jennethink

WEAR LONG PANTS AND NO ONE WILL KNOW

I have a number of pet peeves.  A lot of them have to do with quirky little sayings people have that bug me.  “Cold enough for ya?” would be a good example of this.  Or my all time favorite heard ‘round the holidays, “See you next year!”  You understand what I’m getting at.

My mom has a little saying that really drives me nuts, “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”  Now I know it doesn’t seem that bad, but it is rarely, if ever, used when she actually has NEVER heard of such a thing.  What I’m saying is that I think it is an overstatement.  A spoon can’t be found and “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”  The movie rental place charges a high late fee and “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”  The car gets stolen and taken for a joy ride and, you guessed it “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

Now, really?  You’ve NEVER heard of a spoon being misplaced?  You’ve NEVER encountered a late fee before?  And is this TRULY the first time the thought of hoodlums stealing an auto for meaningless purposes has entered your mind?

Of course not. 

She’s not the only one.  Listen for it; you’ll hear it a lot.  Just the other day I heard someone in one of my classes exclaim this phrase when TWO markers were dry and unable to write on the white board.  She had never heard of such a thing.  Sheltered dear.

In fact, after I heard her exclaim her shock loudly I made the claim – silently of course – that that phrase really never does apply.

Today I read this story about toads in Germany that are exploding without reason.  That’s right.  Exploding.  Some theories are given as to why this is happening but no one really knows.  They just swell up and BOOM.  Frog guts everywhere.  Local veterinarian Otto Horst is interviewed for the article.  Guess what he says? 

"I have never seen such a thing,"

Well, Ot, I’m going to give you that one.  And I stand corrected.

SIGN OF THE TIMES

I had lunch today with a really good friend of mine.  The conversation bounced about – as all good conversations do – and we talked a lot about emotions and how they affect us.  We swapped stories about being emotionally hijacked.  We talked about our marriages and our kids and our work and I think we both had examples, in almost every instance, of our rational thoughts being taken over by our emotions.

“I just want to escape sometimes,” he said.

“Why is it I have to win against a 6 year old?” I said.

“I still need to work on that,” he said.  “I still let it all get to me.”

And so forth.  This maturity thing, this being a grown-up – it isn’t easy.

I was thinking that as I walked back to my car.  Sitting in the driver’s seat, I checked my email. A friend had forwarded me a lead from a freelancer who’s writing an article about emotional intelligence.  She wanted to talk to experts that help people in their personal and professional life.  “Emphasis is on fresh and practical advice” is what she said she wanted. 

That didn’t surprise me.  I think that’s what we are all looking for.  Fresh ideas.  Practical advice.  Information I can hear today and apply tomorrow.  We all want that.

The question:  does it actually exist?  Can information you learn really change your behavior?  Can you learn skills that will increase your emotional intelligence and help you BE better?

I say yes.  And not just because I get paid to tell people what those skills are.  I say yes, you can get better because I’ve seen it happen.  Just last week, for example, I picked up my office chair that had broken for the 1000^th time and started to throw it down the stairs – and stopped myself.  Now that’s progress.  I’ve seen it happen in other people’s lives as well. I’ve seen men choose to change the direction of their life.  I’ve seen women refocus and rebalance.  I’ve seen people who haven’t been listening to each other for 30 years make changes and begin to hear each other for the first time.  I KNOW increasing your emotional intelligence can work. 

But.

It isn’t easy.  And therein lies the rub.  You have to work at it.  You have to put daily intention towards it.  You have to think about it all the time.  You have to dig and push and strain.  You have to want to get better.  Fresh ideas are great.  Practical advice is wonderful.  But if you aren’t willing to put the effort in …well, then you’re smack on the train to SSDDville.

I sent the freelancer an email.  I told her I’d love to talk to her.  I told her how important practical approaches to EI are to me.  I also gave her a link to my blog.  I guess I don’t want her thinking I have ALL the answers. 

As Randy from American Idol would say, I'm just keepin' it real, Dog.

