Coach - Facilitator - Trainer
At 6:42, I read this:
“Apple announces Steve Jobs’ death.”
At 6:42, I searched this:
“Steve Jobs”
At 6:42, I saw this:
At 6:45, I saw this:
At 6:48, I said this:
At 6:53, I said this:
At 6:54, I saw this:
At 6:58, I left my computer and had dinner with my family.
At 7:28, I saw this:
So, in about 46 minutes I went from incredulous to stunned to saddened to grateful to reflective to mournful to connected to nourished to amused.
All is right with the world.
Thanks, Steve.
Yeah, I know there is a typo in my previous entry. I saw it as soon as I clicked, “post.” Unfortunately, I haven’t made the decision to convert to the new Google Blogger irrevocable version so editing the post has proven to be a formatting nightmare. Just suffice it to say that I have lost plenty of time trying to make it better. I am off to slay another dragonfly.
My friend (as in bridesmaid–though I doubt she puts that on her resume–and godparent to my child), Tracey, has landed herself a year-long teaching gig in Japan. Swing by and say, “Hello” or “Konichiwa” if you are one of those intrepid speakers of foreign languages. I’m not. But I like to pretend I am and pepper foreign words into my every day speech. Between that and my penchant for saying “grad school” every 7 minutes, I am a pretentious cuss to be around. Yeah, can’t fix that, either.
What can I fix? A mean grilled mozzarella cheese sandwich on whole wheat with–oh my universe–Penzey’s Sandwich Sprinkle on it. I don’t make a dime off of the stuff, so it is with pure heart that I say, “How did I ever live without this???”
(Warning: do not try to substitute said sandwich for phase 1 of your gastro-bypass diet. Dreaming of said sandwich is perfectly acceptable, though.)
The days are just whizzing by. I don’t know what happened to August. When I was finishing up my BS degree in June it felt like I had all the time in the world before school started again. Well, all that time is a memory, and a vague one at that.
My first course in grad school (I try to drop “grad school” into every conversation) is a survey course on HRD (Human Resource Development for those of you with a life) in which we are going to complete a career assessment and create an HRD career plan (sounds like such fun—seriously—and three is about my parenthetical limit for one sentence so I am going to put a period and start fresh now). Most of my undergrad coursework was about getting hours behind me. Yeah, I enjoyed school (sick, I know) but I didn’t get to take many classes which turned my crank. Every course without exception in my grad school (there it is again) program is so up my alley that I get all giddy from reading it (sick, I know).
Some people call it prayer—ask and ye shall receive—some call it magic, voodoo, universal supply, good karma, what comes around goes around. It doesn’t seem to matter how you label it—you just gotta accept it and remember the availability of it. One of the barriers to my bliss as a single mom is access to childcare. I love, love, love my kids but I’d like some time to do un-kid stuff from time to time. Basically, being the sole provider of all things to my children all day every day (and nights, too!) is leaving me low on energy and enthusiasm. So, I wrote an email to my best friend expressing this need.
I clicked the send button and headed off to a new homeschool activity with these self-same children. Skip ahead a couple of hours into this activity and not only did I find a sitter, I found 3 teens who can come to my house almost anytime (they homeschool and are flexible time-wise), a family willing to let me drop my kids off pretty much whenever (“There is always someone here…”), and leads on a couple of other options. I am still following up on the details, but—c’mon—you gotta admit that the whole timing thing was pretty awesome!
Fitness? Yeah, well. I packed a moving truck in 100 degree heat. Does that count?
Okay, so I head over to the Blogger homepage to sign in and update my screaming fan and it does this weird Google sign in thing and asks me to switch and tells me I can’t go back and something about a beta (isn’t that a fish??) and I am so completely confused!
Deep Breath…
What I signed on to report is that I have no appetite.
Yes, I am complaining!
It isn’t like I am only a little hungry and eating a little food. I am absolutely food averse this week. Yes, I put lots of my favorite foods in the fridge–lots of green leafies and cheeses and salty snacks and even (gasp) a carton of snow cream–and nothing looks, smells, tastes appealing to me. I am pretty much living on slim f@st and cashews. (I don’t drink it for the “diet” but because it is cheaper than Ensure and keeps me alive when I get like this.)
The food aversion is related to my (withheld from public consumption) diagnosis which is kicking my butt right now. The problem is that when I relapse I am weak and don’t feel like eating. When I don’t eat, I get weaker and am less likely to want to go fix something to eat. I end up in an ugly spiral leading to lower and lower energy and altogether unacceptable quality of life.
