Hitting the Wall

by -

I’ve done it. I’ve hit the wall.  Didn’t see this coming. And I thought things were going so well. Guess it had to happen at some point.  After all, it’s been a while since the lay-off and lots of things have happened.   

My enthusiasm has left the building.  I’m tired of networking, bored with looking, frustrated with consulting despite that it was my dream opportunity.  How did this happen?  What’s going on?  Maybe it’s really the flu.  Nope, no fever, so that can’t be it.

Hubby wanders in to find me staring off into space, TV blaring to some inane daytime show.  He tries to coax me out of the funk, but it’s too late.  Mr. Funk and I are BFF’s now, and we vow to hold on to this feeling as long as possible.  We’re holding a full-blown pity party.  Too bad I didn’t send out invitations for others to join us. Oh well; that would mean getting interested in something and using energy.

What’s happening to me?  This is not who I am.  I’m the problem solver, the one who figures out the next greatest move and acts on it.  And if I can’t act on it, I at least share it with someone who can.

Too many coffee meetings. Too much time to read about unemployment rates, the poor economy and the sad state of the Kardashians.   Poor beautiful rich girls.  Life just isn’t fair, is it?

If we believed what the media told us in January, the unemployment rate decreased slightly and we should have been jumping for joy.  The skeptic in me, as well as an informal focus group of my friends, said that things were not that rosy in the job market.  I’m not sure where the media gets these stats.  And now, a quick scan of the paper indicates more lay-offs both locally and abroad. 

Despite such news, I keep trying to stay positive. I head outside to sit by the pool for a bit, convinced that some vitamin D from the sun will help chase Mr. Funk away.  Unfortunately, I misjudged the sun and got more than I needed so now I’m doing my lobster imitation. 

Maybe I just need a break from everything; a change of scenery.  We’ve got a vacation planned and hopefully that will do the trick.  Just getting away from it all; sitting under a cabana at a different pool, with people waiting on me all day while I catch up on all my fashion magazines. 

I’m going with a positive attitude, that I will come back refreshed with a different outlook.  And if I happen to run into the Kardashians while I’m there, I may just ask if they have any job openings.  After all, it would be fun to hang with the rich and famous.   

© Tami Cannizzaro 2012 All Rights Reserved

Plenty of Room

by -

All I could hear was Hubby’s side of the conversation, an occasional question, followed by “uh-huh” and a splattering of other information.  Hard to tell exactly what he was talking about or who he was talking to for that matter.  Of course my fever and congestion had me so foggy that he could have been singing Lady Gaga and I wouldn’t have recognized it.

“Of course you can stay here; there’s plenty of room”, followed by a click of the receiver. That’s when I perked up, propping myself up from the couch enough to ask him who he had been speaking with.  Not that it really mattered at that point because apparently we were about to have company stay with us.  If I’d had any strength at all or if my senses hadn’t been dimmed by the heavy antibiotics, I’m sure I would have shrieked at him about the fact that this was probably not a great time for company.

After all, I hadn’t seen the outside world in a week, much less had a shower.  Our house, which was usually clean enough for a surprise visit, had the stale smell of take-out containers and was decorated with used tissues, cough lozenge wrappers and assorted blankets and pillows strewn about.  The dog hair was piling up all over the place, making our carpet a mélange of texture and color.  All I could do was lay back on the couch and hope that the dishes in the sink would miraculously put themselves into the dishwasher. 

“Seriously, sweetie, is it really a good idea for others to be in the same house with me?”  I could see he felt bad for even offering.  Hubby had been sick too, although he managed to recover quickly.  My illness was stuck to me, like gum to the bottom of a shoe. 

Nothing to do at that point but accept the fact that we would have guests.  Lovely guests too, it’s just that I was in no shape to host, seeing as I was barely able to make it from the bedroom to the couch.  So I made it my goal to feel better by the time they arrived.

