Silent Progress

One of the disadvantages of consistently changing my life is that there is no one around who can appreciate the progress with me. 

I am one of those people who was not born with an ounce of OCD.  I just wasn't.  My idea of cleaning as a child was taking a bag, and putting everything that was out of order in it.  If I never missed what was in it, I might throw it out eventually. 

I made fun of people who alphabetized things, whether it be movies, CD's, or books.

To be fair, I've tried to be mindful of my roommates.  But mostly I picked other roommates who weren't super neat either. I even avoided dating guys that seemed too neat.  I would drive them crazy, and if I couldn't make them happy....then they belonged with someone who could.

Most of my aversion to neatness was the fear that one day I'd become one of those incredibly intolerant people who used their own virtue of neatness as a measuring stick with which to beat someone else.  I wanted to be easy going in my living situations, with myself, with the world around me.  I just didn't see how the two could be compatible.

But then I became a lawyer and with it came deadlines, calendars, and an incessant need for efficiency. 

But really, it started with Lena.  Lena was one of those people where you knew whether or not she'd been in the office long before you saw her because she had a way of breeding order everywhere she went.  All of the staplers were lined up.  All of the papers were stacked neatly in their bins.  She even brought her own cleaning supplies to the office so she could clean her desk the way she wanted.  Everything had a place and it was just...so nice to have her tidiness around.  I grew to love it. 

Lets compare Lena to a contemporaneous co-worker, who I'll call Tom.  The clutter in Tom's office was so bad you couldn't tell he had a COUCH underneith it all most of the time.  One time he had ants in his office because he had rotting food in there that the ants realized they could eat.  Tom refused to kill the ants, so he'd put them in his shirt pocket and wistfully peer into his pocket when I'd be trying to talk to him about something.  Needless to say, it was a stark contrast.

There was also Joe.  Joe...lets put it this way, his office was such a disaster that I was mortified when I had to use it to meet with clients.  He never seemed bothered by the plethora of dust bunnies, or the complete disarray of...everything.   

Eventually Lena left and there was a new attorney who we'll call Mandy.  Mandy took neatness to a whole new level.  Keep in mind that Tom, the guy whose couch was rarely visible, ran the office. When Mandy came on board, she would take Friday's to organize the file rooms, organize the files, organize everything.  For the first time, there was order, and with it came peace.  It never once occurred to me that I could take it upon myself to organize these things. 

One day, I walked into Mandy's office while she was gone.  There was such a pervasive peacefulness, order and calm and I was struck by it.   I just stood there in her doorway for quite sometime in total awe of her office.  There was not a dust bunny, an out of place paper, or even an unnecessary file.  It inspired me. 

Everything needed its place.  Extra things had to go.  I cleaned.  I decluttered.  I picked Mandy's brain - how do you do it?  For Mandy it is second nature, for me, it was a whole new paradigm. 

It has now leaked into my personal life.  I just moved into a new apartment, and first I cleaned everything with the very same cleaning supplies I watched Lena use.  Everything is finding its spot (a concept I used to think was completely over the top). 

The thing is, that there has been MAJOR improvement.  My disdain of neat people is gone, and replaced with respect.  I've taken the time to learn, and am striving to apply principles that are new to me.  I used to think that a person was either a neat person, or they weren't, and that there was no shifting from however you were born.  As I used to tell Tom before I left working there, people can change. 

But, as I've noticed in times past when I've grown leaps and bounds, no one is here to appreciate the growth.  Few people here have known me well enough to know; I've grown.  A lot and the difference is...huge. 

The Unspoken

Tonight I visited with a friend who lives in an abusive relationship.  As we talked about many different things, it became clear that part of the problem was that most of the people she spends time with accept abuse in marital relationships as normal.

This would have seemed rediculous to me, except that not too long ago I had a case from Kenya.  My research for this case caused me to delve into the culture of Kenyans - and one aspect was the abuse.  I have a friend from Kenya who lives near my brother so I was able to ask her questions as I sought to gain a full perspective for my case.  She said that the most shocking thing to her was that her sister is in medical school and even among her male medical students, they were generally of the opinion that it was okay to beat their wives.  These are MEDICAL STUDENTS. 

