ellenoutloud's Blog: balance

Tiger Woods did not have a good game this weekend. Don’t we love to watch folks fall from the pedestals we put them up on? I too watched with a modicum of morbid curiosity as one of America’s greatest athletes performed his own gold medal-worthy dive off that pedestal.

It seems the guy with the swagger lost both his swash and his buckle – crashing, burning, and landing among the losers, next to dead last. I’ve been there myself.

I spend a lot of time in these posts on the topic of moderation. Like the proverbial Indian in search of a happy hunting ground, I am relentless in my quest of a happy medium, a place where my persona can hang and rest easy -- somewhere between Diva and Doormat. It’s quite the quest!

It’s a full time job keeping this ego in check. While I don’t want to hog the kleiglights again, I don’t want to stay an usher the rest of my life either. My friend and inspirator encourages me to step right on up to center stage and rest assured that if I overdo it, the universe will find a way to humble me.

Oh, I know it will. I am most familiar with the fall pride goes before. I’ve been on top of the heap and buried by it and have worn myself out with the climbing up and the falling down. Each time I crawl back up I’m more humble and decidedly more grateful. But with age, I confess the getting up is getting harder on the knees.

Guess that’s why I’m climbing a little slower these days, exercising a little more caution, and stopping once in a while in my climb to catch my breath. This time, when I get there, I want to enjoy the summit.

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“I claim to be a simple individual liable to err like any other fellow mortal. I own, however, that I have humility enough to confess my errors and to retrace my steps.” – Mahatma Gahndi

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What does your summit look like? I’d love to hear where you’d like to rest easy today…

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I love books. I mean love them, with extra OF in LOVE them. Could be in my DNA. Back before it was fashionable my mom had floor to ceiling bookshelves built in our den. One of her big regrets when she learned her illness was terminal was that there were so many books she hadn’t read. At the time I thought that was so strange, but I can really appreciate it now.

I was on line recently and ran across a blog asking readers for the last life-changing book they’d read and how they came across it. I wrote this and want to share it with you all:

I found my last life-changing book in the meat department at the grocery store. I was at the end of a very long day towards the end of what had been a very long year. I had held it together pretty well up until the moment I bumped into an acquaintance who made the mistake of asking me: “How are you?”

First I laughed, and then I started bawling. I lost it. Right there by the door marked Butcher’s Entrance Only, between the pork chops and chicken. How many tears in hysterical?

Bless his heart. My friend gave me an awkward hug and patted my back and tried to dial down the scene I was making. And then he handed me a book. How he happened to have it on him and at that particular meltdown moment I will never know. “Here, here.” He said. “Read this.” And I did. It was Og Mandino’s “The Greatest Salesman in the World.” A powerful, life-changing book that’s not so much about sales, and all about tenacity and the indomitable spirit.

I still read passages from it almost every day. I think of that day as the one where I went to the store and picked up both hamburger and hope.

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Today I encourage you to be brave enough to comfort the crazy person in the meat department – or whoever you are called to help. And if you have a favorite inspiring book? I’d love to hear about it. I noticed Marlene from MJWOMEN posted a reference to this book yesterday. Must be the Universal Consciousness at work again…

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Sometimes, to succeed, you may have to get a little messy!

Growing up, I dreamt of being lithe, tall, attractive, graceful, and popular. I SAW myself being all those things, not the short, chubby, clumsy kid reflected in the mirror.

My dream me was the one I saw with my eyes closed, and man, she could dance! But no matter how many times I spun arabesques in my head, the real me had two left feet. The disparity between dreams and reality was obvious when I decided to try out for my High School Drill Team.

My friends thought I’d gone ‘round the bend altogether. “Are you CRAZY? Drill team is for the cute, popular girls. Besides you have to know how to do the routines. You’re too short, you can’t dance and you aren’t coordinated.” Raising myself to my full 4’ 10” I replied in my best argumentative debate voice: “Yeah?”

So, against the better judgment of friends and family, “We just don’t want you to get hurt…” I went for it. As I watched the drill leaders demonstrate the steps I knew I’d lost my mind. Wanting to be coordinated does not make it so. And, since I was born without rhythm and cannot remember more than two verbal commands at one time, I was out of step and out of my league. It was hard to concentrate for all the snickering.