That time is now, and unfortunately I’m not much better.  I did introduce myself to the shower, which was great, but my head is still foggy and I can’t seem to go anywhere without some sort of liquid to soothe my throat.  Hubby has helped rid the kitchen of the piles of take-out containers and showed the dishes how to get into the dishwasher.  Yet the dog hair remains, left for me to handle while Hubby is out. 

I realize the company will be here soon and the dog hair has to go.  But where does it have to go, I ask myself?   Still shrouded by the head fog, I wander the house trying to figure out what I was supposed to do with the dog hair.  Ah-ha! The vacuum cleaner.  I see the vacuum; even have both hands on the vacuum.  Yet somehow it’s become freakishly heavy and I’m unable to move it out of the closet.

Wow, why is vacuuming so hard? I must be weak from the flu.  I try to push the vacuum back and forth, but the hair just seems to stay put.  Oh, it would help if it was plugged in.  Trying again, I start to make head-way.  After just a few back and forths and sweating profusely from the fever, I take a break.  Next thing I know the dog is waking me with her kisses, urging me to get up before the company arrives. All I want to do is lay on the carpet. When did our carpet become so comfortable?

Ding dong!  Oh no; are they here already?  Where’s Hubby?  The dog’s bark tells me it’s not our guests, just our neighbor asking something about the yard, or the trees, or the fence, or something.  I lay back down to rest on the carpet.

Sigh.  I hate being sick.  Just hope I’m better before the doorbell rings again.

© Tami Cannizzaro 2012 All Rights Reserved

Forced Family Fun

by -

Merry Christmas! Happy Hanukah!  Happy Kwanza!  Best wishes to you and yours as you celebrate the holiday season.
We’re on a plane.  Not right this second, but we will be shortly.  A quick day trip to spend time with my family.  All of us, together under one roof.  Lots of fun; tons of food.  Yes, it’s a long day.  I think of it as a time-honored tradition, one that we all agree to even if it is just once a year.
My friend refers to holidays as Forced Family Fun. 
At first I thought this was a bit sad.  Doesn’t everyone want to travel great distances or host large groups, all in the name of family tradition?  How could you miss Auntie’s famous yellow Jell-O salad with potato chips, the one that no one eats but tradition says we’re required to have? How about the high-decibel shrieking of dozens of kids running through the house?  What about peace, love and harmony? Earplugs, anyone?
Who am I kidding?  As much as I love my family – and I really do; they are the best – sometimes it just seems like too much.  Stressed out from work, overwhelmed with the millions of things going on in our lives, with no time to relax and enjoy the season – for Hubby and me, family time is the last thing on our list.  Top of the list is sleep, followed closely by a couch potato contest to see who can remain on the couch the longest. We’d just like a day without obligations to enjoy the peace and quiet.
 Yet every holiday, families around the world spend time and money simply to be together. 
We load up the car, drive long distances, sleep on the floor or the couch or wherever, share a bathroom full of toddler toys, step all over each other in a house that’s too small even for the family that lives there – and for what? A turkey dinner?
No. We do it for family.  Tradition. A sense of belonging.  And most importantly, for us.
It’s not always easy to travel to these get-togethers, nor is it easy to be the host.  And when people start getting cranky I try to remember that there will be a day when the older relatives are gone and we’ll be left to fend for ourselves.  We’ll long for the day when we actually were required to be somewhere for the holiday, and we’ll actually miss the shrieking kids as we try to re-create Auntie’s Jell-O salad.
Maybe the holidays are Forced Family Fun.  You know what?  Bring it on.  I’m ready.
© Tami Cannizzaro 2011 All Rights Reserved

