Yeah, ok. I obsess. And I'm trying to have a sense of humour about it.
I obsess because.. well, that's a side of my personality that's just like that. Plus, I am in a foreign country and I have no routine to cling to except my crazy job, my husband and my marriage. Well, and my sense of humour. I'm used to being self-reliant. And I feel very reliant on other people and circumstances right now, and that's tough.
When I'm working 12-hour days for people that demand me to be on call 24/7 in a country with so little daylight I might as well be a vampire, and feel wrung out like a dishtowel, my routine has very little flexibility. So I tend to believe that the mister, or someone else, will help create it for me. Will pamper me. Will figure out a routine for me. The fundamental problem with that is that with our work schedules, all we have is the weekend together. Routine? Hmm. Our life has never been routine, since the moment we met, got married shortly thereafter, moved countries and jobs twice, and moved homes 3 times. All in two years (though in a way, deep down, I think we perversely enjoy the challenges that we've been faced with- we're a pretty awesome team in that respect).
So, I start to obsess if things aren't exactly "just so". And not constructively. More like Chicken Little. I obsess over the times that we don't have, the plans that we can't make, the holidays that we can't take. Not because I try to be negative, but unfortunately, that's the solution in my personal equation: control freak+ stress + expectations-positive thinking= Negative Nancy. It's a bad habit that I have to get out of, because it gets a bit insidious in its negativity.
You know, you may think that these blogs aren't so much about my experiences in London, but about me finding out about myself as a person through Blogotherapy. And maybe that's a type of self-obsession, you could say. And people may think hmm. okaaaay.. I see that you need some venting, sheesh! But here's the truth: it's about all of it. It's my London Eye. It's my pure, uncensored current perspective. It's about how I learn about myself, my life, my place in this world, my husband, and our marriage. It's about all of the challenges and happiness and curiosities that I'm discovering. It's about learning how to figure out men (yeah, still working on that one) It's about my stories, my obsessions, my failures, my achievements, my hopes, my dreams, my insecurities and my love. And, as my friendly blogger Janet put it, it's about navigating the spaces in between.
I am a passionate person, an extremely empathetic person, an extremely emotional and demonstrative person. I take everything to heart. And I'm realising that my marriage is very similar, since both of us are very passionate and stubborn people who always do things 200%. And though the mister looks at me like I have three heads when I obsess when he does something that irritates me, he still encourages me to stop.
And listen.
And focus on the space. The positives. The moments of quiet. The bigger plan that we're both trying to achieve in this crazy world. It's the big picture that matters, and the moments that we spend with each other in between the lines, when we can.
But in the meantime, there's a lot to be said for writing down a few words here and there that help you see things more clearly. To appreciate a unique perspective. To learn about who you are. And to have a healthy laugh at your own expense.
Thursday 26 June 2008
Thursday 19 June 2008
You, the twinkle in my eye. You, the lint in my belly button.
When I was little, I saw Tato look at Mamo adoringly (like he still does), or not want to do anything fun without her. Even when I asked him to do stuff with just me, he would say "okay, but let's see what Mamo's up to". It would infuriate me to no end, and I would roll my eyes and ask him "don't you ever just get sick of her? I mean really, it's been 20 years already!"
And he would look at me, and in his eyes I briefly saw flicker the years of sacrifice, compromise, arguments, hugs, kisses and unconditional love. And he very succinctly said "nope".
He explained to me (honestly, I pretended to listen, but at that age all I could hear was the fierce beating of my own heart, for I had fallen in love/lust for the very first time) that love changes shape. It grows, it quiets down, it deepens, it sweetens. But that he always sees the girl that he fell in love with (even if she was, according to him, "a personified nightmare the first few years").
I'm still in awe about this. Every couple we know that are in their 60s and are still happily married, are an inspiration in this world of cynical relationships and custody battles. And all of them say the same thing "Just love each other. Talk to each other. A relationship is like a plant: both of you have to water it to make sure it flourishes."
And when you open your eyes to it, it is everywhere: I read so many beautiful posts from you out there about how in love you are with your families, your children, your partners, your lives, and how it is a constant learning process.. and it fills me with so much joy to know that that kind of love and happiness is almost uncontainable (is that even a word? Who knows, I'll keep it anyway). I love love, I love magic, I love stories like this. I'm a loveaholic.
As for my personal life, I am awesome at the love part. And I clean really well and I manage to remember to get the little things for the house, for dinner, etc. And I can organise and do the banking really well. The talking part? Not so good at that very much, though I'm learning. And my history with plants is horrible. I forget to water them. Or, even if I do, they realise their impending demise anyway, and decide to commit suicide.