The day of try-outs came and so did torrential downpours. Good for me, bad for the fifty beautiful, big haired, perfectly made up, goddesses vying for a spot. All I had on my face was some of my mom’s bright red, it’s-going-to-take-Comet-to-remove-this lipstick, and some Vaseline on my teeth. My hair actually looked better slicked down and sopping wet than it would have dry and frizzy. We all stood before the judges in full salute, waiting for the music to start, drenched to the skin in the deluge of rain.

Naturally, because of my size, they put me in front. The music wouldn’t start and the rain wouldn’t stop and I was standing in a mud hole, but I never stopped smiling. When the music came on, I went for it. Eyes on the judges, I let my dream girl out and managed to complete most of the routine mostly in step and never fell down.

Unbeknownst to me, I was the only one who finished the routine. Everyone else was adjusting their hair, wiping their faces, protecting mascara and making sure they didn’t get their tennis shoes muddy. I guess by comparison, I did okay. Which is why, every Friday night you could find me on the football field, front row center, a Fullerton High School Featherette.

The moral of the story? Sometimes to succeed you have to get a little messy. Smiling and sticking to the drill during the tough times is what sets you apart. You can come out on top if you are willing to get muddy and you never lose the smile. And Pond’s cold cream gets the lipstick off.
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I’d love to hear about your mud and smiles on the road to success!

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You know the expression, “Don’t Quit Your Day Job”? I’m here to tell you that some days I sure would like to! When I’m not writing, consulting, or otherwise roaming the planet, I fill in for the company I used to work for, providing administrative support to the movers and shakers that move and shake like I once did. I used to be a stock broker, but that’s material for a whole ‘nother post.

To say I am on a challenging assignment with a difficult boss would be an understatement. Yesterday, as her door slammed shut for the eleventh time in under an hour, (okay, third) I breathed in deeply through my nose, exhaled through my mouth, and repeated my mantra de jour: “it’s-not-about-me”, “it’s-not-about-me”, “it’s-not-about-me”.

Here’s what I told myself: Sometimes door slammers and control freaks are just trying to keep the cheese on their cracker when everything in their world is spinning out of control. Their vain efforts to feign order amidst chaos are coping mechanisms.

It’s be great if, when our world’s go haywire, and up is upside down, we could just sit on the floor, hang on to the walls and enjoy the ride -- whispering: “wheeeeeee-e-e-e-e.”

Usually we don’t handle adversity with so much aplomb!

Instead, we try to hold it together. We muster our courage and we “gather” ourselves, and sometimes we don’t do a very good job of it. A voice gets raised, a door gets slammed. From time to time, we lose it.

I know. I’ve slammed some doors myself in my time.

The lesson I’m learning is to try and grant the grace I would want granted to me. No one flies off the handle unconscious. When we’ve come to the end of our rope and lash out at others, we usually feel worse than the ones that felt our whip.

I’m going to make a point of being extra patient – at least that’s my plan. What goes around comes around and I’m hoping the next time I lose it, those around me will have some grace, and maybe some earplugs.

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I’d love to hear how you grant grace –

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Yesterday I had my heart set on a spinach salad for lunch. Well, not so much my heart set, as my mind made up. I’m dieting, so I'm trying to make good choices and keep my stomach out of the decision making process.

I don’t know if they’ve gone global, but Jason’s Deli is an awesome restaurant – they offer a great variety and the food is always good, very fresh and tasty.

When I walked in, I lowered my eyes and made a beeline for the salad bar, lest I be tempted by their delectable soups, sandwiches, po’ boys, and muffalattas! Bowl in hand, I started at the greens and thoughtfully chose some romaine and lots of spinach. I passed on the arugula. Hard to eat what you can’t pronounce.

Next came the healthy stuff, the veggie array. Pickles, and olives, check. Carrots and cauliflower, check. Three shades of peppers. Yes, yes, yes. Then came the hard part. Sin alley. Condiments and accoutrements. My downfall. Crumbled egg, cheddar, feta, and cottage cheeses - bad, bad, bad. I stayed strong, passed them up.

