Opportunity and Discernment, or Ponderings on New Year's Eve

As I've been thinking about "end of year, beginning of year" changes, I've dubbed 2009 The Year of Opportunity.  There's certainly been a great deal of it available to me!  I've had a grand time moving to New York.  It's certainly been more than I expected and imagined in some ways. Some things have been harder, like the loneliness of building an ordinary life from scratch in a new place. But most everything else has been easier or better or more rewarding.

A quick list of highlights:

• Realizing that the defining arm of my new community is hand crafting; making friends, joining teams, developing my talents, and finding the beauty and personality of craftivism as a way of giving back.  Between my Ravelry  groups (Fort Greene Knit & Crochet amd Queer Stitch 'n Bitch), the Etsy Labs, and having my office located in the heart of the garment district with easy access to a zillion notions shops, my hands have been full of fibers and textiles from the moment I arrived.
  
• Immersing myself in music and dance, and taking every opportunity to attend literary and historical lectures.  Between seeing a dozen concerts and shows with Clay, singing along at Irish Seisiuns with Meetup, meeting Marc Gunn and Cady Finlayson at Ceol, taking ballet and Baroque dance classes at Mark Morris, being introduced to contra dancing at the Center (and making plans to participate in the Dance Flurry in February), listening to a half-dozen Story Slam competitions, and attending lectures at the library, museum, and in the streets, I've had more fun in the last nine months than in the past three years.
• Discovering the trials and tribulations of trying to make green things grow in the city. (Okay, so not *everything* has been easy and fun!) Between the bizarrely-not-kept hours and cliquishness and immersion-and-responsibility-as-introduction in the community gardens, the randomness and disorganization of most environmental volunteerism groups, the death and destruction of my kitchen-window-herb-garden, and a growing season spent battling pigeon poop in my container garden, I have to count the Green Thumb projects as abysmal failures and exercises in frustration. My Master Gardener friend Pattie has offered some cool suggestions for me, though, and I'm marshaling my powers of persuasion to convince my landlord that creating a back garden is in the best of interest of the property -- hopefully 2010 will be a little more fortunate on the gardening front.
• Taking immediate advantage of more than a dozen new opportunities for professional development. My primary reason for moving to NYC was for work -- to be in a space where nonprofit tech professionals are easier to find than a needle in a haystack, to be available for in-person collaboration with the people I most often work with, to cut down on wasted resources (time, mainly, but also money) for commuting to the city every week, to be in the thick of action and innovation and drive.  And now that I'm here, it feels absolutely amazing to go to work every day in a place -- an entire city, and not just a single organization -- where work ethic and drive and high standards and subsequent success are valued as the best of human traits. Where winning actually matters, rather than being something that's expected but not spoken of or rewarded.
  
• I feel like I have learned more, in terms of both subject matter expertise for my field and general non-profit/business acumen, in the last nine months than in the previous two years. I've read more, listened more, collaborated more, and developed more than I'd dreamed possible in a nine-month span.
• I have not turned down a single opportunity.  If I can find the time to make it happen (and there's nothing I haven't been willing to sacrifice to that end), I've participated.  Lectures, conferences, strike forces, advisory teams, strategy groups, steering committees, programs and the odd meeting -- I've said 'yes' to them all.  I've learned a great deal about what makes a team successful, the importance of setting goals and expectations early, the difficulty of learning when an opportunity is a drain rather than a benefit (although I've abjectly failed at learning to say 'I'm sorry but no," gracefully).
• I've just embarked on an amazing training program that will last for the next two years, which should magnify the work that I've done solo for the past however long and put me on an accelerated track for personal growth and development.  It's requiring an amazing amount of focused effort at discernment, asking the tough questions, consciously choosing "where" I want to go next, and making every effort to fall in line with those choices.

And that last point is helping me move forward into 2010 with intention and purpose, perhaps more than any other.  If 2009 was The Year of Opportunity, 2010 will be The Year of Discernment.  I've going to break my habit of saying "yes," without thinking it through.  My habit of cramming into a day everything that sounds promising or hopeful. Of spending time and energy with people who haven't earned my interest or respect.

