hitting the reset button

we all have our buttons. situations that frustrate. patterns that we fall into. words that trigger a kitchen sink of emotions, rants and even f-bombs.

sometimes it feel good to vent. let it all out. and hopefully reach catharsis.

but how often does that really happen? that you actually achieve resolution. a solution to your issues.

more often than not, you end up feeling worse. you wallow in it. perhaps feel paralyzed by the inability to change it.

if you read my blog, you know i’m no stranger to navel-gazing: pondering, questioning, trying to sort through this crazy thing called life. there’s a lot of things you can do to try to cope, to make things better: shift your perspective. come up with a plan. don’t overlook the small blessings, the simple things, that you do have…

but here’s a little strategy to deal with those nasty, unsavory situations in life over which you simply have no control.

1. let it rip. there’s nothing i hate more than denial. allow yourself to bitch. moan. rage. complain. commiserate. misery loves company, so throw a big pity party if you need to.

2. hit reset. just when the frenzy is about to reach a climax, try something new. interrupt the pattern. don’t let it overtake you. let it go. not sure how? here’s a little inspiration courtesy of cher in “moonstruck”:

we can analyze. and overanalyze. and beat the dead horse to the point where we're stuck. and it's that point where a little nudge, or hec, even a firm hard slap, can set you on a different course.

3. we're in the this drama together, so don't forget to laugh. sometimes our problems can seem overwhelming. we can fall victim to the drama. or we create it. either way, the absurdity can make you feel like you’re going to crack. then something happens to make you realize your feelings are valid, your frustrations are real, and most importantly, you’re not alone.

the moral of the story: when the chips are down, sometimes it just takes good friends and a swift slap to get you back on track. giddy up! :)

the grand scheme

do you ever wonder what the hec it is? what’s the end game? why is this happening? how did it all get so complicated? why, the older you get, do the answers become more elusive rather than less?

most of us were raised on the notion that life is a perfectly linear path: study hard, get a degree, get a job in a relevant field, at some point along the way meet a partner, settle down, buy a dog, perhaps build a family. and then you've got it made.

but we all know that reality is far messier. neatly plotted points on a line? yeah right. nope, life is fluid. it’s circuitous. often, when you’re immersed in it, it just plain doesn’t make sense.

no one would fault you if you chalked it all up to random acts of crappiness. particles in the universe, protons and neutrons, coming together to assemble the perfect shit sandwich. the rain on your parade that strikes just when you think you’ve hit your stride.

…or you could trust that there is an ultimate plan.

some method to all the madness. some reason, some lesson, some purpose, that doesn’t crystallize until time and distance bring the answer into view.

i guess i’m somewhere in the middle. we’re all trying to make sense of the circus. the swirl of people and circumstances, tragedies and triumphs, that make up our own personal narrative. perhaps instead of grasping for the big picture—which may or may never reveal itself—we should simply strive for a balanced perspective. one distorted or ugly situation does not the entire story tell. there are just as many, if not more, strokes that are brilliant, shiny, beautiful.

making lemonade

the violet hour is a hipster lounge in our neighborhood with a whimsical energy and a retro vibe. inside, succulent cocktails are served amidst ultra-high wing back chairs, twinkling chandeliers and cascading cornflower blue drapes. outside, the air of intrigue is underscored by the utterly obscure façade.

there is no sign, no logo, no marker that it’s there. just a collection of plywood panels that are regularly painted and repainted with interesting images and pop art iconography.

a few days ago, we were driving by and this scene caught my eye. the previously brown panels had been painted sky blue, and across the entire façade, a flock of birds appeared to flutter across the canvas. it was a cool graphic amidst the concrete cityscape. and yes, perhaps there was a bit of disney nostalgia that drew me to those cute little birds.

but as we drove closer, something else came into view. the black spray paint marring the idyllic scene. it’s hardly the first time the site has been tagged—i mean, a blank city wall pretty much screams out to the gangsters and graffiti artists of the world. but it nonetheless bummed me out.

i started to go off on a tirade about mean people and frustrating circumstances and how, no matter what we do, crappy things are simply sometimes beyond our control.