It seems utterly ridiculous to be posting my frustration with *not* being hungry on a semi-fitness related blog. But good nutrition is the cornerstone of my health plan. When I eat like shit I feel like shit–and that goes for too few calories just as much as it does for too many.
So, my goal for tomorrow is to eat at least 1000 calories and to get outside in the sunshine for a walk. I need my strength back so that I can sort out this incredibly important and irreversible Blogger Google sign in beta switch thing.
I woke up to a new low weight. Everyone extend a warm welcome to 146.5 lbs. After 9 months of bouncing between 147 and 150 (my maintenance range) it is pretty cool to find that I still have the ability to lose weight.
Now, if fretting could be considered exercise I’d have all 200 of my sessions done in days. Stewing is my new favorite pastime. I picked it up about a month ago and I would really like to get back to my centered, happy personality. Hopefully soon…
I had to come up with a 300 word essay explaining why I want a Master’s Degree in Human Resource Development. Y’all know that I rarely have trouble blah-blahing out 300 words but this was hard! I mean, I have thought and planned and read and researched all sorts of degree programs and came to the conclusion that this was the one for me. How to explain that to an admissions committee proved incredibly difficult.
So, here’s what I came up with after 3 months of fretting. Keep your fingers crossed that it is compelling enough to get me into the program–and that the program is as advertised.
I see every person, organization, and event as an occasion for development. I am happiest when brainstorming strategy with a group of colleagues, envisioning opportunities with an individual, or designing approaches for getting the best outcomes in a challenging situation.
Completing the Master’s Degree in Human Resource Development would add numerous skills to my resume while opening doors in the training/facilitating/coaching field–a realm in which I thrive. Specifically, I am looking forward to the components of the program which will prepare me for formal consultant relationships, including learning to assess organizational needs, applying adult learning theory and instructional design principles, and improving my team communication skills.
Graduate school will also “legitimize” the skill set and abilities I already have. Over the past several years I have been a featured speaker at local and statewide group meetings on a variety of subjects, including diversity sensitivity, disability-related issues, self-determination, person-centered planning, problem solving and realizing one’s dreams and potential. I make myself available as a volunteer graphic facilitator to assist organizations and individuals in defining and planning short and long-term strategies and achieving useful, realistic outcomes. Adept at conflict resolution, I have mediated countless technical, political, and interpersonal difficulties among individuals from diverse backgrounds. On a more informal basis, friends and colleagues routinely seek me out for guidance in their personal journeys toward fulfillment in their daily lives.
I am interested in participating in this program because the extensive coursework and hands-on research component will directly apply to the type of work I plan to pursue. Of course, from a more practical perspective, my hope is that this degree will give me the ability to be financially self-sufficient, while setting an example of a capable and accomplished woman for my daughter and son.
Don’t think that just because I haven’t been working out consistently and tracking every morsel of food via fitday that I am not on top of that portion of my life. I am closing in on 9 months (count ’em) at goal weight. I know it drove Allan (where the hell is he?? Oh wait! He’s back!) nuts that I managed to lose weight with what amounted to wishful thinking, caloric awareness (not restriction), and a handful of trips to the gym.
Call me tenacious (or, like the wasband, evil incarnate) but once I get my head wrapped around an idea I don’t let go easily. ‘Sprobably why I was married for so long. The thing is that it takes me a really long time to get my head wrapped around anything. I think and I research and I plot and I fret and then — it would appear — all of the sudden I leap into action and head full steam toward my new goal. From the outside it must resemble a snail suddenly taking off like a rocket.
I am back in pre-contemplation about re-starting my downward trend in weight. I would still like to get below 140 as there are a few lumpy spots that I would like to eliminate. Dressed no one is the wiser, but I know it is there. That 11 pound lifetime gain thing is in my head, too. I weighed 129 in college (the first time through) and getting under 140 would put me in that 11 pound gain range.
My struggle? Finding time to do the gym thang with my kids. They do not do well in the childcare at my gym… I am sure there is an early post about it. Suffice it to say, that I worked up more of a sweat running back and forth between the nursery and the bathroom than I ever did on the elliptical machines. Perhaps it is time to revisit that option, though. They are a year older… hmmmmm.
