Of Men and Money

Photo credit: Deanna Dent

These past two weeks I’ve been working a lot. It’s orientation for the program I work with and these weeks are some of the most intense of our program year.

But in the midst of the chaos and working and lack of sleep (and working) and stress (and working) and moving 10 individuals from 10 different countries to Phoenix, my friend and colleague Deanna took this amazing photo and I just can’t get it out of my head.

I thought about sharing the photo on Facebook with a short sentence, but then realized I had more I wanted to say. More I wanted to remember. More I wanted to reflect on.

My whole life I’ve spent time in banks…in South Dakota, Montana and Colorado. My dad was a banker through my growing-up years, and he worked hard—trying to make it home to have dinner with the family, and then returning to the office later in the evening. He often worked Saturdays too, but many times he’d take my brothers and I along (to provide Mom some sanity time, I'm guessing). I’m not sure how much “help” we actually were, but we became expert users of the shredding machine and there was something both fun and spooky about being in the bank when it was closed. We could wander through the quietness and behind the teller line (sneaking Dum Dums when we could find them!).

It was fun to go to work with Dad—I think my love for the “office environment” was born in those early days at the bank, as was my love for numbers, budgets, etc.

In middle school and high school, the bank Dad managed in Colorado had “popcorn” Fridays and I’d manage the popcorn machine after school, handing out bags of popcorn to customers waiting in line. Dad’s bank life provided some fun family adventures as well—one year we dressed up as Dalmatian dogs (white sweatshirt and sweatpants with black felt spots) and rode a bank float in the city’s annual holiday parade. Another year my brother Jon had the opportunity to throw out the opening pitch at a Colorado Rockies baseball game--at the time the bank was a major sponsor of the team.

But, it wasn’t all fun and games. I both saw and experienced the stress my dad was under as a bank manager and never-ever-ever desired that for myself.

However, I’m realizing that these days, things aren’t much different. Work-life balance flies out the window and it’s times like this that I’m glad I don’t have a family at home--because they’d never see me, and if they did see me, I’d most likely be “Crazy-Cranky-Kristi.” But ironically, it’s also these same days that I miss having someone to come home too—that person who could take one look at my face and know that the thing I most needed at that moment was a hug and a whisper in my ear saying, “You’re amazing. You’re going to make it. Tomorrow is a new day. I love you.”

Instead I control the chaos by making fun plans with friends and family—plans that force me to leave the office at a reasonable time, plans that allow me to eat, drink and be merry. Plans that have me organizing trips and vacations for later in the year. Plans that make me turn off “work-brain” and turn on “life-fun.” And I relax and am refreshed and feel ready to face another day.

And then I think of this photo.

In a bank once again.

And I am grateful.

In addition to all my “bank” memories, it brings to mind a mental picture from my childhood with my dad arriving home from a long day at the office…he’d walk in the house, find my mom (who was most likely in the kitchen making dinner), and give her a kiss. And I imagine that in that moment they were saying “You’re amazing. You’re going to make it. Your family loves you. I’m glad you’re home. Tomorrow is a new day.”

Thank you Deanna for capturing this moment.

Thank you Mom and Dad for the legacy of hard work and love that you model for me.

And thank you to all the people I work with who help me grow, both as a professional, and as a person. 

“No work is insignificant. All labor that uplifts humanity has dignity and importance and should be undertaken with painstaking excellence.” --Martin Luther King Jr.

Taking the leap on Leap Day

If there's ever a day to do something wild and crazy (and potentially disastrous), why not choose a day that only comes around once every 4 years? Case in point: I have no idea what I was doing on February 29th, 2008. No idea.

And four years from now I probably won't remember most of the 87 things I did today. But hopefully I'll remember one thing--because I did something totally brave, completely scary, and highly rewarding (hopefully!!).

And I had no idea that today was, in some ways, the day to do such things (didn't realize it until someone mentioned it at choir tonight).

Anyways, this is a huge deal for me--for others it's second nature, but for me it's a big deal. And at this moment  I'm oh-so-proud-of-myself (and would prefer to not relive the scene in the bathroom where I'm giving myself a pep talk in the mirror and rehearsing my very basic line which includes handing over my cellphone number, asking if he's seeing anyone, and recommending we get together for dinner or something soon--and then running like heck).

