enjoy herself. In fact, she liked it so much she asked when they could do it again.

Funny thing is that my friend has been hemming and hawing about his own decision, and used this exact analogy to describe how his little apple didn't fall far from the tree. 

How often have you found yourself stuck in limbo, afraid to take a leap of faith and try something new?  You weigh the pros and cons, assess the risk and decide...to hold off on deciding. Oh, the agony!


If I've learned anything at this point in my life, it's to take the risk.  No, I'm not suggesting that you go willy nilly into the world without care, making haphazard decisions without thinking them through.  What I'm speaking of are the times when you've already had the hours of analysis in your head, with your spouse, your best friend, your dog, your toddler... anyone who'll listen.  You get to a point where you instinctively know what to do, but are just too scared of the unknown and not being able to control the outcome and all the possible "what ifs."

I'll let you in on a little secret: you can't control everything. And you can't possibly anticipate life's every nuance.  But what you can control is your own action (or inaction).

Rather than worry about what will happen 5 years from now if you make that decision today (pssst: you'll be 5 years older, same as it would be if you didn't make that decision), or base your decisions on the past experiences of others, remember this is your life, and for better or worse, you make the decisions.


My advice? Jump into the dinghy!

(And yes, I'm talking to you, K.)

My Doppelgänger

This morning for the first time since my, ahem, transition I actually allowed myself to sit in a coffee shop to enjoy my nonfat latte and write. As I was doing so, my Peet's barista approached.

"Amy," she said. "I have something to tell you."

Of course this immediately piqued my interest (and scared me a bit, truth be told). Had I violated some unspoken coffee house protocol? Had I forgotten to pay? Was there foam on my nose?

Thankfully, it was none of the above.

"There's a woman that comes in nearly every day -- at least on every day you come in -- and she looks exactly like you but with slightly shorter hair. She's here about a half hour to an hour before you and I've been calling her 'Amy' but she keeps telling me her name is 'Colleen.'"

Ah, the elusive doppelgänger. We've all heard tales (okay, urban myths) about how each of us supposedly has a twin out there, in a parallel universe. And if you should ever run across this other half your mind would be blown and dimensions would be shattered, sending the universe and all that we know into a tailspin (or maybe I'm just embellishing here).

Anyway, the gist of it is that meeting your doppelgänger would undoubtedly change the course of history, and certainly the trajectory of your life.

Which got me to thinking: maybe this is the universe telling me that my path is about to change (yippee!), and that meeting up with Colleen would be a really good thing.

Making a mental note to try and grab that latte earlier.  Oh, and to get a haircut.  Just to make it, you know, interesting.