…and then i noticed something else.

the birds weren’t just placed randomly flying across the wall. they were nestled on the graffiti itself.

perched on top of the words. nesting in the cradle of the letters. and down at the bottom, a deviant chicken with a can of spray paint in his hand.

i realized that instead of rushing to repaint the wall immediately after it got tagged, the owners turned the graffiti into a part of the art. the writing became branches—the perfect stoop for tweety and his feathered friends. and there was the villain in all his “fowl” (buh dum bum!) err foul glory…it wasn’t perfect, not nearly as pristine…but then again life isn’t.

it was an awesome case of making lemonade out of lemons. sometimes we just have to deal. make the best of a bad situation. accept that shit happens. often out of our control. often to good people. but sometimes, also with a flipside. perhaps even an upside. the challenge is finding a way to make it work.

bruised, not broken

as we all do during the holidays, i’ve spent spare moments recently contemplating the many things I am thankful for. the usual suspects come to mind—my kids, my husband, great friends, a good job, a roof over my head. and i’ve always been sincerely thankful for these things.

but this year was a little different. it’s been a rough one.

i lost about 2 months out of the year with a devastating case of meningitis. following a wonderful stretch of birthdays, time spent with loved ones, weekends of soul-quenching rituals like working out and eating out, and a visit to one of our favorite spots in michigan fishing, dune climbing, cuddling golden retriever puppies and eating homemade pies, it struck out of nowhere.

raging fevers. near-epileptic shakes. head aches. body aches. and a bout of disorientation/dementia (“scrambled eggs” as my husband called it) that was truly frightening. i spent six days in the ICU. poked. prodded. stuck with needles. spinal-tapped. MRI-ed. catheterized. anesthetized. mortified.

truly shaken. to the core. beyond the physical pain of the experience, which included lingering after-effects that stayed long after i got discharged (think weeks of teeth-chattering shakes, a shrunken version of myself, soft-spoken and weak), i was emotionally scarred. as a constant reminder, i still have the marks from all the lines and IV’s that resulted from the blood letting.

needless to say, the trauma got me into a bit of a funk. i haven’t posted to sea glass in several months. i’ve been exhausted, frantically paddling to keep up with all of life’s demands, feeling frustrated by the things that have fallen by the wayside. a couple times, i’ve sat in front of my computer and felt…nothing. uninspired. just trying to get by.

it was probably the first time i ever experienced first-hand the true fragility of life: the fact that, at any moment, i could lose everything. my health. my intellect. my ability to write without shaking like a 90-year-old granny. my ability to be a mother to my children. a wife to my husband. a sister to my brother. a daughter to my parents. a friend to all my dear, dear friends.

my inner dialogue covered all the typical existential questions that people ask when they find out they’re seriously ill. why me? how the hell did this happen? what could’ve been done to prevent it? is insurance going to cover this? did i suffer permanent damage? will my body pick up where the meds left off so I can go on with my life?

somehow, slowly, i got through it. and now as i sit here, (hopefully) fully healed and healthy, it seems self-indulgent to linger on the experience. there are so many people with much more serious diagnoses to deal with and long, painful roads ahead of them. but my glimpse into their world put everything in perspective.

in the darkest times, there is always light.

it’s hard to think of laying in a hospital bed fearing for your health and the prospect of losing everything as a good thing. but odds are the things you fear losing the most are the things that help you get through. the sheer randomness of me contracting this virus out of nowhere was matched by the randomness that my family just happened to be in town visiting for a week. instead of floundering through this alone, they were there: to love, to advise, to clean, to cook, to care for the kids. flowers and concerned calls flooded in. though I was scared, i never felt more loved. and lucky.

bruised, not broken.

sometimes you go through periods in life where you’re just in the zone. life is good. laughter is abundant. all is right with the universe. and then other times, you hit a wall. you’re knocked off your game. you’re bruised, battered, exhausted from fighting. getting sick like this was a wake up call. a reminder that you’re not invincible. you’re not immune. you’re not as strong as you thought you were…but in pushing through it you realize, you’re also not as weak.

this, too, shall pass.