The good news is that he said he was thinking the same thing (sigh of relief from me). And, later he texted and said I made his day (double-sigh of relief).

And so the adventure begins!

A beautiful day in the neighborhood

So, I'm thinking of moving. I'm tired of the commute to work and church (two places where I seem to spend the bulk of my hours), and though I love my little apartment with it's open floor plan, breakfast bar and built-in desk, I don't love it's location.

But this is the joy of apartment living--when your lease is up (which mine is later this spring) you can choose to stay where you are, or embark on a new adventure elsewhere.

The pain and suffering of packing and actually moving is only a momentary trial, right?

The most exciting part is that I think I'll actually move to a "community"...sure, I'm in a community now (and really, community is what you make of it), but the areas I'm looking at seem to have a demographic that matches my own: young, smart, hip, etc. (Actually, maybe they'll rub off on me!)  Unlike many of my friends and colleagues, I don't need to live in a neighborhood suited for kids, families and dogs--that's not me. I don't need to live in a neighborhood suited to senior citizens--not me (yet!). I need to live someplace vibrant with life, someplace that will force me out of my comfort zone (in front of the TV or behind a book), someplace where people engage in living life together.

Don't get me wrong:
Apartment living isn't for everyone.
Apartment living in an urban, downtown environment isn't for everyone.

But I'm excited--I love old things and downtown has a lot of historic properties with unique architectural details (the photo above is from a property at 6th Ave & Roosevelt). Plus, there's a post office and coffee shops within walking distance--what more does a girl need?

Hello, hello?

Two-week vacation to Europe? Check.

Starting new job with longer commute, more responsibilities, and a cubicle? Check.

Still working at old job, trying to fit a 40-hour work week into an 8 hour day (which today stretched to 14 hours)? Check.

Co-leading a summer Bible study without a clue as to what I'm doing? Check.

Trying not to go completely crazy, or develop a worse drinking habit? Check.

I'm learning some challenging life lessons about letting go, distancing myself from a situation, and taking the high road. Valuable, absolutely. Difficult, extremely.

I think I need to start planning a big trip for summer 2012. I envision a beach, with lots of sun, and lots of umbrella drinks. Who's with me?

I have a confession

I have a confession to make. I’m not perfect. I never really thought I was, but sometimes (or a lot), I struggle with perfectionist tendencies. And then sometimes, I have a mini breakdown when I realize I can’t (or don’t) meet my own high expectations for myself.

A recent example made this abundantly clear to me. I’m pursuing a master’s degree, part-time, while I continue to work full-time. Sometimes it seems like I’m on the 40-year track, rather than the 4-year track to completion--it feels like I’ve been in class forever. The truth is that I only take classes part-time, never during the summer (when the classes are condensed to five-week sessions) and there have been semesters where I’ve had to drop a class or withdraw simply because I couldn’t manage the pressures and commitment to class (which run in 8-week installments) along with the pressures and commitment to work. And for some reason, work always comes first.

Lately I’ve been fueled with a recommitment to my program—the end is on the horizon and I’m determined to finish sooner rather than later (which means no more sacrificing school for work). This past month I’ve been faced with dueling priorities—an annual work event that I manage the majority of planning for, and the end of my fourth-to-last-class (and one that I had avoided taking for as long as I could!). I did great in the class until the last two weeks, which coincided with my large work event.

My work event was successful (but stressful!), and once again, my class work suffered. And I learned, again, that I’m not perfect. I could have planned ahead better, completed assignments in advance, and been a better time manager at the beginning of the course. (A little secret is that I often do my best school work under the dark cloud of procrastination.) But this time I didn’t pull through. Once I got over the shock of realizing that my 4.0 GPA was gone (which happened in both high school and college and was shocking and sorrowful then), I was determined to finish strong and complete all the required assignments. All in all I submitted the final 12 assignments late (all due during the last week of class), and the professor was generous enough to give me partial credit for some. But really, what I learned was that, it’s ok to not meet your own expectations. It’s ok to not be perfect. The earth keeps turning, the sun still rises.

I’m not a perfect student. I’m not a perfect employee. I’m not a perfect friend, or a perfect daughter, or a perfect sister, or auntie. I try my best, I often fail, and I’m certainly not perfect. And that’s ok. Because my goal shouldn’t be to be perfect.

My goal is to love others, to be a light for Christ, to work hard (oh, and to get that master's degree!).