I AM LUCY OR SOMEONE LIKE HER

This morning seemed to go smoothly, but, as with most episodes of I Love Lucy, that's the way things typically start. Just a few minutes in, however, everything began to break down. There was the typical amount of tripping, bumping into things, stumbling over words; that is all very standard. Very.
I've always claimed that I live an "I Love Lucy" life but the more episodes of "The New Adventures of Old Christine" I watch, the more I think I might be channeling her instead. Whoever it may be, she came in this morning wreaking havoc.

I pulled out of the garage on time with a full belly and lip gloss applied. All set for my second day in a blue shirt dress and my cute pink t-straps I could just tell the day was going to be a good one. About two miles from the garage, my car started having problems with the clutch. I had to search for the gears and the shifting felt crunchy. Then, I pushed in the clutch, shifted the car to fourth gear and when I let up on the clutch, it didn't come up. It just laid there on the floor like a dead cat, one I'd just squished with my pretty shoe.

Instinctively I stepped on the dead cat clutch again to shift up or down, I'm not really sure. At this point, the shifter became like King Arthur's sword, immovable. I suddenly felt alone, vulnerable. Like I'm the first person this has ever happened to and perhaps the last.

With a quick recovery, I coasted off the highway onto a side street and called Nate for backup. Luckily he was working from home today. He leaves town tomorrow so I can't imagine if this were one day delayed. Anyway, Nate came to my rescue as I sat in the car all sweaty arm-pitted and frantic, anticipating how unprofessional it would be to show up late on my second day of work. As if anyone would notice.

You think the story ends here and that's where you're wrong. When Nate dropped me at work our plan was that I would ride the fast bus from downtown to Daybreak. I'm used to riding public transportation, after all. Something happened between those days and these. I did my research before leaving work, wrote down the bus number, address to the stop, and pick up times, all on a sticky note. The sticky note was affixed to my trusty moleskin notebook and dropped in my purse.

On my way to the bus stop it became very windy; my blue shirt dress threatening to blow up around my shoulders. As I was running across one particularly windy intersection all hunched over to hold the dress in place, I heard my sticky note blow off the moleskin notebook and disappear into the wind before I had time to react. I couldn't remember the bus number to save my life. As I called Nate, again for back up, I heard my cell phone beep that it was getting dangerously low on battery. Nate gave me the information I needed, I regrouped, and trudged on to the bus stop.

Now, it was really only at this point that I realized Utah public transportation probably isn't free. Duh. I ducked into Zim's craft supply to buy a sharpie and get some change for the bus but Zim's doesn't make change of any kind. I counted my coins and I had $1.15 and a Canadian nickel but that's not enough because I was told the bus was $1.60. Well, my situation was this: the bus was due any minute and I didn't have enough money to get on. I considered pan handling to make up the difference but I just couldn't. Nate says it would have been hot. My cell phone beeped to let me know it was limping along on its last breath. What could I do? What should I do?

Well, to make a long story short, my phone had one last call left in it and Nate is today's knight in shining armor. I love you babe. You are my Ricky Ricardo! Can tomorrow please be easier?

THANK YOU UNEXPECTED PERSON!

{photo from dominic_nwh photostream}
I have great friends. Some are really creative, some analytical, some practical offering a much needed voice of reason. With friends stretching across the spectrum of possibilities it's odd to think that I'd ever find myself in a situation where I didn't have someone to talk to; but it occasionally happens.
I haven't moved a lot in my life but I've moved some. In chronological order: Utah, New York, Utah, Missoula MT, Utah, Chicago, Missoula MT, Utah. And the situation usually plays out as follows. I walk into a new city and into a new job. My mind feels numb from all the drastic change all at once. I don't even have a favorite place to eat yet. And in that moment of feeling like a stranger I long for friends and familiar places. But it's not part of the package; I can't expect to move and start new adventures and keep the comfort of my old life tucked in my back pocket.
So I power through. I walk around the streets until I find a place I like, a place I'll bring my friends when they visit. I locate a good bookstore and recognize the corner where I'll sit and read on Saturday afternoons. Most importantly, I'll find somewhere outside where I can go and think and watch people and learn what it means to be a local.
In Montana I was a local if I got my CDs at Rockin' Rudy's, ate soup at Catalyst, and went to the Iron Horse to whet my whistle. I was a local if I loved the children's theater, patronized the local mom-and-pop shops, and proclaimed I was a Grizzly fan. In Chicago I was a local if I new what L train to catch to get home without looking at my map. I was a local if I could recommend the best deep dish pizza in the city and if the guy at the fruit stand knew my name. I was a local if I met my friends for dinner in out-of-the-way places in up-and-coming neighborhoods. Sometimes I felt like a local and sometimes I never really adjusted, but I always tried.
All of this is just a lead into what I've been thinking about this week. Because while this post is mostly talking to people I've met in my traveling, they are all around me. Everywhere. It's the unexpected people that waltz into my life and totally change it around - then usually they waltz right back out again. Sometimes the difference these people make is quite significant and I just know I'll be friends with them forever; sometimes that happens but usually it doesn't. How long we are friends or if I have their current address today isn't the point - it's not what's important. What is important is how they changed my life; brought me out of a bad routine or taught me how to swim and encouraged me to do a triathlon. It's how they said something {or a lot of things} that have forever impacted how I think about myself. It's how they made me laugh when I was feeling the worst. I think it's so important to acknowledge the little miracles that happen every day when we meet someone who is good for us. Someone who offers us exactly what we need.
For all of these things and more, I have to thank the unexpected people who have changed my life for the better. Wherever they are.

SHOOTING FOR MEDIOCRITY

At 35 I'm still learning valuable lessons about how to live a happier more liberated life. From an early age I have been afraid of being mediocre. I don't know why this became a worry for me but it did and has charted a course through life that is, at times, too deliberate.
The world is quite full already of passionless, milquetoast individuals just floating along; waiting for something better or just content to "get by". With so much beige contribution to the world, the last thing I've ever wanted was to offer anything less then vibrant and unique. When I was a little girl I just knew I would do something significant and fabulous and leave the world changed forever.
This probably sounds like a pretty good life-plan but it has actually created a lot of barriers and limits to what I try and stick with. The standards by which I measure myself are impossibly high; if I try something new and don't excel immediately I tend to quit for fear of being mediocre. As you can imagine, I've tried a lot of things just looking for whatever it is that I'm supposed to be doing - that one thing I was meant for. I guess I assumed that what I was meant for would come easily and with such miraculous and natural talent that it would be impossible for me to ignore or deny. Just days before my 36th birthday I am learning to accept that this concept is simply not true.
There are many things worth doing; even if you don't do them all perfectly, the attempt still has value. Maybe I don't make the best pancakes or play an extremely competitive ultimate frisbee game but I'm not convinced I should give up on these things for good. I think there are a lot of experiences in life where I can find satisfaction in the doing and not in the end-product; with these I should shoot for mediocrity and accept the joy that can come from it.
And for the one or two things I do very well - where I hit way above the mark - I can feel proud of myself and grateful for the satisfaction that in those areas I am a beautiful pair of red shoes in a beige world.

Addendum: Tim and Brandi included this link in their comment and I thought it was so spot on with my post that I wanted to include it for everyone to see.

{image from leahmac's photostream}