when you look back on the hard times, it’s not about going through them, but getting past them. somehow you survived. somehow you pushed on. you endured … and you will again.

falling down

"change is the only constant." it's one of those massively overused sayings that's overused because it just rings so true. fall is the time of year when that reality smacks you over the head.

the balmy green leaves you've grown accustomed to admiring start to turn, set ablaze by the changing of the seasons. the colors burn bright: fiery red, golden yellow, burnt orange...but after a period of total intensity, the leaves will fall off the trees. it's inevitable.

when you're going through a change in life, it's hard to take your eyes off it. it may suck you in. feel all-consuming. but like everything, for better or for worse, it will eventually pass.

we organize our days by the clock, our lives by the calendar. but some things we just can't control. whether you stand up or fall down, fight, endure, or watch from the sidelines, it will pass...but only after it changes you, hopefully for the better.

swimming upstream

i'm generally an optimistic person. but contrary to what you might think, it's not always rainbows and butterflies. i'm also a realist. no matter how much there is to love about life, to be grateful for, to relish, we all get served our share of "shit sandwiches."

times when you feel alone. frustrated. powerless. overwhelmed.

and tried and true sayings like "it was probably meant to be" or "hang in there" are just that: words—empty, unable to wipe away the angst of the moment or the situation.

i took the photo above in leland, michigan. there's a fish ladder in the heart of the town, and every october, the salmon swim against the current to spawn. it's an amazing sight, but none too familiar as i watched this little guy try to surmount the gushing stream of water.

it took several attempts. he lept. he flailed. he slid back down into the pool of swirling water. and then lined himself up to try again. after a valiant effort, he finally landed and continued his journey upstream. it was the like "the little fish that could"—a microcosm of perseverance, strength, intestinal fortitude and guts.

but it was also something else. i was so focused on his individual struggle...that i didn't realize what was happening further downstream. lined up like cordwood were hundreds of salmon, all waiting for their turn to jump.

it's easy to get caught up in our own drama. and sometimes it's completely justified to get pissed off at the universe. but it's also important to remember that we're all on this journey together. sometimes we coast along with the current. and sometimes it's a flail upstream. knowing you're not alone doesn't necessarily make your problems better. but it does make the load more bearable.

part 3: "stepping over the edge"

a portrait of sol

continued from part 2: "when opportunity knocks"

in spanish, the word "sol" means "sun"...and that is exactly what he reminded me of.

brilliant. warm. inspiring. a beacon for clients' brands—guiding them inward, toward their core. defining. refining. capturing their essence. and then leading them outward in a beautiful tapestry of design and words.

in brainstorms, beyond the easels and colored markers, he would hand out dictionaries in latin, spanish and italian. whether the assignment was branding a new treadmill or naming a luxury line of pillows, we'd leave no stone (or language) unturned. ideas just flowed: whether good, bad or neutral. in the end, it was all part of the process of getting to the truth.

with clients, it was magic. they'd come with a challenge. entrust him with their brand. and, with the eloquence of an orator, he'd unveil a new position or concept, simultaneously inducing chills and inspiring belief. they swooned. as if pixie dust had just been sprinkled over their eyes and they saw their brand revealed, in its true essence, for the very first time.

i met sol through a twist of fate (or if you read my previous posts, perhaps the culmination of all my decisions prior). whichever it was, he pulled me over to the other side. the agency side. my lifelong quest had been fulfilled.

so, when it came time for my moment, my big debut, my immersion into agency life—in the presence of such an immense talent and mentor, i responded like any normal, red-blooded copywriter would.

i froze. like wylie coyote when he finally caught the road runner, i literally went blank.

by the end of my first week, i had logged at least 35 hours in meetings and had copy projects ranging from a sales sheet for an artificial sweetener to a brochure for a new line of ergonomic staplers to the brand positioning for a health and wellness company, and an annual report for a charter school. i was shell-shocked.

each night, i'd go home and after everyone was fast asleep, i'd open up the computer and try to write. it was painful. i'd spent my entire academic and professional life writing, words flowing from my fingertips like water, and now, the well was dry.

i had the sinking feeling that i had made a huge mistake. "maybe i wasn't cut out for this." i thought. "i should've stayed on the client side." the hours were certainly better (aka sane), the workload was negligible, and the pressure—nonexistent. i was sure sol was thinking the same thing.

i somehow stumbled through the first few weeks, and then one day he stopped by my cube for a check-in.