But the roots of the problem, she touched on, go a little deeper.  Her father is a good man, and somehow managed to avoid these beliefs and practices.  And why?  Because he had no sisters.  In the Kenyan culture, like many others around the world, much of the work is placed on the women.  She told of how other children made fun of her father because he had to fetch the water.  But it taught him to work.  And it sounds like it kept him humble as well, and he grew to be a good man.

When I lived in Salt Lake I was a Sunday School teacher.  One day one of my students told me about a thing I believe was called The Hunger Group.  After a lesson I'd taught about charity, or service - I don't quite remember - she said she thought I'd really enjoy it.  And I did.  The group believed based on a UN study that world hunger could be eliminated by elevating the status of women in the world.  It was there that I learned, and began to internalize the importance of treating women as equals.  I'd always believed it, but here, it became crystal clear - poverty rates, infant mortality rates, general prosperity all increase as women are treated as equals and not second class citizens. 

The group fought ideas I'd never even heard of, such as - educating your daughter is like watering someone elses garden. The idea that you should feed your boys before your girls because the boys will be the bread winner. 

As I spoke to my friend, it seems that her friends and family have the persistent idea that if a little boy is angry - it is okay, because it is a boy.  And the boys are doted on.  Which made me think of this artcle I recently read: 

http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052702304450004577277482565674646.html?mod=wsj_share_goog

So on my drive home from this time spent with my friends, it made me think - how would I raise a boy?  As I thought it over and thought about this article, I would want my son's to learn to serve.  I would hope to drive them to the service projects or to help someone mow their lawn.  My hope, of course would would be that he would become a good person, that the service would mature him, humble him, teach him consideration, and give him the drive to serve.Of course, there is no guarantee and right now it is just an untested idea.

As I thought about it further, it occurred to me that the Young Men's program in the church is designed to do this.  But more so, the priesthood is designed to do this.  At the age of 12, you pass the sacrament to the ward.  You go home teaching.  You are taught to give. 

Of course, going through the motions is no guarantee that the values will be internalized.  However, after studying and learning about two cultures where the abuse is built in and perpetuated, I think it is a good start, if nothing else.

Conversation with mechanic this morning:

Mechanic: Are you a law student?

Me: Uhh, no. I'm a lawyer. What makes you ask?

Mechanic: Oh, the paper in your car. Well, not so much the paper, but the AMOUNT of paper in your car.
____

I crossed paths with an old aquaintance from law school yesterday. We maybe had one conversation in law school, but he remembered my name. I was so impressed. Way to apply the whole - How to Win Friends and Influence People - principle of remembering people's names. Went to a party tonight and ran into a few other lawyers who practice with him. They say he is just amazing that way; always remembers peoples' names. I appreciate that quality. Makes me want to be more like that. Thanks for inspiring me David, I can't spell your last name...
_________

Experience as I was leaving work with a foot and a half of files in my arms because my bag broke from over use (or abuse, whichever you like better):

Sariah (name changed to respect employment contract):  You really have a lot of files in your arms.  Are you sure you don't want help, because you really look like you need help...? 

Me:  Oh, no.  I'm fine, but thanks. [as we pass security guard]

Security Guard:  Hey, do you need help carrying those files? 

Me:  No, really, I'm fine, but thank you.

Security Guard:  You really need help carrying those files.

Me:  Maybe, but really, I'm sure I'll make it to my car.



A few seconds later...

Two african-american dudes with dread locks and pants hanging low:  Hey, do you need help carrying those files?

Me:  No, but thanks so much for the offer.

Dudes - with sincere look of concern:  You really do need help with those files.  Are you sure you don't want us to help you?

Me:  Oh, thank you so much for being willing to help, but I really will be fine.  [Touched by their genuine concern.  Big smile of sincere appreciation for their kindness]

Dude:  You know, you have a really pretty smile.

Me:  Thanks so much!

Day made. 

I may just smile at a few more people...
and remember a few more names...
and try to cut back on the paper in my car. 

That last one may be shooting a little too high...

