Another Weird Dream

Last night I had another weird dream.

In this one, I had lost my purse and cell phone and was frantically searching for them, retracing my steps but to no avail.  

It was present day in this dream, which is why the next part of it was so weird. After I had gone round and round looking for my purse and phone I finally decided I should call someone.  I remember that it was evening, dark out, and I was around some sort of water (a river or channel, maybe?) that I needed to cross to get home. With no cell phone, and no money, I was hoping to call a friend or family member to bail me out, pick me up and generally help me out of this situation. When I finally found a landline to use, the phone itself was very confusing to use and kind of rickety.  I ended up calling someone I didn't know, which added to the confusion — and my frustration. And then I woke up.

Being the curious person that I am, of course I felt like the dream must be more than a dream. More than the byproduct of finishing off the last of that Ghirardelli dark chocolate caramel sea salt bar I said I wasn't going to eat and popping a Nyquil for my head cold.

No, instead I consulted an online dream dictionary, carefully plugging in all my dream elements to piece together the true meaning of my dream:

Lose

To dream that you lose something may also be a signal for you to clean out and reorganize your life. Perhaps you are overwhelmed and distracted with the hustle and bustle of day-to-day life. Alternatively, losing something often coincides with a significant life change or waking issue. 

On a symbolic note losing things in your dream suggests lost opportunities, past relationships or forgotten aspects of yourself. 

Purse

To dream that you lost your purse denotes loss of power and control. You may have lost touch with your real identity. 

Wallet

Losing your wallet indicates that you are losing touch with your true identity. You are experiencing some anxiety over changes and uncertainties happening in your life.  

Cell Phone

To dream that you lost your cell phone represents a lack of communication. You have lost touch with some aspect of your feelings or your Self.

 

Telephone

To see or hear a telephone in your dream signifies a message from your subconscious or some sort of telepathic communication. You may be forced to confront issues that you have been avoiding. 

 

To dream that you dial the wrong number means that you are experiencing difficulties in relating to others. You have trouble expressing yourself and over-think things.

Dial
To see a dial in your dream indicates that you need to be more in tune to your thoughts and to your intuition.  

Evening
To dream that it is evening denotes the end of a cycle, aging or death. It may also be symbolic of unrealized hopes.

River

If you are crossing a river in your dream, then it represents an obstacle or issue that you need to deal with in order to move closer toward your goal. It is also reflective of a new stage in your life. 

See any patterns here? Yeah, me too.  

Which makes perfect sense. I've definitely had a sense that change is just around the corner, and feel like I've lost myself and am really trying to figure our what's next. I'm seeking something that I have yet to realize.  And with the excitement comes the anxiety and frustration of not knowing exactly what that is (yet), and not having it happen fast enough.  Obviously,  my subconscious is trying to tell me something. To listen to my intuition and get back in touch with what matters to me and what makes me happy.

I've begun to see evidence in my waking life as well, noting things that catch my eye and really resonate.  Makes me feel like some messages were meant for me to hear right now.  The latest (and a new favorite of mine) is a phrase I saw on Pinterest that made its way on to my chalkboard:

I'm a believer.

Happy Dreams, everyone! :-)


 

 

The Gift of Time

I just had a someone cancel a meeting we had scheduled for today. And while I should be bummed, I'm actually delighted.

It's not that I didn't want to meet with him; on the contrary, this is someone I truly enjoy spending time with and looking forward to seeing.  And although I need this meeting this month I have great confidence that we'll simply get together next week.  

But his cancellation has given me something extremely valuable at the moment: the gift of time, at precisely the moment I needed it.

Allow me to explain.

If you've read any of my previous posts, you'll know that I've spent the last several years writing about my adventures in free agent land.  I was lucky enough to land a 3-year contract that provided me with the freedom and autonomy I so craved, while providing a consistent source of income. And the gig forced me out of my comfort zone, challenging me to stretch myself.

Awesome, right? Yeah, until it wasn't.

It's not that I'm unhappy. I'm just, well...bored. It might sound terrible but once I felt I mastered the role, I started to lose interest.  Played little games, challenging (see, there's that word again) myself to attain higher goals this month than the one prior.  And those worked to a point.  But because I know that I'm motivated by new challenges, and derive great satisfaction from getting tangible results and making things better, it was just a matter of time before it was time to move on.

And that time is now.

Which is why I have a renewed interest in exploring the possibilities. I'm starting to notice trends, signs and patterns that intrigue me.  Some are new, some have always been there. But now they seems to be intersecting and colliding in unique ways. They're out there, calling to me like a siren, coaxing me out of my comfort zone, pushing me to put myself out there. Again.