"how's it going with the motorola video script?"

"uh...yeah...it's going ok...i was actually hoping we could get together to bounce off some ideas." [heart starting to race]

"i read through it and i think it's getting there...but i get this sense that you're holding something back."

"really? what do you mean?" i said, all the while thinking to myself "i'd buy a couple buckets of fiber if i thought that would help clear up this verbal constipation i'm suffering from."

and then the epiphany struck.

"celia, i feel like you're standing right on the edge of a cliff. you just need to trust your instincts and step off the edge."

without saying anything more, i understood. in life, when you want something so deeply, and all your efforts are directed toward that goal, you care—viscerally. you can feel it in your core. the pressure is on. and the fear of failure may be greater than you've ever experienced before.

it is at that moment that you have to detach. let go. stop thinking and start trusting: in yourself. in your accomplishments. in your history. in your future.

on that day, he talked me off the ledge, by encouraging me to jump off—feet first. and i did...

and never looked back.

part 2: "when opportunity knocks"

continued from part 1: "a pen and a dream"

so i had a mission statement. check. i articulated my purpose in life and, because i had achieved a moment of clarity, surely the phone call from leo and all the other agencies was not far behind.

i came to find out that there was a huge difference between having a mission statement and knowing how in the hec i was going to actually accomplish it. it wasn't long before i was back to scouring the want ads and pounding the pavement to try to get someone to give me the time of day.

i found that writing down a goal sets you on a trajectory. there's a new point plotted on your map. it's far out in the distance but at least now, you have something to focus on. the most important thing to realize is that it's not the end all, be all. getting there is still a complicated symphony of timing, effort, perseverance, fortitude and luck.

mine was far from a story about instant gratification. "girl has a dream. girl writes it down. girl lands dream job at an agency." looking back over my career, that is actually my story...but it took me 7 years of hope, apathy, risk-taking and pride-swallowing, stints at the merchandise mart and 2 software companies, and many a late night drinking and/or soul-searching (or often times both!) before i was finally standing face to face with my dream.

the company i was working for at the time was in need of a website redesign. i had gotten quotes from a couple vendors, and one was located downtown near my office so they invited me over to have a chat about the project.

i stared into the peephole of the cracking, painted red door and opened it. the office was a gritty loft space with creaky painted floors, exposed brick and ductwork, and a big midcentury meeting table at the base of a jagged spiraling staircase up to the second floor. in the blue built-in bookshelves were lifestyle and design publications (communication arts, how, esquire, dwell). on the walls, at least 50 printouts of beautifully designed website screenshots neatly taped in vertical rows—clearly a war room set up to review the latest round of creative concepts for a major cellular company client. i had to remind myself to stop staring (and drooling) as i took in the surroundings.

and then i met sol. he was a principal at the agency and he had a dark brown buzz cut, a warm demeanor and a strong yet unintimidating presence. he took me on a tour of the office (more of the same: minimalist space, cool furniture, gorgeously designed printouts, only this time i could also see the chuck-taylor clad hipsters pulling off pieces of tape to affix their masterpieces to wall, and convening around the office to discuss why they made this image so big or that font so small). i was exhilarated.

we got to the conference room and talked. about dk. about their work. about creative inspiration and brand singularity. about my website project. but also about me. about my background. about life in general.

after that, i had made up my mind. i went there to hire them for a job...and left wishing to god they'd hire me.

a few days later, i got the email.

"hi celia. it was so nice to meet with you. i enjoyed our conversation. hoping to hear some good news about the website project. but also, as a side note, we're hiring and i wondered if you might know of any good candidates."

my heart stopped. the stars had aligned. at this very moment. with the biggest opportunity of my life.