Half Marathon 2012

I have trained for two half marathons which I did not run, and run two half marathons for which I did not train. By the end of yesterday's half marathon I was done. I was not two for two. No need for more. Before I ran the half marathons I'd run a marathon and decided that one was enough to check it off my list. Done and done. I was hot and sweaty. It was at least 90 degrees, no exageration and the ENTIRE course was uphill. I have a passionate dislike for hills, and I am exceptionally bad at them. To top it all, I felt sick, the kind of sick only ladies are aquainted with. It was miserable. But quit I did not, and finish I did. At the end my legs hurt, I was drained of energy, hot, sweaty, and convinced that this too would be checked off my list of things to do in life. I was somewhat sad that my once adventurous spirit was becoming less so because that list I made as a young girl was slowly completed. What will I be doing with myself 10 years from now? I ran the race with my old roommate Liza. We sat, ate, recovered. Then the awards ceremony started. We had already decided we didn't want to stay for the awards ceremony, but we were too tired to move, so there we were. They started with the oldest category first - what seemed to me to be the very, very old category. Then to the sixties...then the fifties. My thoughts - 'Wow, these women look amazing...and they have 20 years on me...and they beat me, by a lot. That could be me in 20 years.' Keep in mind that I have now eaten a banana, rehydrated myself, and my body is slowly feeling better, and so is my spirit. I didn't win any awards in this race, other than the one they give everyone who doesn't quit.

But here is the thing, we all know that exercise is great for our health - but to really see it for the first time is a wholly different experience. These women in their late 50's looked vibrant, and honestly they were leaders and many of them had managed to convince large groups of other people to run with them. They were socially connected, and physically they looked decades younger than their physical age. My decision to quit racing was killed by seeing these vibrant, older women. As I drove the two hour drive home in my rusty old car, I remembered an article I had read several years back about how astounded French scientists to see the results of how good running was for one's health. So quit I will not, and continue I will for these, and many other reasons.

The Men Who Make Our Dreams Come True

Sometime this past year the realization hit me that my Dad is the man in my life who has made all my dreams come true. He and my mother taught me to dream, then helped me make those dreams a reality. He put me through college. He put me on a mission. He funded my study abroad. Thanks to him I was able to be debt free right out of college and be independent enough to pursue the things I really wanted.

Tonight I was reading a blog that I follow; the blog of a perfect stranger. She couldn't help but talk about how amazingly selfless her husband is. And to be honest, reading it made me want to be more selfless. I'd love to be able to make someone that happy. It inspired me.

That is the thing I love about guys. And I know I generalize -a lot, but let me here.

I am so grateful for my older brother, Ethan; for our endless hours of conversation. For his frank and happy way of being that I love so much. I am grateful for the way his first thought when he realized I'd driven to Georgia was to see if he could fix my air conditioning.

I am grateful for my little brother, Vince, for his sweet nature. I had to learn to be careful when I was in law school when I answered the question "How are you?", because he'd find a way to do something about it. He'd always ask for permission to call me from Belgium when he was on a mission there while I was serving in France.

I will always be grateful for my high school sweetheart, Chris. He was so other-centered that it baffled me. He taught me that I could be, and was loved. Even all these years later, his influence still makes me want to be a better person. Furthermore, when life throws its punches, I hold my head up a little higher when I think of how he treated me. He made me believe in my own value because he genuinely did. His kindness melted walls I didn't even know existed.

There are also my guy friends who always seem to contact me when life seems to be blue (ahem, Nate, his timing is nearly always flawless). Or who thankfully only work ten minutes away when I'm stranded on the side of the highway in 100 degree weather with a flat tire. (Ahem, Brett - he dropped everything to come help). Or there was the time my car got broken into and Chad drove an hour down and spent the day helping me replace my window and repair my car. There are guy friends who allow me to stretch my wings (Shaun) and ones who are consistent friends even after years and years (Jake - he has been far more forgiving and patient than I deserved). And of course, there are the guys who have been, usually without knowing it, direct answer to prayer (Charles - helped me fix my roof without lnowing Id spent my morning praying for that specific help and Mark- he and his wife brought me food once after I'd prayed for it without knowing of my prayers).