Then I hit the salad dressings. Jason’s are homemade and register at least a 6.5 on the caloric Richter scale. Now normally when I make up my mind? It stays made. I said, normally. I even had my dipper in the vinaigrette when the lure of the siren’s song of fresh bleu cheese hit me. I froze, mid dip. I couldn’t move, my eyes glazed over. Days passed.

A helpful patron beside me, one who probably wanted to make her selections before her lunch hour expired, offered to break the impasse: “Good choice. Just stay away from the white stuff. Just remember: Color's good, white bad.”

I felt like Dorothy saved from the poppies. Fat free vinaigrette it was. Off I went, disaster averted.

Everything was going so well until I went to refill my iced tea, replete with lemon and sugar substitute. Right next to the to-go cups, Jason’s thoughtfully installed a free soft-serve machine, dispensing vanilla, chocolate, and combo-swirl ice cream.

Yep. The line in the sand. Time to stand strong. Make good choices.

My point is – the desire to do right lies within all of us. Decision-making is a process. A day after day, option after option, temptation after temptation thing. It’s a skill and it’s an art. Sometimes we make good choices, sometimes we make better ones. I like to think we learn from each and every one.

As for me? I chose … chocolate. C’mon, I’m a braveheart, not a saint. Besides, after all, it’s a color!

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Here’s wishing you a day and a weekend full of yummy choices and grand decisions! Be both brave and light hearted!

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A thousand years ago I was employed as a personnel consultant – that meant I found jobs for folks for a fee. I wasn’t very good at it. Oh, I was great at getting people placed, not so good at the getting paid part – me, not them. One of my most memorable clients had come to me looking for a “sit-down” job. She’d been employed as a waitress and in retail sales and stood on her feet all day. She just wanted to work somewhere she could sit.

Me? I’ve been sitting down all week, and crazy as that sounds, by the end of it I was dead tired. I’ve been looking forward to a sloppy weekend. Maybe that should be slobby. Consonants aside, you know what I mean. Where I don’t hafta set the annoying alarm, throw on the walking togs and head out in the heat to exercise. I just wanna sleep in and hang out in my nightgown all morning. Haftas and Wannas (see? Even my words get slobby on the weekends).

Have-tos, and Wants-tos – it’s a struggle – and a juggle for me, and about 1.2 billion other brave-hearted women around the world trying to accomplish all the tasks that need to get done when you’re working for someone else.

Yep, I’m a whiner, that’s what I am. I’m tired? I have a cushy, temporary assignment that involves answering the phones, baby-sitting a brokerage office, and keeping my mouth shut. (OK, that part’s a little hard )

It’s a “sit-down” job, and I’m well-reminded that women everywhere are working harder, handling more, and much tired-er. By comparison there’s not very much on my plate at all. I don’t carry the responsibility of raising children, supporting a family, and I’m not caring for aging parents.

When I want to lie down and rest because I deserve it? I remember I should be down on my knees in gratitude instead. Grateful for how easy I've got it. So this morning I walked the two miles, started the laundry, and wrote. And spent some time on my knees, most thankful.

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Juggling some hafta and wannas this weekend? I loved to hear about them!

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The night before I my first wedding I held the rehearsal dinner at Chuck E. Cheese Pizza, the one with the giant, costumed-rodent as their mascot. I always said I married the wrong rat.

It might seem an odd choice, but at the time, money was a big object and it was the only place I could think of to feed and entertain a whole bunch of friends, relations, in-laws and outlaws.

I spent a lot of time that evening playing Whac-a-mole. Surely, you remember it?

The good folks at wikipedia.org/wiki/Whac-A-Mole offer this:

"Whac-A-Mole is an arcade redemption game. A typical Whac-A-Mole machine consists of a large, waist-level cabinet with five holes in its top and a large, soft, black mallet. Each hole contains a single plastic mole and the machinery necessary to move it up and down. Once the game starts, the moles will begin to pop up from their holes at random. The object of the game is to force the individual moles back into their holes by hitting them directly on the head with the mallet, thereby adding to the player's score. The more quickly this is done the higher the final score will be.”

What Wiki left out is the fact that as you pass each level of play successfully, the rats start coming faster!