There are many things that I want to do in 2010.  Publicly work-related things like grow my program by another four million dollars, and lead a diverse team of people in building a sustainable, integrated (marketing and relationship management) retention strategy. Quietly personal things like deepen friendships with a few kindred spirits, trust enough to build a meaningful relationship rather than consider romance and partnerships only with cynicism and disguised bitterness, and rediscover how to write passionately and with fervor rather than merely rant for laughs (e.g. write more blog posts, like this one, and fewer Facebook/Twitter updates about ultimately meaningless daily frustrations). Random bits of joyful things, like learn to use my bicycle for spring and summer transportation (rather than only entertainment and exercise), finally read Virgil and Dostoevsky and D.H. Lawrence, find a non-church choir to sing with, and watch a half-dozen Yankee games with the Bleacher Creatures. And a few dozen things that haven't crossed my radar yet but will at some point in the next twelve months, I'm sure. The key will be considering them and choosing yay or nay consciously and intentionally and with purpose.

And so, here's a fond farewell to 2009 and a joyous, hopeful toast to 2010. Slainte!

Presents!

For the first time in my life, I think I'm Christmassed out.  Don't get me wrong -- I've had a terrific extended weekend upstate with parties galore (one a day since I arrived), amazing food, a surfeit of games and toys and stories, and an unending stream of visits from people I love and don't get to see very often. But at this point I'm ready for some quiet: deep snow; short days; crisp apples; hot tea; a heavy book; long walks through crisp, cold air -- just one form of stimulation at a time. I'm looking forward to January just as much as I looked forward to December, which is a glorious change from what I usually anticipate as a lonely let-down.

December was truly fantastic.  Holiday parties in the city.  Dinners and drinks with friends.  Christmas concerts and holiday light shows. Contra dancing. Making gifts for my family that were loved (or tolerated, at least).

As is usual for babies, the twins had far more fun chewing on the wrapping paper than in actually opening presents or playing with what came out of the boxes.  Money (Freddy's version of "Mommy") loved their little sweaters, though, and was adamant about keeping them as vests and not adding sleeves.

Freddy was far too busy playing with his singing Handy Manny tools to have any patience for trying on clothes, but we did get to see that his gorilla-armed sweater really did fit him pretty perfectly.

Dennis really liked his hat and scarf -- so much that I think he's worn the hat every time he's left the house since Christmas morning!  (Mary, I'll make one for you as soon as I get home to my yarn stash, too.)

Becky's fingerless gloves in the super-soft bamboo wool yarn that I love so much were also a hit -- particularly since they fit snugly enough so that little boys can't pull them off, and are machine washable after being exposed to baby grime.  (The six different wrist re-sizings were so worth it!)

Aunt Donna's super-bulky, cozy Alpaca scarf was adored -- which thrilled me to no end as I had modeled it off of a sweater that she loved for years and finally wore so many holes in that it couldn't be darned any more.

Mom and Dad laughed over their crocheted coasters -- my response to the mad rush that ensues every time Freddy picks up one of the ceramic ones and tries to drop it on the twins -- but immediately scattered them around the living room. They're very much looking forward to seeing To Kill a Mockingbird in March, too -- I started giving them "experience presents" a few years ago when I realized that they didn't need any help filling up their house with piles, and that I have an interesting knack for picking shows that they both enjoy very much, but wouldn't think about buying tickets for themselves.

I'm thrilled with my gifts, too -- tea and cookies for afternoon snacks in the office, a set of 1950s pin-up dish towels and a cut glass dish to decorate my kitchen, pattern books and yarn to crochet socks for myself, a fantastic suit that looks both futuristic and retro military at the same time (perhaps Captain Jack circa 3500), and the coolest piece of kinetic steampunk wall art made from antique weighing scales, which comes complete with a delivery visit from David and Betsy this spring.

And as the sky lightens this morning, fat snowflakes are falling to the ground, and we're all snug inside. I hope that everyone is peaceful and happy this morning, and that new year opportunities are lending happy dreams.

A Christmas Story

I've been reading Dickensian Christmas Stories -- ghost stories at Christmas, that involve people confronting their greatest fears.  Loneliness. Despair. Poverty. Mortality. Wasted Opportunities.  Similarly, when I hear people talk about greatest fears -- generally, in a "what if" sort of context -- those that are brought to light are the ones mentioned above or involve major phobias, or world annihilation, or the destruction of vital relationships. Death and destruction, madness and mayhem, the biggies.