We’ll see what happens.  That American Idol reference could have killed it for me.

OH SAY CAN YOU GIVE ME A CUE CARD?

What is it about that anthem?  Remember when 13 year old Natalie Gilbert tried to sing it at the trailblazers game a couple years ago? All dressed up and looking so sweet she stepped to center court.  She started perfectly but halfway into it, she forgot the words.  Thankfully Maurice Cheeks (coach of the Trailblazers at that time) was there to save her  (story here).

Well, it's happened again.

Friday night Caroline Marcil was supposed to sing both the Canadian and the US national anthems at a hockey game.  She walked to the carpeted spot on the ice.  She started with the US national anthem.  She began singing.  She botched it almost immediately.  Two lines in, as a matter of fact.  She couldn't remember the words.

She went silent.  But she didn’t quit – god bless her.  She apologized.  And she started over.    Gutsy.

Botched it.  Again.  Same place in the song too.

She then left the ice.  Who could blame her?  Not me.  I’d run like the wind were I in her shoes.  But wait … just when you thought it was over, she came back to the ice.  She had gone to find the lyrics she had written on a piece of paper.  Now that’s guts.  She was returning to the site of the humiliation – lyrics in hand.  She was going to sing this song if it killed her.  Or us, with embarassment.

She started toward the carpeted spot on the ice.

She slipped. And fell. 

Hard.

Lordy.  You wanted to yell "stay down, stay down!"  My goodness.

I think I may know how she feels.  Not because I’ve ever has my backside make contact with ice in front of thousands but because I’ve had some setbacks in my life and a couple of them were pretty public.  Well, what I considered public anyway.  And each time I’ve felt that shame and humiliation of falling in front of thousands – it’s the pain of failure. 

I’ve left jobs because of interpersonal issues – failure.

I’ve had a marriage crumble and fall apart – failure.

Steve and I have suffered through pain and loss that has felt like failure. 

Failure. Failure.  Failure. 

Sometimes it just feels like the crowds of life are booing you right where you stand.

And here’s what I’ve learned. 

It isn’t your failures that define you.  It’s your recovery.

Caroline Marcil knows this; she appeared on Good Morning America this morning and sang our National Anthem flawlessly.  I say good for her.  In fact I’m more impressed than I would have been if she had sung it perfectly the first time out. 

Isn’t that something?

WELL THE MEETING WAS A DISASTER

Not really.  But one of the people in my meeting was giving me a hard time and checks my blog regularly so I couldn’t resist the urge.

Actually it was a very good meeting. 

No good material though.  So I’m going to have to make something up.

Here we go:

A long time ago I worked at an automobile assembly plant.  I worked with other workers on the line.  My job was to attach the steering wheels.  One day I got to put the bumper on. One day I put the rearview mirrors on.  Once I even got to preset the radio buttons. 

Basically though, it was the same thing in and out.  Every day.  A steering wheel here.  A steering wheel there.  Attach and move on.  Attach and move on. It got a little boring.

One day I went to my supervisor.  “I’m not making cars!” I cried.  “You promised me when I came to work here that I would be making cars.  I’m USELESS!”

Much to my surprise, the very wise supervisor didn’t say anything.  Instead, he took me to the observation window high above the line where we watched the whole process beginning to end. 

For the first time I saw what happened before the car came to me.  I saw what happened after it left.  And I saw something that lit up my eyes.  At the very end of the line there was a person who took the car for a test drive. 

“That’s the job I want!” I cried.  “THAT’S the most important job.”

Now I won’t make you suffer through the rest of the story.  I’m sure you know what happened.  The supervisor corrected me.  The supervisor told me without my job the test driver wouldn’t be able to do his job.  My part in the process was just as important as his.

And I saw that yes indeed, I was part of a process.  I was indeed making cars.  It wasn’t my job to put a value on my part of the process.  From then on, I made sure I did the best job I could at my part.  Whatever part of the process that was.

And so ends my made-up story.