Now is there a life lesson there for us, or what????

As I head out to walk and stave off the effects of my Blue Bell addiction, I’m thinking that weight is just one of the gazillion challenges brave hearted women wrestle with. In our day-to-day game of life, something is always popping up demanding our attention, a new rodent every day.

There are weight moles, children and boss moles, husband, wife, boyfriend, girlfriend moles. Though, to be clear, I’m not promoting mallet-bashing loved ones or co-workers.

My point is there are always a host of issues and opportunities, rats and moles, to contend with – and new ones pop up all the time. Perhaps we should keep the spirit of the game in mind: Expect the moles! Expect that as you rise to a new level of success the moles will come faster! Brave hearts just need to stay calm, poised, focused and prepared– and carry a big mallet!
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I’d love to hear what moles you’re malleting today! And did anyone else notice that Whac a Mole was referred to as an arcade redemption game?
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As I made the mistake of stopping in at a Wal-Mart on a Saturday this past weekend, I was reminded that it is already “Back-to-school” time! Yikes! The crowds, the panic, and those were just the employees!

Seriously, without children of my own, some seasons change without me. I’m not as acutely aware of summer coming and going, spring break, school starting up. I think God gave us children so we’d pay really close attention to what’s going on. Maybe that’s why I have such a hard time keeping up!

Anyway, while I don’t envy the parent people that have to finance the annual foraging for supplies, and I’m really sorry for the ones that have children leaving the nest for the first time, I’m really excited for the students.

If I have one memory from my years in a classroom – behind and in front of the desk – it’s the sensation of opening up a brand new package of lined note-book paper. The loose, unbound, 3-hold punch kind. Ah, the potential that lies within cellophane wrapping!

That seemed so symbolic for the whole first-day-of-school experience. The anticipation of something new – the proverbial blank slate -- the emphasis on learning. Remember when that was our purpose? To go somewhere every single day and learn?

When did that stop, and whose big idea was that?

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I wish you a day filled with anticipation and wonder. Go ahead, Unwrap it! Teach much, learn more.

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It was a little after two this morning when I noticed it. I’d gotten up to appease my miniscule bladder and was settling back into bed. I did my requisite adjusting ritual: Over to the right, no, to the left, fetal position assumed. I pulled my trusty pillow from between the headboard and the mattress where it likes to hide, and wedged it snugly behind my head, neck, and shoulders. That’s when I felt it…

Oh, no. I checked again. I was right. My pillow lost its pouf. In an instant, it’d gone flatter than a pancake. See, I don’t invest in high end, straight from Sweden, specialty bolsters that require the loss of a hundred duck’s feathers. Or geese. "Geese" doesn’t work in that sentence.

My head supports aren’t pneumatic, foam, or ergonomically correct. They are called “Standard” and I get them at Target. They do the job, but they do not do it forever. Like light bulbs, they go out all at once.

For the remainder of the night/this morning I was a rotisserie chicken. I was Sleepless in Alamo without my mojo. May not seem like a big thing, but to me? It is significant.

My point is – I depend on that pillow to do its job, work its magic. Be a pillow. The best pillow it can be. I'm thinking we need to be the best (fill in the blank) _________s we were designed to be – Fullfill our purpose. Be significant. Others are depending on us.

If you think about it – you are somebody’s – a lot of somebody’s mojo. You play a critical role, have a specific, intended, purpose. You are indispensable, and without you, a lot of people would be losing sleep.

See? If we’re open to it, we can learn a lot by a stuffing-filled piece of fabric. Or maybe that’s just the sleep deprivation kicking in…

Have a great Wednesday – be significant, be indispensable!

Don't you feeling like applauding myself when you make it all the way through the checkout line at the grocery store without succumbing to temptation?

Those marketing pros know what they’re doing, laying out all those overpriced must-haves and wanna-gets all within arm’s reach, virtually asking to be tossed on the moving conveyer. And, naturally, that’s where the put all the coolest magazines. The headlines on each one should read: PICK ME!

I guess it’s all about the power of final impressions – we tend to remember best, what happens last. Here's your Friday Fun -- Try this!