Time is a Funny Thing

by -

Time is a funny thing.  Seems like it either moves too slowly or too fast; never at the right speed. 
When I was a kid, time seemed to move at a snail’s pace during the school year.  Especially around Christmas.  As soon as Thanksgiving was over, mom and dad would start decorating and shopping.  Sis and I started counting the weeks, days and minutes until Christmas.  It was both exciting and agonizing.  Once the brightly wrapped presents came out, we could hardly contain ourselves, pleading with mom to let us open just one present early.
After the holidays, time seemed to come to a screeching halt. All I could see were the endless months of school ahead.  It was hideous.  Despite that I was a good student and basically enjoyed school, it still seemed never-ending.
When the final bell rang on classes I’d run home, thinking about the long, glorious summer months that lay ahead.  Sleeping late, swimming, bike riding, skating and watching cartoons with no responsibilities. It was awesome!  Yet with the blink of an eye, it would be time for school again.
The older I got, the faster time moved.  At college, school became a year-round task, measured by semesters and short breaks.  Summers were fun but definitely not care-free since I attended summer school each year.  A normal class load on steroids is not, by definition, fun.  Gone were the illusions that Christmas was light years away. 
When the lay-off hit, the first thing I thought of – aside from looking for work – is that I would finally get some time.  Time to do the things I’d been putting off, clean the closets, hit the gym, connect with old friends, finish at least a dozen projects that were in various stages of completion and of course, relax.  Others told me to be careful, that time moved slowly without work and that I’d get bored.  Something must be wrong with me because I’ve never been bored. During the first few months I was the busiest non-working person ever. Hubby and I joked that it’s hard to believe we ever had time to work with all the other stuff there was to do.  Time just flew by.
As I took on consulting gigs and assorted part-time work, once again time became a blessing and a curse.  Productivity went up the busier I became, yet personal satisfaction decreased as I was stretched so thin.  Gym work-outs became 15 minutes – if that – and personal goals were put on the back-burner.
The constant struggle to focus on career, look for a new job, and/or build a consulting business, make money in the meantime, and find time for family – that’s where I’m at now. 
To top it off, my one day each week that’s supposed to be dedicated to working on personal goals has become a fire-drill for the umpteen other things that I’m trying to juggle.  It’s hard to eliminate any of the items on my plate as they are all meant to help my career.  And it’s frustrating.
Maybe I should develop a time machine or other contraption that would slow things down, allow me to savor the moments.
Despite the time crunch, there are plenty of positives.  The good news is that I’m vertical.  And I’ve got options.  Too many options, but at least I’m engaged in the game of life.  I’m happy to have things to keep me busy, as I hear from others in the workforce that they are worried about their jobs as work slows down in this economy. I need to remember this when I get frustrated.
Yes, time is a funny thing.
© Tami Cannizzaro 2011 All Rights Reserved