And now the connection:

Every one you know is in process.  All of us are on the road to “becoming.”  I believe YOU have a role in that process.  It might be small.  It might be big.  Regardless, it is important. 

You may never know what impact you have on someone else.  But your part of the process is helping them become who they are meant to be. 

So do your job well.  You’re steering lives. 

WELCOME BACK

A few years back I was making a short business trip to Washington.  Because of scheduling, I had to fly into the city in the morning.  I had to grab a car and then drive to a meeting.  I didn't know anyone else at the meeting.  I was going to have to talk about why I was there and my expertise.  The meeting had come up quickly and I had little time to prepare.  Regardless, I was going.

My plane landed and I was out the door like a rocket.  I had to hurry to get to my car and get to the meeting on time.  I was feeling out of place and insecure.  I was questioning myself and my reasons for being there. I was wondering why the heck I carried such a heavy bag.

I came up through security.  Just at the moment I was thinking, "this is going to be a disaster,"  I saw something that stopped me dead in my tracks.

A good friend of mine was standing there waiting for me.

I'm willing to bet you've had a similar feeling today after checking here and doing a double take.  Jenne has a new post.  You can hardly believe your eyes.

I know, I know.  I've been gone for a little bit.  I feel badly about it.  Can't explain why, but I've felt a little dry and empty lately.  Not in life, necessarily, just in Blogness.  And some of you have been very kind, sending me articles and topics I could write about.  But I've just ignored them.  I've read them, yes and they were good, but I've refused to post about any of them.

I never said I wasn't passive-aggressive.

But today I am here.  I am posting.  And this is my commitment to be here more often.  I have a meeting today - maybe something interesting will happen.  If it does, I'll let you know. 

And if it doesn't, well, maybe I could make something up.

I COULDA BEEN A CONTENDER (WATCHER)

I like reality shows.  There is just something about watching real people make real fools of themselves that I just love.  There are so many of them – you really can’t avoid watching at least a little bit of one.  In fact, I’m just sure someday we will all have to appear on a reality show.  Like jury duty – just something you have to do. After all, there are only so many people in the world and they are cranking out these shows like tic tacs.

I’ve watched at least one season of almost every reality show. Real World, America’s Next Top Model, Survivor, The Biggest Loser, The Bachelor, The Bachelorette, Average Joe, Nanny 911, Wife Swap, Elimidate, The Osbournes, Strange Love, Gastineau Girls, I Want A Famous Face, Fear Factor, Dr. 90210, just to name a few. The truth? I’ve liked most of them.

So there you have it, I’m a junkie.  And yes, I did look up every one of those links for you.

But I have never in my whole addicted life, liked any reality show the way I like The Contender.  It’s the newest reality show on NBC. It’s about boxers (the kind that hit, not the kind you wear).  Which right there makes it better than any other reality show out there – instead of being kicked off the show if you physically assault someone, you are EXPECTED to fight.  It is, in fact, how you stay on the show.  By punching someone else in the noodle.  Here’s what the website says:

"The Contender" will follow 16 professional boxers as they come to a training camp to follow their dream of becoming a champion boxer. The driving force behind the series will be the pursuit of the American dream and the natural trials, tribulations and heartbreak inherent in that quest. The canvas of the show gives viewers a first hand look into the real life hopes, triumphs and defeats of the contestants and how this single-minded, consuming commitment affects their families.

Whatever.  All I know is, it is fabulous.  It is pure heaven to me.  It satisfies me AND leaves me wanting more.  It is familiar and yet, new.  This must be what a simple pot head feels when he discovers Crack for the first time.  Uh, I mean that in the good way.

I’m sure there is some deep philosophical reason why I love it so.  Maybe because these guys are for real – they are adults who feed their family this way.  This isn’t just a fun little vacation for them. They have all their hope wrapped up in this.  Maybe I love it because it is edited so brilliantly that I never know who I’m rooting for when the boxers finally pair up for their big fight.  Maybe it’s because the funkiest group of celebrities come to watch the matches and get little air time and apparently, no make-up.  I don’t know. 