Love isn't a catch-all like it used to be in my 20s. I'm well aware that it's more about the quality of time together, rather than the quantity. It's not the declaration of a thousand "I love you"s, but more about that one "I love you" when you need it the most. It's about the space that you give for love to breathe. The amount of time that we cannot spend together makes the moments that we do super-sweet. I still crave his hand to hold when we're going for a walk. I love that we can make fun of each other and have banter with only a sly look.
And I do know for a fact that years from now, when Mamo and Tato are no longer around, and our children ask me that same question, I'll have the same answer.
Я вас так люблю.
And he would look at me, and in his eyes I briefly saw flicker the years of sacrifice, compromise, arguments, hugs, kisses and unconditional love. And he very succinctly said "nope".
He explained to me (honestly, I pretended to listen, but at that age all I could hear was the fierce beating of my own heart, for I had fallen in love/lust for the very first time) that love changes shape. It grows, it quiets down, it deepens, it sweetens. But that he always sees the girl that he fell in love with (even if she was, according to him, "a personified nightmare the first few years").
I'm still in awe about this. Every couple we know that are in their 60s and are still happily married, are an inspiration in this world of cynical relationships and custody battles. And all of them say the same thing "Just love each other. Talk to each other. A relationship is like a plant: both of you have to water it to make sure it flourishes."
And when you open your eyes to it, it is everywhere: I read so many beautiful posts from you out there about how in love you are with your families, your children, your partners, your lives, and how it is a constant learning process.. and it fills me with so much joy to know that that kind of love and happiness is almost uncontainable (is that even a word? Who knows, I'll keep it anyway). I love love, I love magic, I love stories like this. I'm a loveaholic.
As for my personal life, I am awesome at the love part. And I clean really well and I manage to remember to get the little things for the house, for dinner, etc. And I can organise and do the banking really well. The talking part? Not so good at that very much, though I'm learning. And my history with plants is horrible. I forget to water them. Or, even if I do, they realise their impending demise anyway, and decide to commit suicide.
Love isn't a catch-all like it used to be in my 20s. I'm well aware that it's more about the quality of time together, rather than the quantity. It's not the declaration of a thousand "I love you"s, but more about that one "I love you" when you need it the most. It's about the space that you give for love to breathe. The amount of time that we cannot spend together makes the moments that we do super-sweet. I still crave his hand to hold when we're going for a walk. I love that we can make fun of each other and have banter with only a sly look.
And I do know for a fact that years from now, when Mamo and Tato are no longer around, and our children ask me that same question, I'll have the same answer.
Я вас так люблю.
Monday 9 June 2008
Little victories. And little disclaimers.
The small things in life are almost always in danger of being overlooked. Like dinner being cooked for you, an extra hug, or those teacup Chihuahuas, for example. I should know- I'm a master at letting my aggravations overshadow the precious moments in life- and lately I've realised that the days fly past me with the breathlessness of a speeding train.
So, in the spirit of realisation that it is almost the middle of June (honestly, I can't even believe that even as I write it) and I've been used up like a tissue at my current job, I am attempting to slow down and focus on the little things and give myself the space to appreciate them. The little things that make life magic. In all honesty, this is a scary thing to do for someone who is totally type-A and believes that if she isn't doing about 15 different things at once, that there's something wrong with her.
Item #1:
It has now been a successful 6 months since I quit smoking cold turkey. I have managed to stand my ground and resist habitual cravings, constant snacking, the temptation of a summery glass of wine and cigarette with friends, and the nagging voice that wants to force the mister to quit (just because I did). I haven't preached to people to quit, I haven't justified my decision, I did it because I told myself I would and that I wanted to, and I did. End of story.*
Item #2:
I'm learning how to drive. Now, to all of you that took in a very quick breath through your teeth, let me just say that I am a good driver despite some interesting circumstances in the past.** I've managed to cultivate a squeaky-clean driving record in the states, and now that I'm here in the UK, I've been a passenger one too many times. The mister happily drives us everywhere in our adorable little car (translation: he refuses to let me drive it for fear that we'll end up wrapped around a tree), but I'm starting to get a bit antsy and feel like I need to be able to have wheels if I want to get out for a drive. It makes me feel a bit stuck that I can't just jump in the car for a few hours. So, yes, I'm taking lessons. I have my provisional license (which over here is the equivalent of a learner's permit, so I feel like I'm some sort of kid with a fake ID), and I'm going to be let out onto the roads very soon. Keep your children indoors.