By contrast, my greatest fear seems to be losing my keys. I know. It's completely, ridiculously stupid. But it is what it is.

At least once a day, I panic and frantically rip through everything that I own, convinced that I've lost my key ring.  I haven't, of course; it's safely ensconced in the walnut dish by the door, or firmly attached to the key fob in whatever purse or backpack or messenger bag I'm carrying that day (I never purchase a bag for myself unless it has an attached key fob, or an interior zipper to which I can attach my keys.), or tucked inside a pocket, or sitting on the desk next to me, or still hanging from the lock of the door I just opened. Even if the ring isn't in the first place I look, it always turns out to be in one of those four places. Except that today, my keys weren't there -- they were really and truly lost.

Let's start at the beginning.

I left my flat earlier today at mid-morning for a number of walk-heavy errands; dropping off laundry and dry cleaning, picking up a few forgotten things at the market, hitting the pet supply store, visiting the notions shops in the garment district for buttons and silk thread and ribbon to finish some Christmas gifts, picking up an additional skein of yarn for a project that is less than 2 inches from being complete -- totally routine things that are far enough from one another and all conveniently located a decent distance from any useful subway lines, so walking is the major mode of choice.  I planned it to take about 4 hours, was bundled appropriately, and was happy to be productive and get some exercise.

That said -- let me just put this out there now -- walking in city snow is hard.  Add the packages and bundles that make an ordinary person look like a beast of burden, and those walking errands become an 8-mile hike with a 60 pound pack -- and a third of the sidewalks I traversed were buried in snow.  (Not an exaggeration; I MapMyRun.com'ed the route and couldn't resist weighing my bags when I ultimately got home.) So, everyone who said "you'll see eventually; it's not as straightforward as you think"?  Yeah, okay, you were right.

Which is a way of explaining why partway through my errands I was tired. And hungry. So I took the excuse to treat myself to breakfast. I had a lovely dish of eggs and grits with juice and tea, and took the opportunity for my favorite Christmas tradition -- which I started the year after I left school and had a real, grown-up, professional job.  Background: I worked a number of no-training-required manual labor-type jobs to pay tuition, and to supplement my not-quite-paying-the-bills salaries for the first four years of this decade.  My parents taught me that the greatest personal failing is being too proud to do an honest day's work, so I never saw those jobs as being any less deserving of my best efforts.  Most of them involved customer service; I had some regular customers who were friendly and interested in my long-term plans, what I wanted to do when I got out of school, where I would go, etc.  One of those was a man who was incredibly generous with his time, his money, and his expertise; he offered me a job several times, that I never took him up on.  Each Christmas, he would find out who in the shop might be struggling a bit, picking up extra shifts at a time when we all really wanted to be spending time with the people we loved. And about a week before Christmas, he would purchase a ninety cent cup of coffee, pay with a fifty, and say "the rest is your personal tip, for such great work this last week. I appreciate it."  The last Christmas I was there, he gave me very particular instructions as I was ringing up his order.

"You're going places; you're a smart kid, you've got big ideas, and you don't let anyone keep you down. When you get to where you're going, make sure to look out for the good people who keep you running every day -- especially the ones who seem to be stuck where they are. Give your time, and your attention, and when you have it, a bit of your money."

Even when time and attention and money are tight, I put that lesson to use every Christmas, and a few other times during the year.  Today, I left that tip for my waitress at breakfast even though I hadn't seen her before -- in a city this size, I'm afraid I'm not a regular anywhere but Starbucks.  I didn't move quickly enough to be out the door before she saw the bills, though, and there must be some circuitous route through the kitchen because by the time I got to the door she was there holding it open for me with a great big grin and a thank you hug.  I can't imagine this is an odd occurrence in NYC, where money changing hands is deemed the most appropriate way to show Christmas appreciation, but it was nice to see the excitement and smile of my little gift when I usually don't.

So, she was standing at the door as I walked off into the rest of my day, and I assume she saw me promptly trip over my own feet and fall into a snowbank. As per my usual, when guilty of something ridiculously klutzy and embarassing in public, I blushed, jumped up, brushed myself off, and ran for the train as fast as I could with a "oh, no big deal, happens all the time, sorry for the commotion" comment to the young couple who helped haul me to my feet.  Leaving my keys, chapstick, and business card holder -- all of which had been in my pocket -- in the snowbank.