Regardless, listed below are some of my favorite Contender moments so far.  That’s really the only point of this post, to show you there are really good reasons to watch this show.  So give it a read and then switch it on next week. See if you don’t agree with me. The good, the bad and the Jimmy Caan – it’s all here. 

Jenne’s Top Contender Moments:

1. Hearing Peter Manfredo's very east coast wife shout “C'Mon, Pete-uh!” at the top of her very east coast lungs 117 times in one fight.

2. Watching Sylvester Stallone try to give boxing advice - which is a lot like Tom Hanks giving advice to the crew of the upcoming shuttle launch.   

3. Watching guys who most likely have never played a team sport in their life bond together to win some of the greatest, purest competitions ever.  This week, for example, team members wearing their team (Everlast) shirts and colors had to knock down a concrete wall with (Craftsman) sledgehammers in order to clean it so a playground could be build (by home depot). Then they had to load the concrete pieces into a (Toyota Tundra) pick-up truck and then were squirted down with (Sierra Mist) water bottles.  Why?  Well, come on, you mean you can’t see the tie to boxing there?

4. Watching grown men hug and cry.

5. Being able to shout GET OUT OF THERE!, STOP THE FIGHT!, and YOU’RE GONNA DO IT!  In a perfect Talia Shire voice every week.

6. Seeing guys who have never owned a pair of Dockers win a reward of getting to pick out and be fitted for brand new suits.   

7. Wondering if Jimmy Caan could get any creepier.   

8. Having the above question decidedly answered.

People sometimes ask me what I did before there were Reality Shows.  That’s easy – I would watch infomercials – which is sort of the same thing without that guy from Ronco getting voted off. The infomercial phase may have been worse than my reality show addiction.  Don’t ask me why exactly.  I only know that you can talk about any reality show at work and someone will join in but the second you try to compare Fry Daddy notes with anyone you’re labeled as “weird”.   Well, I may be weird but who else do you know can make homemade donuts?

Anyway, you should tune in next Sunday night to The Contender.  Even if you don't like reality shows, I think you'll find something about this show that you'll love – I'd bet my Juiceman on it.

CAN'T SEE THE FOREST GREEN FOR THE TREES

I haven’t heard back from the pastor yet about my glorified body. In all fairness, I should tell you that I didn’t email him directly but sent an email to the church information catch-all email. I’ll let you know if I hear back.

Meanwhile, I taught class today to a group of coaches. I had to teach in my comfy shoes since my knee is still bothering me. I don’t think it hurt me – not being in heels I mean. As usual, I learned something from teaching.

Just because something is obvious, doesn’t mean you always see it. 

That, in fact, is the job of a good coach - to point out what's obvious but what you don't always see.  We all need this in our lives.  We all have blind spots. This actually isn't a brand new lesson for me.  But it is one I have to keep relearning. In fact, I learned it again the other day.  An idea had popped into my head. I didn’t expect it. I wasn’t thinking about it but suddenly I thought: 

we should paint the house green.

Now. Those of you who know me, know this is significant. When I moved into the house a few years ago, it was red, white, and blue. No, really. I had driven by the house 10 or 20 times and seen the for sale sign in the yard but never wanted to go in since it was so ugly. But one day there was an open house and one thing led to another and 30 days later, I closed on Uncle Sam’s dream home.

The next day – yes, the very next day – I had a painting party and painted the house. 9 gallons of white and 5 gallons of yellow later, it’s the cutest house on the street. So why would I want to paint it green now? I’m not sure. It could be because my grandmother’s house was green with white trim and some of my best memories are in that house. It could be that it is spring and I’ve got a hankering to see anything green. It could be that the house one street over was recently painted yellow. It could be that the house just up the street was recently painted yellow. It could be I’ve noticed quite a few yellow houses lately. Ok, let’s face it. That’s it. I’m not unique anymore. And well, I just don't like that.

So. Green.