And so I've started to do that.  Which takes time. Which was unexpectedly given to me today.

So thank you, ML, for giving me time to do what I really need to do.

(P.S. — And for those of you interested, you can watch my redevelopment and transformation process by checking out my new (and still-being-worked-on-as-of-this-posting) page at About.me and/or my LinkedIn profile. I'd love to hear your thoughts and suggestions.)

What Bears and Latkes Taught Me About Fear

Hello, friends. Long time no chat. I can't believe it's been over a month since my last post. Of course, lots has been happening to fill my time — the major surgery of a friend (boo!), being hired for my first few gigs as a free agent (yay!) and oh yeah, the Holidays (the jury's still out but so far, so good).

Still, I've been feeling kinda lousy about not being able to write and post, especially because in my last post I declared (rather emphatically, as I recall) that I was, and always have been, a WRITER. Sigh.

In fact this morning I was sitting with my youngest daughter, Sofia, at my favorite coffee shop explaining to her that I've been feeling bummed out because I hadn't written in so long. I asked her what Mommy should write about. Without skipping a beat, she said: "Maybe you should say your daughter is doing a play."

That's all I needed to hear. Immediately I made what my second-grader's class calls a "connection" — that spark of an "a-ha" moment where you connect two seemingly disparate thoughts.

I smiled at Sofia and thanked her for providing Mommy with the sorely needed inspiration for her next blog post. So here goes...

My 7-year-old daughter is doing a play. While normally this wouldn't be front-page news, the fact that Sofia has agreed to do the play and, even more importantly, is excited to be doing the play, is. Let me explain.

This summer, when Sofia found out who her teacher was going to be, she got very anxious.  Apparently her new teacher had a reputation for doing an enormous amount of plays ("Like, five, Mommy!").

I sat Sofia down to talk about what was bothering her and to ease her fears, citing her independent and fearless nature and the joy she finds in singing Justin Bieber songs to anyone, anywhere, at any time. We also talked about how useful her naturally projecting voice would be on stage, since she probably wouldn't even need to use a microphone.

Though she nodded her head in agreement, she added: "But I'm a little bit scared, Mommy."

And there it was. Fear. Of the unknown. Of performing in front of people you don't know. Or people you do know. Fear of failing. Or fear of — gulp! — actually doing well.

But a funny thing happened.  Sofia started the school year with preconceived notions about her teacher and those plays, but over the course of a few months her fear has been replaced with excitement. Which is not surprising, since fear and excitement are often intertwined.

Also not surprising are the parallels I found to my own situation. When I first became a free agent, I was secretly giddy...and terrified. This was completely uncharted and scary territory. Like Sofia, I had to put myself out there, on stage, for all to see (and judge). I might fail to perform. Or I might do really well.

Preferring the latter, I chose to prepare and practice. I poured myself into research. I became an even bigger networker, infusing caffeinated beverages and lunches into my meetings with friends, colleagues and peers. I sought counsel from my trusted circle. I rehearsed, mentally and physically, to make this shift become more natural and second nature.

All this effort might seem futile to some, but for me there were (and continue to be) real rewards: I've maintained and expanded relationships within my professional and personal networks, discovered new trends and sources of information to stay fresh and current, and learned that most people already believed in me and my abilities — I just needed to believe it and get out of my own way. Hmm, nice.

In short, my confidence is back up where it belongs. Which is why I believe I've been able to land a few new gigs, actually found the courage to decline one opportunity that didn't jive with my skills, level of experience and abilities, and am currently evaluating two potential, long-term options. And, like Sofia, I hope to have rave reviews that will garner encores.

The first of Sofia's class plays is entitled "The Holiday Show," a lovely work celebrating a myriad of Winter holidays and traditions, with an exclusive performance the evening of December 15th. Sofia will be starring as "Bear," a lovable creature that finds herself being drawn out of her hibernating slumber by the call of the latkes ('"Bear," they're saying, "we're waiting...Bear, come get us while we're still really hot."'). And (spoiler alert!) Bear ends up overdoing it with the latkes ("I should have stopped at sixty-three!"), singing a seven-stanza song about it.

I know all this because Sofia's been rehearsing, every day.  Which of course makes me immensely proud. And inspired: if my little bear can continue to find and express herself, then so can I.

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.

It's A Process: After the Before, But Still Before the After

Have you ever had a crazy dream and looked up its symbology online? Or is that only me?

Anyway, one of the most common elements of my dreams, especially during times of change, is a house.  And according to dream dictionaries, a house always represents you, and its condition is very telling of how you are feeling at the time.