Inspiring Greatness

by -

I don’t remember much about our first meeting, except that I was somewhat in awe.  Trying to stay “cool”, I spoke to him directly and honestly, answering his questions and posing questions to him. I didn’t really think much about it at the time.  A famous jewelry designer, we were opening one of his new stores and there was work to be done. 
Something struck a chord between us, this awe-inspiring gentleman and me.  I was amazed to meet the man who built a business from the ground up and designed the jewelry I was wearing.  Later he would tell me that he was impressed by my academic credentials and day job, wondering why I was working part-time at his store. 
Inspired by this meeting as well as my experience working at his store, I left a misaligned career in engineering (my day job) to pursue a graduate degree that would launch my second career as a retailer.    Mr. J and I somehow stayed in touch. Not sure if I reached out to him or if he reached out to me – doesn’t matter.  The point is, we remained in contact. I even worked in his store during breaks from grad school.
At graduation I was ecstatic to land my dream job, and of course Mr. J was cheering me on, almost as proud of me as my own parents.  I kept him updated on my achievements and career movement; periodically he would pick up the phone to check on me.  I loved getting those calls. 
It’s been years since our first meeting and I still love talking to Mr. J.
My architect Hubby enjoys visiting with him as much as I do, since Mr. J is a designer and has an interest in architecture.  He even had an interview with Frank Lloyd Wright when he was younger!  Oh, the stories Mr. J can tell.  We never cease to be amazed at all that he’s experienced and accomplished.
One of the biggest things that Mr. J has accomplished is inspiring people. Customers are more like groupies, all eager to tell employees when they first received one of his designs.  Most have never met him, but feel an emotional connection to him through his thoughtfully designed items.    
Mr. J doesn’t know it, but he inspires me every day.  He politely brushes it off when I tell him I owe the career that I love to him and his encouragement.  He doesn’t believe me when I tell him how his company was a pioneer in certain areas. I think my praise embarrasses him.  But it’s true.  And I’m not one to dole out unwarranted praise.
Whether he likes it or not, Mr. J is my “unofficial” mentor.  And I couldn’t ask for a better one.
I do wish that I’d understood the role of a mentor earlier in my career.  If so, I would have picked up the phone to Mr. J more often, asking his advice about certain career moves.   Maybe I would have made the same choices; maybe not.  But I haven’t taken advantage of his experience and knowledge like I should have. 
When I lost my job, I took a part-time job at the store where it all started. I called Mr. J to let him know.  He gave me a pep-talk, encouraging me, telling me I would be successful no matter what.  He connected me with corporate folks to discuss job opportunities. He shared ideas and thoughts as I considered working for myself.  Inspiration at its best.
I’ve got a chance to inspire those who are just embarking on their careers.  I’m actually a mentor now myself. Unlike Mr. J, I pro-actively took on this role.   Like Mr. J, I wonder why these younger people want to talk to me and if I have enough insight to help them.
One thing I know for sure: I hope to encourage and inspire people like he did for me.  Even if I’m not famous.
© Tami Cannizzaro 2011 All Rights Reserved

A Job-less World

by -

True visionaries come around once in a great while.  I’m talking about those who not only envision the future, but actually make things that seem impossible come to life.
I’m not one of those people.  Oh sure, I have had my share of great ideas.  My challenge is in believing that I could actually make a seemingly far-fetched idea a reality.
Some of my more ‘visionary’ ideas came during childhood. Walking home from school was a huge pain to me and my friends.  It wasn’t more than 8 blocks, although it was hilly, we were in the Texas heat and I was usually carrying books and a lunch box.  It seemed like the most arduous task, this walk.  To pass time, we’d let our imaginations wander.  I remember wishing that cars would have refrigerators in them so I could always have a cold drink. Maybe they could have a place for snacks too, so I wouldn’t pass out from starvation.  Even a TV to pass the time during family road-trips.
I thought it was fun to dream, but this wasn’t something that would happen. Or at least I couldn’t figure out how to make it happen. 
While most cars don’t have refrigerators, they do have drink holders. Wish I could take responsibility for having made that happen! And video screens in cars are almost old-school. Even more fun is the wireless connectivity that enables us to have a phone conversation through the car stereo speakers.  I’m pretty sure this was thought up by a kid walking home from school as well.
Even if I’m not one of them, I appreciate the genius that true visionaries share with the rest of the world.
We recently lost one of these rare individuals. Watching the news story about Steve Jobs’ life, it was eerie to watch a clip of him from 20+ years ago as he told us what we wanted, when even we didn’t know we wanted it.
Steve Jobs said we wanted “full-color screens” and that we wanted to watch full-motion video.  Back when he made these crazy statements, I was just happy to have a desk-top computer.  Steve had the vision that our electronic devices not only should work well but should also be stylish and come in a variety of colors instead of black.  Little did I know that I would become addicted to Mr. Jobs’ creations. 
Most of us just learned the “behind the scenes” story of Steve Jobs’ life.  That he was adopted. That as a kid he was a trouble-maker. That he dropped out of college due in part to financial constraints.  Apparently one of the most successful people in world had set-backs, including being ousted from the company that he founded. 
Ouch. That’s got to hurt.
Being the true visionary that he was, Steve apparently chose to look forward instead of licking his wounds, moving on to different opportunities including Pixar.  Lucky for us, huh? I’d hate to think of Woody and Buzz Lightyear in the old, flat two-dimensional cartoon format. 
We can all talk about how impressive Mr. Jobs’ vision was, how impressive his intelligence was, how impressive that he made money, etc.   You know what is most impressive to me, and something that I can actually use in my own life? His “never give up” attitude. 
When he couldn’t afford college, he kept on trying.  When he was ousted from Apple, he found a new opportunity.  When he was diagnosed with cancer, he fought back and kept moving forward.   For much of his career, this was all done in the public eye.  How tough is that?
Those of us in lay-off land can learn from Steve Jobs.  True, we may not be the visionary that he was.  But we can pick ourselves up and move forward.  We can fight for what we want. We can envision ourselves in a new opportunity. And we can try to maintain a positive attitude.
The legacy of Steve Jobs will be forever in the history books.  Online books, of course. Read on an Apple device. 
© Tami Cannizzaro 2011 All Rights Reserved