Fast forward three hours, 6+ miles, and 60 pounds of baggage later, and watch me stand on my front stoop, ripping apart my bags, upending my knapsack, ripping off and shaking out my coat, and promptly bursting into hysterical tears complete with the hiccuping sobs that are usually part of a tiny kid's traumatic breakdown. What was I going to do? Where was I going to go? I was practically homeless! And I was cold and hungry and it was getting dark and I desperately wanted to call for help -- but I don't have a spare set of keys, let alone a person in near proximity of my house to give them to, and my cats don't have hands. Along with my keys, all shreds of my safety and security were lost.

After several ( a dozen? two?) very long minutes of panic and terror, I started mentally retracing my steps.  I knew I had them when I left the house, because I had shifted the laundry bag to one arm as I locked the door behind me, and had nearly fallen down the steps in the process.  I knew I had them after leaving the bank,  because I put the receipts in my other pocket to avoid their being crumpled. I knew I had them at the diner, because I rearranged my coat pocket contents into the backpack pockets when I sat down.  But I couldn't remember having them at any time after that.  I called the yarn store, I called the market, I called my office, I called all of the notions shops I could remember names for, and I called the diner.  And in less than five minutes, the woman I'd spoken to at the restaurant called me back and said, "We've got a bunch of keys and some other things fished out of a snowbank -- some of the staff remember you from this morning.  Take your time; we'll hold them for you."

By the time I got there, I was more wet and cold and tired than I had been, but I have never been so happy to see the smiling faces of strangers who remembered and recognized and welcomed me. They gave me my keys and chapstick and card holder, only slightly worse for wear, sent me on my weary way.  The cashier offered to call a cab for me, but I was so elated I bounced home -- without breaking anything. And I held those bits of metal clenched in my fist the whole way home.

Happy Christmas, indeed.

I don't suppose I could ask Santa to install a Retina Scan as the lock and key on anything I need to secure?

Fannish Silliness

Tuesday has been many things, but "easy" and "pleasant" are not apt definitions for any of them. So I'm spending this evening in frivolous fun and games and not thinking too deeply.

Thus I am bringing you my favorite silly Christmas Carol: "A Very Voldemort Christmas" by Draco and the Malfoys (found on The Leaky Cauldron's charity album Jingle Spells 2)

Voldemort stayed up real late
So he could visit with Santa Claus
He asked him for a puppy,
'Cause Voldy just loves those little paws.

...

"Hewwo there, Santa Cwaus! My name's Tom Riddle, but my friends caw me Word Vowdemort. I reawy want a puppy. Can I have a puppy for Christmas? Pretty pweeze," said Voldemort.
"Eh, what kind of a fool do you think I am, eh? You's a very, very bad boy. You don't get a puppy," said Santa Claus.
"Aw shucks, Mister. But, pweeeeze?" said Voldemort.
"No," said Santa Claus.
"But, puh-weeeeeeeeeeeeeeze," said Voldemort.
"No," said Santa Claus.
"But I want to tew you something," said Voldemort.
"What's the matter," said Santa Claus.
"Imperio."

What? How do you think evil overlords while away their childhoods? Practicing Unforgivable Curses for fun and profit and puppies, of course!

Violence

I saw a child get hit by a car this morning. Well, not the initial impact. Rather, I saw an impossibly fast blur of motion in my peripheral view then heard a hideous popping noise. When I whipped my head around, I saw a thin little body wearing a parka and a backpack flying through the air, and thud to the ground in the middle of the East-bound lane of traffic on Myrtle Avenue.

An ambulance was parked at the intersection; while I stood rooted to the spot, my arms outstretched as if I could catch that little boy, the EMTs scrambled out of the cab and ran to him with their kits. The school crossing guard ran down the street from the intersection she monitors, to direct traffic. And I stood still.

I'm pretty good in a crisis. I move quickly, don't panic, take charge and direct people who don't know what to do. I look for experts, and defer to those who identify themselves as having specialized knowledge. This time, there was nothing for me to do - and so I did nothing. I forced my feet to move, and walked to the subway, and boarded the Q train and came to my office. But I can't get that popping noise out of my head, imagining bones pulling out of sockets, or the thud of a little body that hit the pavement without bouncing back up.