In the meantime, I am working up one stinky sweat cleaning out the garage. Of course, I picked the hottest stretch of one of the hottest summers to go at it. But when I make up my mind to do something…
I have taken the MBTI about a zillion times and it always comes out the same. It still fascinates me to no end, so I took another online version tonight and came up with the write up below.
From what I understand, folks with ENFP personalities do best with other folks with ENFP personalities. So, assuming that the 3% of the population that has this personality type is split 50-50 male to female, I have exactly 1.5% of the population to choose from should I care to reconnect romantically. Subtracting the married/gay/child/inmate populations (all fine people, but not on my list of romantic possibilities) I am probably down to one guy. I just hope he lives near by.
ENFP – The Champion
You scored 100% I to E, 0% N to S, 4% F to T, and 84% J to P!
Your type is known as the Champion type, which is part of the larger group called idealists. Nothing occurs that does not have some deep and ethical significance in your eyes. You see life as an exciting drama. You are very charismatic, yet tend to be too harsh on yourself for not being as genuine as you think you should be. 3% of the population shares your type.
As a romantic partner, you need to talk about what is going on in your life. You are a strong supporter for your partner’s efforts to grow and change and be happy. You need to feel that same support from your partner. Expressive, optimistic, and curious, you are eager to enjoy new experiences with your partner, whom you wish to be your confidant and soul mate, as well as play mate. You are uncomfortable sharing negative emotion, though, and tend to withdraw from confrontation and process your feelings privately. You feel most loved when your partner appreciates your creativity, accepts your uniqueness, and sees you as the compassionate person you are. You need to hear your partner tell you how much you mean to them and would love if they did thoughtful spontaneous things to demonstrate it.
Your group summary: idealists (NF)
Your type summary: ENFP
I have known for a very long time that my wasband’s family is a little–well, they are a little off. Don’t get me wrong, my family is about as whacky as they come, but poor wubby was blessed with the king kamaya-maya of whacky families.
So, as I was digging in the garage, I came across a batch of pictures with a note attached. The pictures were your typical growing-up-a-boy-scout fare. The note was less so.
Hi son,
Am cleaning out a few drawers looking for something and came across these and you were not fatt (sic), clumsey, stupid, dump (sic), ugly, or a jerk!
Love to All,
Mom
Gee thanks, Mom! You really know how to pump a guy up.
Is it any wonder he struggles to put one foot in front of the other? With that kind of “support” it is actually amazing that he manages to get out of bed at all. I worked like crazy for 12+ years to convince him that he is a valuable, precious, intelligent, capable someone but there was no competing with the tapes of his mom’s voice he hears at every turn.
Sad. So very, very sad.
I started that project. The big one. The one I have been dreading for about 5 years and officially procrastinating since Thanksgiving. No. I didn’t start a new exercise/diet/teeth whitening campaign. Are you ready for it?
I started cleaning out the garage.
See, my wasband (bless his heart*) is a pathological pack rat. He keeps everything. You know all those plastic cups that get dropped at ball games? Well, he takes them home. Hundreds of them. He goes through trash piles. He lives for garage sales. He accepts anyone’s toss offs. He. Collects. Everything.
Over the years he managed to completely fill up our two car garage, our crawl space, and our attic with his “collections.” And, you know, I didn’t really get worked up about it—really—until he moved out and left it all here!!
So we started that back and forth thing. When are you going to get this stuff? Later. Well, can I just box it up and bring it to you? Nope—I don’t want anyone to mess with my stuff.
Now, I know why.
Cleaning out the garage is like an archeological dig. Here is the layer from the car sales and NASCAR epoch. If you dig a little deeper you will discover the insurance sales and football era. Further still and you hit the financial analyst and baseball period.
It is sort of like opening a tomb. It feels like I am encroaching on sacred ground. Only instead of golden statues and dazzling emeralds, I am discovering ketchup bottles and broken glass.
As I shovel (sometimes literally) through all of this stuff, I can’t help but feel like I am mining the remnants of our relationship. There is a lot of garbage in there that makes it really hard to find the lovely parts. Perhaps, given time and lots of trash bags** I will be able to find a couple of nuggets to remind me of the pieces of our marriage that worked well. It is sweet to have a touchstone or two, but the rest has to go.
*As a southern woman, by invoking the phrase “bless his heart” I am officially declaring that I am not bashing him, but merely pointing out some odd quirk and that you should in no way take my comments as catty or ::gasp:: gossip.
your thoughts