Quickly:

- Think of three things on display at the checkout line
- Think of three movie endings
- Think of three world’s records

Now... try to name three things at the store’s entrance? Three movie beginnings? Not so easy, huh? Not so memorable. Maybe that’s why the folks at Ripley’s don’t keep track of great starts. And no one remembers who came out of the gates in first place, or for that matter, who stumbled, only who finished well. Last things tend to, well, last.

It’s funny how we spend so much energy trying to make good first impressions, when what’s most memorable is how we end things.

Big Finishes are sheer magic! I think of the ones in spectacular music – you know, where the orchestra swells -- like at the end of Nessun Dorma, or a great aria, okay, a Celine Dion song. My point is, it builds and builds, and the prettiest part comes at the end.

Halleluiah, bravehearts! The best is yet to come. No matter how we started out, we can have a fabulous finish.

Life is all about the CRESCENDO!

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Whoo Whee! I wish you a grand finish to another good week. Stay strong! Soldier on!

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Great news, I’m expecting!!! No, no, no – not THAT kind of expecting – no need to alert the media or search the eastern skies for a star, I’m not pregnant, but I am expecting.

In precisely sixteen days I will be receiving something that I’ve been wishing for, well, for months. And today I’ll find out exactly when I can accept delivery!

You cannot imagine how excited I am – well, sure you can. All you have to do is think back to the last time you knew for certain you were going to get what you’d been hoping for.

Maybe it was a job you wanted, or a promotion at work. Maybe the buyers agreed to your offer on their home, or the sellers put a contract on yours. Anyway, THAT feeling – that certainty you are about to receive what you’ve longed for – it makes you positively giddy. Giddy and expectant!

Ever since I was a little girl I always wanted something to look forward to because I always thought the looking forward part – the right before it gets here part – was always the most fun. Usually, anticipation turned out much better than whatever it was I was waiting for.

As I plan and prepare and make ready for the wonderfulness arriving in less than two weeks, I am beside myself. Maybe, in part, because I know for almost certain that what I’m hoping for will arrive.

Oooh Whee. What if we could manifest that same excitement, anticipation, and enthusiasm when we’re not exactly certain of the arrival date, while we’re still in the wishing “gestation” period?

What if we woke up every day expecting something outrageously wonderful to arrive at any moment?

What say we look forward to that!

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Coming from California, I’m quite familiar with the term “irreconcilable differences” – the State sort of coined the concept. But married or not – we all know what they are, and we’re going to have them from time to time if we are going to engage with other mortals on this orb of ours.

Not long ago, my mate and I had one specific, seemingly, irreconcilable difference. It doesn’t really matter what it was, could have been the temperature to set the thermostat on – but it sure didn’t seem that either one of us could have our own way.

We’re not talking about compromise, here – I’m talking about the times where you absolutely want a specific outcome, like the choice of where to live. If you’ve both decided on a here, and they aren’t the same geographic here, you’ve reached an ‘impasse’.

Our friends at Wiki depict an impasse like this:

"It seems to me the thing's an impasse. French expression," I explained, "meaning that we're stymied good and proper with no hope of finding a formula.

No hope, no answer, no solution.

My mate and I tabled our discussion and that night, I distinctly prayed for a right outcome. Not MY way, not a compromise, but a right outcome. I closed my prayer with the affirmation: If _________________ is to happen, it will happen, and in the best possible way. And so it is.

Within the month an outcome presented itself that was NEITHER his nor my original desire – but a better resolution than either of us had even conceived of.

And here are the two lessons for me – it wasn’t that there wasn’t an answer, it’s just that neither of us was bright enough or open enough to see it, or was ready to see it. The best possible outcome was always an option, just waiting around the corner.

Usually when you are at an impasse it's because the right outcome hasn't found its way to you yet! So see? We're never really stuck – or ‘stymied good and proper’ – we’re just waiting!

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I wish you a great day filled with possibilities!

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The full moon last night was spectacular – the kind I imagine inspires poets, lovers, and the rest of us mere mortals. It was bold and bright, with aspects of its face clearly visible, and just a scant, gossamer veil of cloud wisps. Sigh. Definitely worth sharing!

I texted a friend to go outside and look at it, and was somewhat dismayed that I didn’t receive a message back responding with equal enthusiasm as to its beauty.