_____________________________

There's been a lot of violence in Brooklyn within the last week. Two different murders over the weekend, one that's currently considered drug related, a couple of neighborhoods over from mine. Seemingly random street assaults between strangers. Muggings and theft in well-populated areas. I'm feeling tense and edgy and anxious about all of it, compounded by this morning.

I'm glad of a cozy, bright little apartment to go home to when it gets dark out.  But hiding indoors isn't a long-range solution.

Rediscovering Om Nom

For the next four months, I am throwing in the towel on my incredibly restrictive, cancer-fighting diet. We'll see what happens in the spring.

Winter is a time for hearty soups and stews and casseroles, meals that simmer away all day in a slow-cooker or a roasting pan, becoming more tender and flavorful by the moment. Try cooking vegetables and grains that way without animal protein and you wind up with a glutinous mass that looks and tastes like a uniform, soggy cardboard. I do, at least.

Summer is the time for vibrant salads and fresh fruit, wine spritzers and chilled soups, foods so good raw you don't want to add a single joule to mar their perfection. But with temperatures dipping below freezing (seemingly so, at least), I want something warm and comforting.

Tonight is all about comfort. A whole chicken, stuffed with a quartered lemon and whole cloves of garlic, trussed and rubbed with olive oil, black pepper, and sea salt, roasted to perfection. Golden potatoes, rich carrots, and sweet purple turnip slow baked with Spanish paprika. A traditional green bean casserole (a dish I forget about until it's time to sit down for Thanksgiving dinner). Creamy, sweet chai and gingersnaps for dessert. And a week's worth of leftovers packaged up in the fridge -- meals that I'm actually looking forward to eating for lunch. Om nom nom nom.

I'll leave the bland, soggy messes to my vegan friends. Who somehow seem to enjoy that stuff.

Geekery

Another response to Gwen Bell's Best of 2009 Blog Challenge: A look back on your year. A time for reflection. A chance to make new friends.

December 7 Blog find of the year. That gem of a blog you can't believe you didn't know about until this year.

Lifehacker

The only thing I have to say about this is I don't know how I lived before the hacks became daily reading material. Well, yes, I do; far less productively. And, frankly, less able to build off of the ideas and creativity of other people.  Talk about a "maker" culture...

Take the Hint

Another response to Gwen Bell's Best of 2009 Blog Challenge.

December 3 Article. What's an article that you read that blew you away? That you shared with all your friends. That you Delicious'd and reference throughout the year.

Hands-down, the Commencement Address Paul Hawken wrote and delivered at the University of Portland in May. I blogged it. I emailed it to more than half of the people in my address book. I tweeted and updated Facebook with quotes from it for days. I printed and passed it out in my office. And I took the segment below, printed it out, highlighted it, and tacked it to the wall in my office just above my computer monitor, where I stare at every time I lift my eyes from the screen to reflect before tackling a new project.

You are Brilliant, and the Earth is Hiring. The earth couldn’t afford to send recruiters or limos to your school. It sent you rain, sunsets, ripe cherries, night blooming jasmine, and that unbelievably cute person you are dating. Take the hint. And here’s the deal: Forget that this task of planet-saving is not possible in the time required.  Don’t be put off by people who know what is not possible. Do what needs to be done, and check to see if it was impossible only after you are done.

Do what needs to be done, and check to see if it was impossible only after you are done.

"Best" doesn't begin to describe it.

Be a STAR

Another response to Gwen Bell's Best of 2009 Blog Challenge.

December 6 Workshop or conference. Was there a conference or workshop you attended that was especially beneficial? Where was it? What did you learn?

Back in early April I had the great privilege to attend Convio's on-the-road STAR training in Manhattan with two of my Marketing colleagues.  We spent four hours reviewing what our teams had accomplished in the last four years with regard to online fundraising -- strategic development, best practice implementation, integrated programming, campaign execution and analysis, etc -- and were alternately inspired by the opportunity before us and appalled at the chances that were passing us by every moment. 

"We're really good at this ... but Oh My God, we SUCK!  Wait, we're doing amazing things here ... but Oh My God, we SUCK!" was the constant refrain of the day. 

