Monthly Archives: February 2017

Write to Make It Right

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Which pen should I write with today? It always takes me a while to decide. I review my collection of pens carefully, rolling each in my hand and deciding which has the best fit. Thin or thick point? Blue or black ink? I’m finally happy with my choices, so I dive right in, opening my notebook and feverishly writing. My thoughts are spilling forth so quickly that I can just about keep up. Once finished, I proof read it over and over, agonizing over the proper grammar and just the right words to use. And, when it’s perfect, I read it out loud twice. Then, I rip it up into tiny little pieces and throw it away.

In ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia, the need to maintain history and culture, disseminate knowledge, form legal systems and correspond were all motivations for writing. My motivation is much simpler; I use it as an emotional outlet. Pouring my heart out onto those pages is the healthiest way I have found to release me from feelings that might haunt me if I let them.

As a teenager, I thought of myself as quite cunning. I had devised a way to keep a diary that was 100 percent secure from ever being read. I would use this practice as an extension of positive thinking by writing a letter to a friend and telling them of my good fortune, detailing what it was that I wanted to happen. My anger, jealousy or sadness would be directed to its source with every element itemized and accounted for. Every decision I contemplated was documented on a folded sheet of paper noting pros and cons at its top.

As time went on, the subjects became more complex, but the ritual remained the same. The pen preferences make the process something special. The actual writing forces me to gather my thoughts and disciplines me to be precise and thorough. The ceremonial feel of reading the words out loud and then physically ripping up the paper always gives me a sense of power, of being in control over the situation (whether I really am or not).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Meeting Mr. Right Goes Wrong

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That’s him! I stopped short at the newspaper stand that I passed each day on my walk to work down New York City’s Fifth Avenue. There, with a sultry smile on the cover of GQ (Gentlemen’s Quarterly, the men’s magazine) was a photo of a young man. He had a short business haircut, wore tortoise shell rimmed glasses, a pinstripe suit and had that debonair look about him.

Many years ago, my marriage to my high school sweetheart was sadly coming to an end and once it did, only one of the many friends we had ever spoke to me again. Since I had to kick-start my life all over again, I decided to also interview for a new job and I was now the New York salesperson for a housewares company. As I would always do, I put my energy into positive thinking, closing my eyes at night just before bed and viewing the details of my life as if I were watching myself in a movie. I imagined myself successful in this challenging, new position. I saw myself meeting someone who looked just like that GQ cover.

I was excited to be attending my first trade show in Chicago, but disappointed that my boss would soon be leaving the company. When he had put his replacement on the phone to say hello a few days prior, I was startled. His voice was deep and he sounded as if he were at least 30 years old! The fun was over and I could already tell that he had no sense of humor. When I had written “…Does anyone really read this? …” in the middle of the long, detailed sales report that I had to turn in weekly, I had received a phone message from him stating only that ..”Yes, someone is reading it…” Uh oh, I was not off to a good start.

I arrived early at the show, making sure that the displays I had set up the day prior were perfectly in place before the company executives arrived. As I was finishing up, a deep voice behind me said “…Hello, Linda…” It was the voice on the phone and as I turned around the GQ photo came to life, complete with the same eye glasses and suit! Not one to usually stammer, I started to stumble over my words and quickly decided it was best to just stop talking and shake hands.

He left the next morning, but not before letting me know that he would be flying into NYC in two weeks and asking me to make appointments with the top department stores so he could meet them. By this time, I was feeling confident in my position and looking forward to him getting to know my customers and for me to get to know him a bit better.

The two weeks arrived quickly and I was excited to see him again. I planned to impress him with my professionalism, which took a turn for the worst when, as we strolled down Fifth Avenue, I fell on the sidewalk and lay there on my stomach in my new suit and matching heels. A crowd formed around us as he helped me up. I tried to brush it all off as I brushed myself off, quickly cleaning the blood off my knees with my spit and trying to turn the rips in my hose off to the side. Fortunately, the day continued without another hitch.

The next day, the rain did not deter us and I was feeling great in my new matching raincoat and hat. I was impressed that he wanted to stop in at one of those ritzy Madison Avenue jewelry stores where ringing the bell lets you in and I felt so elegant as we entered. Then, as I looked down, the water that had gathered on the brim of my hat hit the jewelry case and all the security alarms in the store started to screech. As we were quickly escorted back out to the street by the security guards, all I could think to say was “…Lunch?..” Needless to say, it was better for both of us that his trip was coming to an end, since I could not have imagined what calamity Day Three might have had in store for me.

My sales increased and our relationship blossomed. We were a great team; I kept track of all the details and he would “wing it,” creatively putting deals together. A few years later, we would decide to open our own sales representative agency and our first product line would be the housewares company that we had met at.

Through all these years together, life with Mr. Wiz* has never been dull. The adventures just seem to continue. My heart still skips a beat when I see him dressed in a suit and he’s always been there to pick me up (literally and figuratively).

 

*Who’s who? See “Cast of Characters” on the “About” page.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Late Bloomer Benefits

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When I think back, JC* may have been a bit concerned when I dragged out my Patti Playpal doll and all her accessories every Saturday afternoon. She’d suggest that my friend come over or would drive me to her home, maybe sensing that a 13-year old girl should not be seen dragging a three-foot tall doll down the street, for fear that she would receive taunts from fellow schoolmates. By the time, I had moved on and Patti had moved from my bedroom to the basement closet, my girlfriends were well into the dramatic boy stage. And so it continued…

 

A late bloomer is defined as a person whose talents and capabilities develop later than others, but eventually catch up and in some cases, may even overtake their peers. At a young age, I realized that, in order to be comfortable in my own skin, I had to accept that I was just a tad behind the curve and make it work for me. I began to think of it as the gift that kept on giving. I decided that watching and learning from others takes patience and it was that patience that would ultimately help me to forge success. And, when I combined that with positive thinking, it would create a powerful force.

 

It’s not easy telling yourself that it just wasn’t meant to be. Though this is the last thing you want to hear at that moment, when you look back, you can usually trace the pattern of how one event led to another and ultimately worked out for the best, even when the ending may have been far different from you had originally imagined.

 

There have been many instances when I had to remind myself that, eventually, my time would come. No surprise that most of them occurred during high school. I didn’t make the kick line squad until the second time around and then became the captain. I was too shy to utter a word at the sorority teas and was the only one of my friends that did not receive an invitation to join. I begged JC to accompany me to the mall and hide in the shadows as I walked in and out of every store, looking for my first job. I always felt clumsy and awkward, constantly falling over my own feet.

 

I cannot believe that this is the same person who later spoke at bridal fairs on behalf of Wedgwood China, was interviewed on a TV morning show about her book and successfully walked 500 miles through Spain on The Camino.

 

Is brown the new black? Is 60 the new 40? I don’t have to worry about that right now. By the time it’s resolved, I’ll probably just be catching up with the trend. I’ll wait to see what blooms next and take it from there.

 

 

 

*Who’s who? See “Cast of Characters” on the “About” page