I told Steve about the idea. He listened intently. He caught the vision right away. I told him I thought it would be so great because we’d be the only house that color on the street! “Probably the whole block!” I said.  It was all very exciting to me.  So the other day as we pulled up in front of our yellow house I suggested we look around for another greenie.

“Let’s see,” said Steve looking across the street, “that house is brown, that one is brick, that one is sort of white …”

“yeah yeah!” I said, "let’s drive and see if there are any others!”

So we headed up our street. We crossed our first cross road onto the next block. Taupe. Grey. Yellow. Another Taupe. We crossed another street – Blue. Mauve. Grey. Dark grey. I was getting more and more excited. We went a few streets up and crisscrossed our way back to the yellow homestead checking for green houses all the way. Not a one! I was dang near in a froth. 

“Yellow!” Steve called out.

“Another grey one!” I said

“Another … what is that again?”

“Taupe!” I shouted

We turned up our street. “It’s going to be AWESOME!” I said. I could totally picture it. We were going to be so cool. So unique! We rolled to a stop in front of the house. I sighed. What a genius I was to come up with this idea. I was so proud, so happy. I gathered up my things and looked out the window towards our yellow-not-for-long house.

Our neighbor’s house is green.

BODY LANGUAGE

We went to church this morning.  The walls didn’t fall down.  So, you know, that’s good.  The message was about death.  The pastor talked about what awaits us in the next life.  He talked about getting a new body.  Steve and I looked at each other and laughed.

Yesterday, on a whim, we decided to play some basketball.  I used to play when I was growing up.  My father hung a hoop in the barn.  Of course, he hung it too high – around 11 or 12 feet off the ground, I think.  So you really had to heave that ball up there.  When asked why he hung it so high he claimed he never wanted my sister and I to shoot any air balls in regulation games.  This ensured that. 

It also ensured we sucked.  But that’s okay.

I played in grade school.  I played in junior high.  I played in high school.  I quit playing my senior year.  That was after my father died and no one made me play any more.

So for the first time since I was about 16 years old, I picked up a ball. 

Thud.  Thud.  Thud.  I started with a slow dribble.  I moved back and forth across the cement court.  Yeah, this felt good.  Steve went easy on me.  He kept his big hands out of my face and kept a respectable distance.  I picked up speed with my dribble.  I switched hands – oh yes, I remember this.  I spun around and continued dribbling.  I went behind my back.  Under the left leg.  Under the right.  And then I started the trash talk.

Oh yeah

That’s right

See that?  That’s the way we do it in Indiana

What’s wrong big guy?  Can’t guard a little girl??

I pulled up, squared up, aimed and shot.

Air ball.

And I twisted my knee when I came down.  Steve went for the ball and wrenched his back.

Those new bodies are sounding really good about now.  I wonder if mine will be able to make a jump shot.  I may just email the pastor and find out.

THE MOUTHS OF BABES

Not too many years ago, I swore I would never remarry.  I never wanted to.  I didn’t think I needed anyone to make me feel complete.  I was fine on my own.

Then I met Steve.  And, well, you can guess the rest of that story.

I never really knew what was different about Steve.  Never really understood why it was him that swept me off my feet.  Why he was the one who changed my attitude about getting married.  Not that I need to understand or know the exact reason why.  But every now and again, I wonder about it.  What IS it?

Today my step-daughter and I were standing in the downstairs bathroom washing off a cement rock we made for the garden.  We stood there and scrubbed and scrubbed it – getting it all clean and ready to be placed outside in the dirt.  I know, it doesn’t make much sense but if you have a 6 year old, you probably understand.

Anyway, as we stood there scrubbing the rock she said:  “Jenne, I think you are a really good woman for Daddy.”

I chuckled.  It’s funny to hear a 6 year old tell you you are a “good woman.”

“Why?”  I asked

“Because you two look so comfy together.”

Comfy.

Together.

And there it is. 

I think I'm going to start using that as my criteria when people ask me if they are in the right relationship.  "Are you comfy together?"  And if they say yes I'm going to introduce them to my step-daugther and get her opinion. 

After all, I think she's pretty smart about these things.