I am so grateful for all of them. They say that the errand of angels is given to women...but I would venture to say that it isn't gender specific.

Here's to all the guys who make our lives so awesome.

Second Hand Stories

I called Grandma and Grandpa tonight to tell them about the movie Red Tails. These were the stories I got in return, plus one from my friend Brett.

On John Walling:

John Walling was a childhood friend of Grandma's and an only child in his family. He somehow mananged to make it on to Japanese ground, take pictures, and bring them back to Nantucket. Unfortunantly, John was killed later in a submarine. Naturally, most of the Nantucket boys joined the Navy, being seamen and all.

Grandma went on to say that in the basement of Auburn Cottage there is a wooden post with the initials JW carved in them. John had carved these when he was a kid, and Great-Grandma Jones didn't have the heart to paint over it after John died. Grandma said he was one of the nicest people.

I'll have to check that out next time I make it to Nantucket.



Auburn Cottage, where Grandma grew up

On Depth Charges:

Grandma and Grandpa asked me if I'd ever heard of these...and no, I'd never heard of them. Grandpa told me I'd lived a sheltered life. Indeed, I've never lived through a world war. Grandpa explained that the submarines would try to find other submarines. So the German submarine, for example, would shut off all of its power, try to make absolutely no noise, and the American submarine would listen for it, and use their machinery to figure out where the submarine was, and then bomb away at it.

Grandma, who lived on Nantucket Island during the war said that at nights they could feel the depth charges. Auburn Cottage was right on the harbor. They'd get to school the next day and ask each other if they felt the depth charges. Some had, some hadn't, but they hoped they'd gotten the German submarines.



Ginette, Colette, Aunt Anne (mom's sister) and Uncle Jack with an ocean facing picture by Auburn Cottage

On the Tuskegee Airmen:



My friend Brett used to work for a carpet cleaning company and one night he got a call from a house that he didn't realize he was supposed to be cleaning. It was an honest mistake, but it caused him to be quite late to that appointment.

When he got there the man was irritated. To make matters worse, Brett blew a fuse. And to make matters even worse, he blew the fuse again. The very irritated man at this point brought Brett down to the fuse box. On the way down, the man pointed to a photo and asked Brett if he knew what it was. In fact, he did. And he realized that this man was a former Tuskegee Airmen. The irritation melted on the part of the man when he realized Brett knew what he was, and respect grew on the part of Brett, and the entire feeling of the night changed. The man showed Brett a book about the Tuskegee. There were so many more people in the book that Brett expected, until it dawned on him that every single mechanic, personel, etc. were all included in this group and they have reunions every year.

On the desegregation of the U.S. military:

Grandpa said that he was a part of the military when Harry Truman integrated blacks and whites in the military. Grandpa, a northern boy, was in the navy and working in the hull of a ship when a new man came down to work with them. Since he was coming down on a ladder, his feet were the first thing they saw. There was a southern boy down there with my grandfather and as soon as he saw the color of the man's legs he found a phone and called upstairs.

Southerner: Sir, the man coming down here is colored.

Officer: What color is he?

Southerner: Black.

Officer: Well, don't worry, it won't rub off on you. [And he hung up.]

Smile, You Don't Know Who Is Watching

This morning I stopped at my usual stop light on the way to work when that strange feeling you get when someone is looking intently at you came over me. Looking to my right I noticed a pedestrian on the street looking right at me as I waited for the light to turn. I suddenly became very self-aware. What was so unusual about me sitting in my car that it would cause a pedestrian to pause? - I mused. It was then that I realized I was just sitting there in my car with a huge, genuine smile.

I couldn't help it. The guy on the radio had cracked an incredibly witty joke causing me to laugh outloud, alone in my car. But you don't just go from laughing to straight faced, you kind of smile for a while after - and that was the very moment the pedestrian caught me. I guess there is something that gives a pedestrian pause when a person sitting in her car during rush hour traffic in downtown St. Louis is randomly smiling.

With that said, later in the day I came across this:




Enjoy!