All three of us still return to the topics, documentation, idea-generation, and questions we asked during that workshop -- I know I do so on a near-daily basis. By far the single most valuable conference I've ever attended, let alone in 2009. I recommend it to everyone in Development and Marketing with even the slightest influence into an organization's web-based strategies.

Edibles

After NaBloPoMo I'm not ready for another daily posting activity, but am intrigued by Gwen Bell's Best of 2009 Blog Challenge. It's a series of 31 questions designed to let you look back at 2009 and pick your "best of" moments.  While she's assigned a particular question to each day, I'm far from organized enough to match them all up. Today is December 5th, but we'll pretend it's last Wednesday, the second.

December 2 Restaurant moment. Share the best restaurant experience you had this year. Who was there? What made it amazing? What taste stands out in your mind?

I've eaten more restaurant meals this year than in the last five combined, I'm sure.  That's one of the things about life in New York that I hadn't anticipated.  I've found several places I adore and return to over and over again: Habana (Cuban), Madiba (South African), Smoke Joint (BBQ), Pequena (Tex-Mex), Udom (Thai), The Place (Pan-American), Seven (American Grill), Austin's (Cafe), Smith and Mills (Steampunk Pub), Clover Club (Pub), Tillies (Coffee House).  There are places I've enjoyed but only visited once (a half-dozen different Indian restaurants on the Lower East Side, for example), and there are a scant few places that I would never return to!

The best experience of the year, though, would have to be on my first night in Brooklyn.  My friend Emily drove a car full of stuff -- including my two cats and I -- from Saratoga to Fort Greene.  After we navigated the Lincoln Tunnel, figured out how to get into the building (four calls to the Landlord and one neighbor's response to our plight later), unloaded the car, and saw the cats frantically scramble out of their carriers and into their respective hiding spaces (underneath the bathroom sink and on top of the cabinet above the refrigerator), it was time for dinner. My Fabulous Broker directed us to the Lafayette and Fulton Street area to find a place for dinner, and we stumbled onto a teeny, tiny little place named, appropriately, Pequena. We squeezed into our seats, ordered fabulous quesadillas with the best black beans I've ever tasted (I abhor most legumes, but regularly stop in on my way home to pick up their black beans and rice for takeout supper), with a pair of delectable and nerve-quieting margaritas, and proceeded to dream big and little dreams of the grandest city in the world.

visions of sugar-plums

I know what I want for Christmas.

This is a big deal because I *never* know what I want for Christmas.  Well, not since I was about ten, and my sister and I stopped flipping through the enormous Christmas toy catalogues and imagining all the fun games we could play with the things on those pages.  (We didn't actually *want* those toys, but the imagining was way too much fun to pass up.) But I digress.

My Christmas wish? Instructions for how to wire both my stereo and my television set to my computer, so I can listen to iTunes through the awesome speakers and watch NetFlix OnDemand and Hulu on the very large television screen, along with instructions for choosing and installing upgraded video and sound cards in my desktop.  I'm not talking about average "go google the pieces and piece together what you need to do" instructions, but exact, step by step, "go buy this cable at this length and (don't forget the anchors and a door sweep so you can tack said cable out of sight) and install first this piece and then that one" instructions.

I have come to this conclusion because I have been saying for nearly a year that I need to figure out how to make these pieces fit together, that I should sit down and put together the steps I need to take and shop for the stuff I need and spend a day and be done with it. The thought crosses my mind several times a week. And yet I never take action. Why? Because I find hardware and wiring disgustingly boring.  I may be a geek, but I'd rather clean the bathroom than sit down with a scratchpad and figure out how to make this setup work.

But I came home tonight at a decent hour with no plans, terribly excited to make dinner and watch the Presidential Address followed by an episode of Torchwood (so I can finally catch up on Season 2 and prepare to enjoy Children of Earth next month when the doldrums of winter set in), and I forewent Torchwood -- as I have every time that thought has crossed my mind of late -- because I don't really want to sit at my desk and stare at a small computer screen when I could instead be snuggled up on the sofa with a fleece blanket.

Thus, my Christmas wish.

It's as much a pipe dream as my plans to actually *do* the planning and work, of course, as if I actually knew someone who could do that I'd trade them dinner and dessert and a basket of leftovers to get the task done (thereby rendering Christmas wishing obsolete), but it's a wish made and expressed.

Happy, Mom? You've said for five years that I "never give you any hints."