Under Pressure

by -

Lexus. Hummer. Mercedes. 300Z.  Think I’m at a car dealership?  Most dealerships I know wouldn’t have such a fine selection in one parking lot.
I’m in a college town, visiting at a student apartment complex.  Me and Ashton Cooper, my brand new Mini, are in town for a conference.  And I thought I had a fine ride.  Poor Ashton Cooper. He was so proud, and feels so out of place with all of these bigger luxury cars.  I tell him I’m proud of him and not to care what the other cars think.
As for me, I’m a range of emotions. Confused, appalled, amazed and yes, a bit jealous.  What are college undergrads doing driving such nice cars?  Might I add that none of these appear to be older models that have been passed down from parent to child?  They appear quite new.  Some still have paper plates. 
I’m sure the kids – and I hate to say it, but yes, they are kids – must need a nice ride to make up for the college living conditions.  You know, cinder block and wood shelves paired with an assortment of hand-me-down furniture.  One roommate brings the TV, one brings the microwave.  If you’re really fortunate, there’s a laundry hook-up in the apartment.  Extremely fortunate means one roommate actually has a washer and dryer to hook-up. Remember?
As I knock on the door of one of the units, I notice how nice the complex is.  Entering the apartment I’m stopped cold.  Whose dad purchased the 55” flat screen TV?  What’s this – there are flat screen TV’s in each bedroom? And each bedroom has a private on-suite bath? 
I step back outside to make sure I didn’t take a wrong turn and enter the Ritz Carlton. 
This place is unbelievable.  I’m told that this is not considered the nicest complex in town.  I’m also trying to figure out how I can move in.
The students plead their case.  “We’re under so much pressure. We’ve gotta have a nice place to live.” 
This is not my first semester, telling them to brace for a much lower standard of living once they’re on the own instead of living in a luxury apartment that came with all the furnishings. Rolling their eyes, they think I’m “old-school” and somewhat out of touch with the 21st century reality that is college academic life. 
LOL!  You don’t know snot, young ‘un. 
OK, so I didn’t really say that. But believe it or not, I do understand the kind of pressure you’re under. I was here, remember?
Research. Essays. Lab assignments. Projects. Exams.  All-nighters. Non-stop studying while living in an environment with non-stop partying.  Whew – college was tough; I remember it well.
Pressure packed days and weeks that led up to one KPI (key performance indicator) for the entire semester: GPA.  I still shudder when I think of it. 
Not the pressure; my GPA.  Undergrad was not my finest moment as a student.  Thank goodness I had the chance to redeem myself in grad school.
And there was the added pressure to determine a career path to choose.  Heaven forbid a mistake was made here. Life could be over. 
Yes, I’m painfully aware of the pressure. Years have passed since graduation and I still have the nightmare where I’m at college, it’s the end of the semester and suddenly I realize that I’ve never been to one of my classes.  Now I have to try and pass a final exam.  I wake up sweating every time I have this dream.
Kids, I’ve got news for you.  You haven’t experienced real pressure yet.
Real pressure happens once you enter the work force. No holiday breaks and no summer vacation. No option to choose between summer school or just working for some cash.
Real pressure also happens with a lay-off.  Losing your job is one of the most tense, pressure-packed situations a person can be in.  Not to mention emotional.  If you’re past 30 when a lay-off hits, you probably have a mortgage, maybe a family to think about.  This is not a situation for the faint of heart.  One wrong decision now affects those who depend on you too.
I’ve discovered that pressure never really goes away. It simply manifests itself in different ways. Now the pressure is on to find a job, one that we like and also pays enough to cover expenses.  Time is the enemy as those of us in lay-off limbo desperately search for a source of income during trying economic times.  Even if you’ve financially planned for a lay-off, the pressure is still there.  
How nice it would be if studying hard for a good grade would land a job in our lap.   
© Tami Cannizzaro 2011 All Rights Reserved