Turns out that just six hundred miles away there was too much cloud cover and meteorological interference to see what I was seeing. I was disappointed we couldn’t share the same view.

BINGO! What an object lesson!

I immediately “got it” – my friend couldn’t see what I was seeing because she wasn’t uh, to use some clichés, walking in my shoes – looking at it from where I was.

And, see? I didn’t get frustrated with her. I didn’t blame her. I didn’t try to coax, cajole, or convince her to see things my way. Why? Because I readily accepted that since she wasn’t where I was and didn't share my perspective, she might not see it exactly as I did.

Wow. If I could just keep this life lesson on my front brain burner! Sometimes, due to life-cloud cover or other experiential interference, we can’t always see things exactly the same way.

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Okay, Brave hearts -- wherever you are and whatever your individual perspective? Treat yourself and see if you can't catch a glimpse of lady luna tonight. She should still be showing off!

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A few minutes after the noon yesterday, the woman I’ve been assisting this summer received a surprise, the delivery of a dozen and a half long-stemmed, American Beauty roses. The nice delivery guy wrestled his way through the door, and yes, after I got my jaw back in alignment, I helped him.

The photo above does not do justice to the arrangement – it was ginormous. I have never seen such an incredibly large presentation of flowers – I couldn’t lift the vase.

Now, me, personally? I’ve never received eighteen roses in my life, much less, all at once, but then, I don’t think I’ve ever done anything to warrant such a gesture either. In fact, my mind reels wondering what I’d need to… but that’s not my point!

After the delivery, same said boss received two calls of a personal nature. Okay, I’m a snoop; we can judge me later, back to the story.

The first lasted about two minutes, all serious whispers and hushed tones. The next call lasted much longer, and throughout it, through the closed doors, I could hear muffled giggling. Then louder chuckles. Then peals of laughter, the infectious, contagious kind, like those wind-up giggle dolls, She snorted and chortled and carried on so much I started in too!

I sent her this message over our intercom system: “Forget the roses, find someone who can make you laugh like that everyday”.

In my book a sense of humor is the secret to a long, lasting, happy relationship – it’s the most precious thing.

So this Friday, just for fun, Brave Hearts, why don’t you share your “One Thing” If you were counseling a young woman on the “Secret” to a happy love relationship, what would you advise her to look for?

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Can’t wait to hear!

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"There is no chance, no destiny, no fate, that can circumvent or hinder or control
The firm resolve of a determined soul." Ella Wheeler Wilcox

per·ti·na·cious

When my friend and I are similarly unmotivated to tackle our respective business-building pursuits, we can waste, er, “spend” vast quantities of time playing with words. We enjoy discovering them, using them, tracing their roots, and bending them to our will. Great fun.

I cannot wait to show her the one I found rummaging around for a good synonym for tenacity. It all started when I was ruminating over why I have succeeded in attaining some goals and not others in my life.

I thought at first it had something to do with how badly I had wanted to achieve some of them. That’s close, but that’s not it. I think some dreams, like their nocturnal counterparts, just won’t leave you alone, they nag at you, leaving impressions that stick with you a long time, while others are scarcely formed before they vanish like vapor.

Whether the dream persists or dissolves like so many ice cubes on a hot day may just determine its attainment.

Case in point. I wanted to graduate from college. Not attend college, graduate. It seems looking back that's all I thought about from elementary school on. I was obsessed with that cap and gown.

There were huge obstacles to completing school -- family, finances -- but nothing dissuaded me. It never occurred to me that anything was going to keep me from my sheepskin, which was disappointingly parchment, but who knew?

I had some ephemerally fuzzy hopes and wishes for my post-grad career – to be a world renowned broadcaster, corporate mover and shaker, wall street hotshot -- but they were never fully defined, persisting, unrelenting, visions. The college degree thing had its tentacles on me from the get go.

Hmmm. Tentacles. Must be where the word tenacious comes from. Hah! I may have discovered the recipe for goal attainment: tenacity coupled with persistence – pertinacity! Wait till I tell my friend.

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Maybe this weekend you can spend some time with your big dream -- you know, the one that has its tentacles on you and refuses to let go?

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