[up next: part 3: "stepping over the edge"]

part 1: "a pen and a dream"

"the discipline of writing something down is the first step toward making it happen." if you've ever read a self-help book or received advice from a manager, guidance counselor, career coach or even friend, you've probably heard some iteration of this saying.

whether early on in your career or many years (and jobs) down the line, many of us struggle with feelings of frustration, lack of fulfillment or inspiration—the nagging sense that we're stagnating, failing to move forward, or worse yet, moving terrifyingly in the wrong direction.

i actually faced this crisis at the beginning of my professional life. in college, i was an english major, a few credits shy of a philosophy minor, and a consummate liberal arts student who embraced the opportunity to "study" art history, film and modern lit to balance the finite math and intro to accounting classes i needed to complete my degree.

as graduation neared, i had marketing-major friends preparing for interviews with some of the big ad agencies that had come to campus to recruit. they'd return excited, though sometimes traumatized, by the interviews that generally started with straightforward questions and ended with them having to give a sales pitch on how to sell a pencil or come up with a creative campaign to help a company get rid of excess floppy disc inventory.

though the experience of jumping through hoops for a cocky leo burnett creative a like a monkey doing tricks for a banana sounded less than appealing, i remember uttering, even back then, "wouldn't it be so cool to work at an ad agency?"

and then i went off to law school.

my reasons for choosing this path might sound familiar. it was part genuine interest (i loved writing...and LA law was a popular TV series at the time and presented just enough smarts and glamour to make the profession seem actually desirable) and part family pressure ("you're either going to become a doctor or lawyer, right?") that led me to pursue a career as a lawyer.

the only problem was: once i got there, i was miserable. sure i loved the writing part: being assigned a side to defend, assembling the facts just so—to support my position and discredit the opponents, using my command over the written word to craft a winning argument. but the other stuff was pure drudgery (for me). i was creatively unfulfilled, surrounded by cutthroat "gunners" whose mission in life was to argue about everything and anything, and i found that the epic courtroom battles of TV were a drop in the bucket compared to the procedural rigmarole seemingly design not to get to the truth, but to obscure it with all your might.

note: my caveat to this whole tirade about law school is not to say that it's a terrible profession—on the contrary, it may be perfect, intellectually stimulating and, in fact, exciting for some. it's just on my journey, through the course of living it, i realized it was not for me.

not exactly the ideal epiphany when you're about to graduate from law school...

after spending 3 grueling years of my life, clerking for a law firm and a judge, writing for law journals and burning through thousands of my parents' money, i was more than conflicted about the realization that i could be spending the rest of my life in a profession that i despised. i knew in my heart i couldn't do it: mentally, physically, emotionally. i could not spend my life on this path.

many of us, when we've set off on a direction, feel like we must stick to it, must trudge on, must not quit. and to a large extent, that's true—especially when you're first starting out. but somewhere down the line, when you've slogged through for a year or 3 or 5 or even 10, you owe it to yourself to ask: is this really the path i chose? or is this a direction i somehow fell into and now find myself stuck in, trapped by circumstance, finances or simply indecision—lack of a better option.

when i decided that i was not going to pursue law, i was faced with an even scarier question: what did i want to do my life? with my future in the balance, i decided this time, it was going to be a decision that i alone made—with intent, with no outside pressure, with the resolve to do something i was truly passionate about....

now to find out what that was. i spent 6 months immersing myself in career resources: reading job guides and scanning the classifieds in the paper (yes that's right, the newspaper). ironically, my "research" yielded the exact same conclusion that i arrived at during interview season at notre dame: "wouldn't it be so cool to work at an ad agency?" this was the direction that beckoned me and that i longed to pursue: working in a creative environment where i could apply my passion for writing, not to crank out boring motions and briefs, but rather, to bring brands to life.

thanks to the career guides, the path was starting to emerge. but it all crystallized from a very unlikely source. my boyfriend (now husband) was in sales and he knew how much I was struggling to find my way.

"open it." he said

i unwrapped the box and found a black leather-bound franklin planner, complete with calendar inserts, contact pages and a goals section. in the front was a clear bookmark with a pressed purple flower inside.