Item #3:
I've signed up for a 10K. Now that doesn't seem like a big deal, but you're talking to someone that though used to be athletic and a dancer, now maintains her flexibility by doing absolutely nothing, and luckily can still pull her foot up by her head while standing. But the lack of activity aside from walking everywhere here is starting to make me feel sluggish and wimpy. So the mister and I signed up for this run in July, and he's running for the RNLI, and I'm running for the RSPCA. I have a sponsor page on Facebook, but I've really not used that website for a while, so I haven't kept up with asking people for money. Either way, it'll be a good challenge- and let's hope that I'll still be running at the 8th kilometer and haven't resorted to using the £10 in my bra for a taxi.
These are the three latest things that I've done for myself, and it hasn't even registered in my brain that I should pat myself on the back a little. Instead, a little voice says, "Sheesh.. couldn't you have been more productive? Look what everyone else is doing! You don't sound very interesting."
Yep, I'm wrapping duct tape around this little gremlin for a while and shoving him in the corner. After 15 years, it's about time I start telling him to zip it.
*Though I have to admit, there were Oscar-worthy dramatic days where I begged and pleaded for the mister to give me one of his, but he's been supporting my efforts and hasn't let me.
**Admittedly, I did manage to reverse into a mailbox with Tato's white Toyota when I was 17 (and tried to repair the giant scrape with White-Out), and when I did get my first car at 19, I totalled the front quarter-panel.
So, in the spirit of realisation that it is almost the middle of June (honestly, I can't even believe that even as I write it) and I've been used up like a tissue at my current job, I am attempting to slow down and focus on the little things and give myself the space to appreciate them. The little things that make life magic. In all honesty, this is a scary thing to do for someone who is totally type-A and believes that if she isn't doing about 15 different things at once, that there's something wrong with her.
Item #1:
It has now been a successful 6 months since I quit smoking cold turkey. I have managed to stand my ground and resist habitual cravings, constant snacking, the temptation of a summery glass of wine and cigarette with friends, and the nagging voice that wants to force the mister to quit (just because I did). I haven't preached to people to quit, I haven't justified my decision, I did it because I told myself I would and that I wanted to, and I did. End of story.*
Item #2:
I'm learning how to drive. Now, to all of you that took in a very quick breath through your teeth, let me just say that I am a good driver despite some interesting circumstances in the past.** I've managed to cultivate a squeaky-clean driving record in the states, and now that I'm here in the UK, I've been a passenger one too many times. The mister happily drives us everywhere in our adorable little car (translation: he refuses to let me drive it for fear that we'll end up wrapped around a tree), but I'm starting to get a bit antsy and feel like I need to be able to have wheels if I want to get out for a drive. It makes me feel a bit stuck that I can't just jump in the car for a few hours. So, yes, I'm taking lessons. I have my provisional license (which over here is the equivalent of a learner's permit, so I feel like I'm some sort of kid with a fake ID), and I'm going to be let out onto the roads very soon. Keep your children indoors.
Item #3:
I've signed up for a 10K. Now that doesn't seem like a big deal, but you're talking to someone that though used to be athletic and a dancer, now maintains her flexibility by doing absolutely nothing, and luckily can still pull her foot up by her head while standing. But the lack of activity aside from walking everywhere here is starting to make me feel sluggish and wimpy. So the mister and I signed up for this run in July, and he's running for the RNLI, and I'm running for the RSPCA. I have a sponsor page on Facebook, but I've really not used that website for a while, so I haven't kept up with asking people for money. Either way, it'll be a good challenge- and let's hope that I'll still be running at the 8th kilometer and haven't resorted to using the £10 in my bra for a taxi.
These are the three latest things that I've done for myself, and it hasn't even registered in my brain that I should pat myself on the back a little. Instead, a little voice says, "Sheesh.. couldn't you have been more productive? Look what everyone else is doing! You don't sound very interesting."
Yep, I'm wrapping duct tape around this little gremlin for a while and shoving him in the corner. After 15 years, it's about time I start telling him to zip it.
*Though I have to admit, there were Oscar-worthy dramatic days where I begged and pleaded for the mister to give me one of his, but he's been supporting my efforts and hasn't let me.
**Admittedly, I did manage to reverse into a mailbox with Tato's white Toyota when I was 17 (and tried to repair the giant scrape with White-Out), and when I did get my first car at 19, I totalled the front quarter-panel.
Tuesday 3 June 2008
Priceless.
Hello, I'm back poking my head through the warm waters of the blogosphere. Hope everyone's well and leading very adventurous and amazing lives. Or lazy and relaxed lives, because that's equally fun.