So it should come as no surprise, then, when my husband casually mentioned that my house tweaking verve was symbolic of my own desire to makeover my life, myself and what was next for me.

"You're working through the creative process, Aim," he told me.

Funny that I never made that conscious correlation but he was actually spot on.

Here I was envisioning a brand new kitchen (the heart of the home, aka me), with a bright freshness.  Sure, the bones stayed the same, but the outward appearance and how it was presenting itself would be more in line with the real me and my tastes. It was slowly being transformed into something even better.

{Before. Note the '80s-chic, heavily-grained oak cabinets. Nice, no?}

{During. Note 7-year-old whirling dervish in left corner.}

{Still during. Note non-7-year-old whirling dervish in left corner.}

Hmmm....interesting.

What I find more astonishing is how this transformative process has bled into other areas of my "house" — the adjacent "rooms" are following suit, getting their own facelifts and upgrades, receiving the much-needed love and attention they deserve.  And in doing so, every part of my house will (eventually) be acknowledged, integrated and unified.

Of course this process can't — and won't — happen overnight, despite my enthusiastic fervor and my desire to make it so.  I fully admit upfront that along the way some decisions will seem perfect at the time only to later be found to be not quite right.

But that's okay, because there's always room for growth and change.  And "home" renovation is a never-ending process.

I'm No Jan Brady...and That's Okay

Let's get something straight: I've never identified with Jan Brady.

Yes, we're both the middle of three sisters, had blond hair and questionable eyesight (thanks to Lasik, my is no longer questionable, thank you very much).  But that's where the similarities end.

{That's me on the right, next to my big sis and helping hold our younger sis. Aren't we cute?}

I say this because growing up in the '70s there was very little in the way of relatable and aspiration-worthy icons for a middle sister. Especially if you thought Jan Brady was kinda whiny. ("Marsha, Marsha, Marsha!" anyone?)  Even Jan didn't want to be Jan.

Sure, there were some badass females during that era — The Bionic Woman, Charlie's Angels, Pinky Tuscadero — but all of these women seemed a bit cliché, over the top and not like someone I wanted to be. (Well, I did really did like pink as a child but that's for another post.)

Think back to when you were a little kid — who did you want to be?

It may surprise you to learn that I was an extremely shy child.  Like hiding-behind-my-Mom's-leg-when-our-parents-had-adults-over-the-house shy. This was in stark contrast to my older sis, who, as a first-born and all-around superstar, preferred to use the opportunity of having a new audience in the house to demonstrate her latest gymnastic moves. And to her credit, my sister's leotards did come in handy when constructing our 1976 Halloween costumes — Electra Woman and Dyna Girl (guess who was who?):

{Halloween 1976: Raggedy Ann, gypsies and hobos, oh my!}

But as it is with siblings, when one goes one way, the other goes another.  In the end every child is just trying to find his or her own place in the world, especially as it relates to getting attention and discovering his or her unique gifts and talents.  If you have siblings (especially if you hit the proverbial sibling jackpot and have awesome, rock star older and younger sisters like I do) you know what I mean.

My Dad would always tell my sisters and me (with PC apologies, as this was the '70s): "Be the pilot, not the stewardess. Be the lawyer, not the secretary."  His point was to never limit ourselves or let others dictate what our destiny would be.  And you know what?  He was right.

So who do I want to be?  That answer keeps evolving.  And that's okay.

That said, I can definitively say there will be no Afro wigs in my future.  But you already knew that.

The Evolution of RBP

I know, I know.  It seems like I never write anymore. Well, that's not entirely true. I've been doing a lot of writing of late, just not a lot of publishing.

This blog originally started out as a resource to quickly and easily plan an amazing family getaway.  And while that's still fine and good, it came time to evolve and transition...something that RBP's owner knows all too much about.

Having recently separated from my travel industry job of almost a decade, I've decided to make this blog more about me and my personal evolution and journey (see the connection to travel?) through life...the struggles of being a working (or non-working!) parent of two tween daughters, half of a happily married, live-to-travel couple, a successful business person longing to flex her repressed creative and expressive muscles, a makeover/transformation aficionado and a 40-something woman looking to actively build and blog about a pretty cool life and set of experiences.

As the proud owner of a really big purse, I’ve always been the go-to gal with the goods. I like to think I help people by being a great resource on a lot of little things; my really big purse is chock full of observations, tidbits and info that I'm eager to share. I invite you to follow my journey — the successes, pitfalls and everything in between — and hopefully learn something, laugh and smile along the way.

If this sounds interesting to you, read on.  And if not, try it...you might like it and find something that resonates with you. Besides, you're already here so you might as well stay awhile.  :-)