It’s All About the Shoes

by -

Hi there! How in the world are you?  You look fabulous! Me? Oh, you’re too kind.  It’s been great catching up with you; let’s talk again later.
“Who was that?” Hubby asks.  “I have no idea”, I reply. 
Yep, it was high school reunion time.  That fun yet awkward situation where you feel like you’re in a room with a bunch of people you went to high school with, but you can’t quite recognize anyone.    
Yikes. This was going to be a tough night.
I kept hoping it was just poor lighting or that I needed new glasses or that it was because I hadn’t seen these people in quite some time.   After all, I know I look EXACTLY the same as I did in high school, right? Surely everyone else does too. 
Never mind that most of the guys had long hair when we were in high school.  And we women were each a mere 90 lbs soaking wet, back in the day.   Not to mention that all of us, men and women, had yet to meet Ms. Clairol or Mr. Grecian Formula.
I spent hours agonizing over what to wear.  You’d think this would be easy yet youthful insecurities started creeping in.  As any high school girl will tell you, if you so much as wear the wrong shoes, it’s over.  As usual, it’s all about the shoes.
“Hubby, do you like this outfit or this one?”  I ask.  “Uh, either look fine to me”, responds Hubby.  Sweet, I guess.    “Should I wear a dress or pants? Which shoes, the high heels or the flats?  What about earrings?”  I’m almost pleading with Hubby at this point; the party’s in an hour and I still have to pick up the cake. 
Hubby, in a desperate attempt to retreat to the living room to watch football, blurts out, “Why are you so concerned? It’s not like you have to impress anyone.”
Ohhh… those are the wrong words for a woman getting ready to attend her Xth high school reunion.  No, I’m not going to say how many years.  Let’s just say it’s been a few.
Deep down I know he’s right, although I’m not going to tell him that. Why am I so concerned about what others think of me?  Who am I so desperately trying to impress?  After all, I’ve enjoyed career success, traveled the world and married the man of my dreams.  Seems like that would be enough.  What am I worried about?
Memories come flooding in.  I enjoyed high school, although I didn’t consider myself to be in with the “popular” crowd.  I sort of stayed on the fringe of several crowds, with friends all over the place.  And boy was I shy!  Hard for my current friends to believe that of me, as I am definitely not shy now.
My BFF from high school is still my BFF, even though we live across town from each other.  I tease about being her “shadow” in high school.  You see, she was (and is) beautiful and very popular, always had a boyfriend.
I, on the other hand, was none of those.  I was – and in some ways still am – convinced that many people didn’t know my name except that I was “popular girls’” friend and locker-mate.    BFF insists this was not the case.  We’ll just have to agree to disagree here. 
Even if I wasn’t the most popular girl in the school, I had a great time.  We had a great class, and we remain very devoted to each other.  Probably more so than most high school classes.  Our experience was more “Happy Days” than “Fast Times at Ridgemont High”.
Back to the reunion.
Thank goodness someone in the group had enough sense to get name tags for the party – ones with our pictures from high school.  It was the only way we stood a chance of recognizing each other.
Walking in, I suddenly felt a safe feeling, as though I was visiting family.  Maybe long-lost family, but family just the same.  Warm smiles and hugs were all around.  With each new arrival, shouts and laughter rang out as we greeted each other. 
Gone were the cliques that were so evident in high school.  Jocks, nerds, ropers, long-hairs, band weenies, cheerleaders and all others were now together as one class remembering the great times.
We smiled politely as we tried to remember each others’ names without looking at the name tags.  We shared stories of family, children and friends. The conversations were lively, funny and sometimes surprising.
“How many children do you have?”  “Eighteen and counting” What???  At least I know what you’ve been doing since high school.  “And you? How are your children?”   “Ours are all married and we’ve got about a bazillion grandkids”.  Yikes.  For someone like me with only a four-legged daughter, I’m about to hyper-ventilate.
Memories were everywhere. “Remember when?” was heard over and over. Amazingly we remembered the words to our school song, which we sang together before the “awards” were given out.
Awards for “most children”, “married the longest”, “traveled the farthest” and “changed the least”. Personally, I think we ALL should have won for “changed the least”.  Ms. Clairol and Mr. Grecian Formula are the only ones that know otherwise.
Our group, together again, as tight as ever.  In fact I think we’ve gotten better with age. For the most part, the further away we get from high school the less need there is to impress.  We’ve all gained experience and maturity.  
I’m happy to be part of a high school class that remains so united after all these years.  And just in case you’re wondering, my shoes made all the difference.
© Tami Cannizzaro 2011 All Rights Reserved