What have I been doing, you ask? Well, let's see:
Work
Work
Work
Work
Eat
Sleep
Work
Work
Saw a girlfriend for dinner
Work
Yep. That pretty much sums it up.
The girlfriend that I met was a girl I used to work with in New York, who still works for the same company, but in London. We know a lot of the same people, and it was good to see what business was up to lately.
She's one of those girls that is ridiculously confident and self-aware at her age (we're around the same age), and is hilarious in her black and white approach to things. In her personal life and professional life, she's fun, fair, and has a strong sense of self. A really good all-around person, and fucking amazing at her job.
I realised walking home that nothing is as important as not sressing out: just play the game at work the best you can, and appreciate that you have your health and your family and friends (yeah, I got very philosophical after a couple of pitchers of sangria).
I did get a priceless lesson at work the next day though, and my super-confidence was ripped to shreds.
I was told that...
I am a confident, beautiful woman who knows what she wants and how to get it, and that people find me intimidating and unapproachable, and that's becoming a problem, because they can't connect with me.
And my boss said that this is a problem for him.
Yes, apparently, attractive women in the business world who are trusted to run things, babysit people and their jobs, have kids, run the house- all while wearing high heels, keeping a sweat-free face and odour-free perfectly fit body, and having a sense of humour that is at once beguiling and witty- these women are called BITCHES.
Take that same description and take out the "wo" in the fourth word up above, and you have a CEO that just got handed gold-plated keys to a private jet and a yearly personal supply of Cohibas, and has three secretaries that he's sleeping with all at the same time because people find his confidence hypnotically magnetic.
What do I do? I do love my job so much, and I do really like my boss and his thoughts on what my job should be, but do I change who I am just to make sure that people like me and have nothing of myself left at the end of the work day? Or do I hope that people will learn to understand me and get over their insecurities?
I find it exhausting, this uphill battle that I sometimes have in this country, in this business, trying to figure it all out, trying to work with men that want me to be a man disguised as a woman, and seeing first-hand, in the mister's job, the amount of praise and adulation he gets from being exactly that: confident and aloof and direct.
I think I may need to bite my tongue, change my approach and be a little less-confident and more like everyone else. So be it.
Yes, you read right: A little less-confident.
Priceless.
What have I been doing, you ask? Well, let's see:
Work
Work
Work
Work
Eat
Sleep
Work
Work
Saw a girlfriend for dinner
Work
Yep. That pretty much sums it up.
The girlfriend that I met was a girl I used to work with in New York, who still works for the same company, but in London. We know a lot of the same people, and it was good to see what business was up to lately.
She's one of those girls that is ridiculously confident and self-aware at her age (we're around the same age), and is hilarious in her black and white approach to things. In her personal life and professional life, she's fun, fair, and has a strong sense of self. A really good all-around person, and fucking amazing at her job.
I realised walking home that nothing is as important as not sressing out: just play the game at work the best you can, and appreciate that you have your health and your family and friends (yeah, I got very philosophical after a couple of pitchers of sangria).
I did get a priceless lesson at work the next day though, and my super-confidence was ripped to shreds.
I was told that...
I am a confident, beautiful woman who knows what she wants and how to get it, and that people find me intimidating and unapproachable, and that's becoming a problem, because they can't connect with me.
And my boss said that this is a problem for him.
Yes, apparently, attractive women in the business world who are trusted to run things, babysit people and their jobs, have kids, run the house- all while wearing high heels, keeping a sweat-free face and odour-free perfectly fit body, and having a sense of humour that is at once beguiling and witty- these women are called BITCHES.
Take that same description and take out the "wo" in the fourth word up above, and you have a CEO that just got handed gold-plated keys to a private jet and a yearly personal supply of Cohibas, and has three secretaries that he's sleeping with all at the same time because people find his confidence hypnotically magnetic.
What do I do? I do love my job so much, and I do really like my boss and his thoughts on what my job should be, but do I change who I am just to make sure that people like me and have nothing of myself left at the end of the work day? Or do I hope that people will learn to understand me and get over their insecurities?
I find it exhausting, this uphill battle that I sometimes have in this country, in this business, trying to figure it all out, trying to work with men that want me to be a man disguised as a woman, and seeing first-hand, in the mister's job, the amount of praise and adulation he gets from being exactly that: confident and aloof and direct.
I think I may need to bite my tongue, change my approach and be a little less-confident and more like everyone else. So be it.
Yes, you read right: A little less-confident.
Priceless.
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