"this is beautiful. thank you...but what am i supposed to do with it?" i said, in a half serious and half dejected tone. "it's not like i have any contacts or appointments to fill in since i don't exactly have a job yet."

he flipped to the section entitled "goals". "one of the most powerful things you can do if you're at a crossroads in life is write down your goals—like a mission statement for what you want to accomplish."

"right..." my eyes scanned the room to see what could possibly have inspired such a corny piece of advice. there were stacks of paper, piles of magazines, and then the two obvious sources for this message: a tattered paperback copy of "seven habits of highly successful people" and a box set of audiotapes by tony robbins.

now i am writer. i've written 30-page term papers, short stories, oral arguments, legal briefs, even a federal court habeas corpus decision for the northern district of illinois, but the thought of writing out my own personal mission statement eluded me. it felt awkward, self-help-y, like a gimmick that you'd have to complete as an icebreaker for a class in building self-esteem.

so i neatly lined up the 3-hole punched pages and put them in my new franklin, with the flower bookmark stuck in the "goals" section...and then put the planner away.

after a few weeks of sending out random resumes and getting rejected for either being "overqualified" or "under-experienced," i picked up the covey book and started perusing.

"there's a mental or first creation, and a physical or second creation of all things. you have to make sure that the blueprint, the first creation, is really what you want. then you put it into bricks and mortar...you begin with the end in mind."

interesting... i opened the desk drawer.

"you know what. it can't hurt. no one needs to see this but me. and if i fail, no one will ever be the wiser."

i pulled out the pen that my man had so sweetly inserted into the pen holder.

"no, no, pen is way too definite, too concrete," i thought. back went the pen into its placeholder.

"ok pencil is much better. that way i can totally change it if i'm way off base."

i put the pencil to the paper.   

"my goal is to use my writing skills and creativity to get a job at an advertising agency in downtown chicago."

there. it wasn't an earth-shattering revelation. yet it was nonetheless clear, specific and (i was hoping) attainable. only time would tell.

once the words were written, it all felt so final...little did i know it was just the beginning...

[next up: part 2: "when opportunity knocks"]

giddy up

i'm always amazed at how resilient human beings can be. just over a year ago, we were dealing with massive water damage to our condo, i was 9 months pregnant and literally staying in random hotel rooms while contractors scrambled to put up the new drywall in our place before i got home from the delivering the baby. on the work front, budgets were nonexistent due to the economic implosion and i was uninspired, frustrated at my inability to actually accomplish much of anything.

whenever i'd tell friends about my plight, i'd get the same response.

"oh i'm so sorry. that sounds terrible. i can't imagine how you're even dealing with all that. if you ever need any help..."

their sympathy was heartfelt and sincere, but for the most part, they were personal struggles that couldn't really be solved by external intervention. there were tears, times when i just wanted to curl up into a ball in fetal position and start rocking...

but more often than not, i didn't. i just kept going, thinking about the new life i was about to bring into the world, beaming with pride at every accomplishment my amazing 6 year old achieved (and if you know him, there were many, daily), swallowing my pride and accepting the help of family (my generous-beyond-words brother, dad, step mom and friends), and just believing that "this too shall pass."

and now, only a year later, i find myself marveling at how lucky i am. a family that humbles and inspires me daily.  amazing kids, a husband who is a rock of support, and friends who make me belly laugh and who i know have my back. business is booming at work and i have a renewed sense of energy and inspiration about the opportunities in life and work.

and the transition from lowest low to highest height happened in the course of a single year. maybe i started this blog because i reached the tipping point—where gratitude outweighed the feeling of being overwhelmed by life and the periodic "sh*t sandwiches" i'd been served.

in fact, i see it happening all the time. inspiring people that i know who, when faced with pain, a loss, a challenge, get back up on the horse with their head held high and ride it out. when they've lost someone special, they run, they walk, they form deeper relationships with those who remain, to honor their loved one. when they fall down, they discover an unexpected hand to help them up. when they hit an obstacle, they realize later that that blockade actually opened up a door to another path entirely. when they are silent and still, they find their voice.

all of you inspire me with your courage, strength, support and resilience.

"giddy up!"