Rookie Status

by -

What’s cool about being a blogger? Everything!  I get to write about what I want, when I want.  Totally different from any of my past writing experiences, such as college courses or writing press releases at work. 
Even cooler is getting to connect with fellow bloggers.  I just attended my first official blogger function.  A fun affair with twenty or so local bloggers at an event sponsored by the California Strawberry Commission.  Who knew such an organization existed? 
It was all very official.  Pre-printed name tags, including the name of our blog.  Representatives from the CA Strawberry Commission were on hand as well as author and guy-a-tician David Grotto to enlighten us about healthy eating. Especially eating strawberries, which I now know are a super-food.  Safe to say that I will be eating more chocolate covered strawberries now that I can consider them a “healthy” snack.
I must admit that I was a bit nervous about attending the event.  No qualms about my social skills or my ability to consume mass quantities of strawberries; my concern was about my credibility as a writer and blogger.
Stop worrying, I kept telling myself. These people are all just like you. They put on their mascara one eye at a time and probably type on a similar laptop.
With my head up, I entered the event.  Just be cool, I tell myself.  So far, so good. At least I passed the dress-code test, which is very important when you are in a group of women. 
Our hostess was wonderful, making sure I was introduced to the other bloggers.  We dined on dishes all created with strawberries; my favorite was the fish tacos with strawberry salsa.   Not to mention strawberry mojitos – yum!
Coming to the event I thought I was pretty good at my craft, even though I am still a newbie to the field of blogging.   As I listened to my colleagues talk, I found myself feeling as though I had “rookie” stamped on my forehead.
“I’ve been blogging since ‘04”, said one colleague.  Did blogging even exist in ’04, I’m thinking?  “I’ve got billions of followers. How many do you have?” Including my family?  “I use WordPress, how about you?” said another.  “Remember when we had to code in QBL#R! instead of HTML?”
Uh-oh.
Fear and panic crept in as I realized I have no idea what they’re talking about.  While I have my own URL I have yet to build it out. Mainly because I don’t have a clue about coding in HTML. I know what it is, but as my grades in computer science have shown, programming is not a core-competency of mine.
Questions raced through my mind.  Would these pros accept me? What if they discover I’ve only been at this for a short time – will I get shown to the door? Or worse yet, laughed at?
 My tactic? Try not to say too much. Maybe they won’t ask me anything technical.  If they do, I’ll use my PR skills to divert them to another subject. Or I’ll fill my mouth with strawberries to avoid answering.
Sigh – so hard for a social chatty-Cathy like me to be silent.
Good news is that my fellow bloggers were incredibly gracious and welcomed me to the fold.  After all, everyone has to start somewhere.
Isn’t that the same as searching for a new job?  We’re all going to find a new opportunity. And we may wonder if we’ll be accepted into the new company. 
If we are daring enough to try something new, possibly switching fields or hanging our own shingle, the fears can be more intense. 
I believe our response to trying something new speaks volumes about us.  Stepping out on a limb is tough. Yet I’ve found that the fear usually exceeds the actual experience.  We can all do it if we really want to. No obstacles are too big to go after our dreams.
While I’m still considered a rookie blogger and writer, I’m no longer afraid.  And I’m proud of myself that I took the leap of faith and stepped out of my comfort zone to try something new.  Not to mention that I really enjoy writing. I hope to connect again with the wonderful group that I met that night. This could be the start of something big.
Anyone else want to try something new? I double-dog dare you.

Military Precision

by -

Today I had the opportunity to witness a military operation.  I quite literally stumbled upon it. It was an organized effort like nothing I’d ever seen before.  I’m sure this particular battalion or company or whatever you call it had been training for months.
I thought I’d seen similar operations during my days at Texas A&M.  The Corps of Cadets would run precision drills through campus late in the day and if you were lucky enough to be in their path you would see them run by, singing strange songs. Heaven forbid you weren’t paying attention; you’d either have to join in the run or get run over.  
What I saw today is worthy of General MacArthur.  The unit was orchestrating up to 100 vehicles, 4 lines across, moving at a slow but steady pace.  Carefully placed traffic cones helped guide the vehicles to the right location.  Those in command walked in and out of the lines, speaking with drivers and guiding them in their next move. 
Walkie-talkies were in full use as each team member communicated updates to central command.  Hand signals were also being used. Occasionally a uniformed member would hand what appeared to be an instruction sheet to the driver of the vehicle.  It was hard to tell what they were saying, but it seemed like they were talking in code.  
Sounds of static could be heard as the uniformed officer barked orders into the walkie-talkie.  “That’s right; I got a couple of 4×4’s, animal style, a flying Dutchman, one fries, two drinks for car number 125. And make it snappy.” 
What was this strange operation?
You guessed it.  I was not at Ft. Hood or Camp Pendleton.  This was the opening of an In-N- Out Burger. 
Oh yeah, it needed this much organization.
For those of you who are fortunate enough to live in California, another In-N- Out is no big deal.  For those of us in Dallas, it’s HUGE.  We’ve been waiting for this for a long time.  We love our home-grown Whataburger, but IMHO there’s nothing quite like an In-N-Out burger, animal style, of course.
We parked a block away and walked over.  I’ve never been in such an organized crowd.  Waiting with the other burger-hungry fans, it was amazing to watch the drills executed around us.  At least 15 people cooking, prepping, passing out orders.  Several others on table clean-up. I lost track of the number of employees outside working the car lines. 
The mob was hungry and noisy but patiently waited their turn in line.  The order takers barked our requests like military drill sergeants.  The whole situation reminded me of a SNL skit, with John Belushi and Dan Akroyd yelling, “Cheeburger, cheeburger, chips, no Coke, Pepsi!”. 
We shared a table with strangers, all of us drawn by the force of a simple hamburger and fries. We just had to have one. And everyone had stories.  “We go to California each year and every time we eat at In-N-Out”.  “I used to eat them when I was in LA on business”.  “Last year in Phoenix, we spotted one as we were driving to the hotel and had to stop for a burger – and it was only 10:30 am!.”
I heard on the news that In-N-Out pays pretty well, more than minimum wage. And I bet you get to eat free too. 
Hmm…maybe I’ve found my next career opportunity.