That Time of Year

So many people have told me that working in retail ruins holidays—Christmas starts too early and the retail buzz cramps your own Christmas spirit. For me, it was just the opposite.

Disclaimer: I didn’t work in big retail box chain store. I worked at a small town, locally owned True Value Hardware. But retail is retail.

True Value made me feel very Christmasy. Of course, we didn’t set up the display trees in late August, and though there was a fair amount of strange holiday merchandise, it wasn’t rows and rows of trashy, glitter-infested plastic. I usually got to set up and decorate the trees, or at least help in the process—it sort of became part of my “other duties as assigned” tasks, as I was one of four females who worked in the store. But it made me feel fancy—decorating expensive trees with classy ornaments, making them look very HGTV in a way that my own tree will never look.

We sold real trees outside, so the scent of pine wafted in through the double doors when there was a brisk December wind. We sold fancy ornaments and boxes after boxes of white lights.

And when I’d work a Saturday, and fluffy snow whispering to the ground, blanketing my ghetto van and Levi’s powder blue El Camino in a velvet layer of white, I’d watch through the giant windows, soaking in the pine, and the decorations, and the small Minnesota town outside drinking cocoa and sitting in front of a cozy orange fire—and I’d think, now this, this is Christmas.

And maybe we started decorating before the Thanksgiving turkey had been carved, and maybe the season lasted a little too long for many people’s liking, but is it ever too early to celebrate Christmas? For me, it was never about stockings or candy canes or presents. It was that holiday spirit of joy, contentment, giving, and friendliness. Why does everyone only want to feel sentimental and generous for a few weeks in December? What’s wrong with practicing this happy holiday spirit year round?

Maybe because I only worked at True Value for three years, I wasn’t so jaded by the holiday retail loathing. Maybe because I was just a kid, I didn’t feel the pressure of buying the perfect gifts for everyone and still trying to feed my family. Or maybe there’s just a whole lot more to feeling the Christmas spirit than eggnog and carols.

Maybe Christmas is a state of mind.

A Time To Hate

There are things about my life that make me so immensely happy I can’t even describe them properly—despite the number of adjectives and adverbs I line up trying to make my explanations adequate.

And then there are the things I hate. I hate getting up in the morning before 11 a.m. Even if my job was unicorn caretaker or bouncy-house tester I would still hate waking up every morning. I hate cleaning house and washing dishes and scrubbing shower walls. I hate having to wait until payday to go grocery shopping because I have exactly $17.29 in my checking account.

I hate that the only things in our fridge are dry carrots, cheese, and 40 kinds of salad dressing. I hate that I have so many clothes and I can never get rid of enough to make a dent in my over-stuffed closet (and dresser and armoire and under-the-bed drawers)—yeah, it’s a lot of clothes.

I try not to spend much time dwelling on just how centipede-infested our apartment is, or what that sticky stuff is on the floor behind the toilet. But sometimes it helps. It’s a good purge to just out all the bad things and stare them in the face. Every one of these “problems” is so very first world (seriously, too many clothes? What kind of problem is that?) But acknowledging that I do hate things—and have the control to change many of them—is powerful.

Someday I will get up to swim at 6 a.m. (no really, I’ve been planning to start going for a few months now—someone join me and I might actually set an alarm…or buy a new swimsuit).

Someday I will do a better job of cleaning our house, even that elusive behind-the-toilet black hole where dreams go to die.

Someday I will keep our fridge and cupboards properly stocked (that is, when we actually HAVE cupboards, not just a broken bookcase—oh yeah, p.s. I hate my kitchen).

Someday I will get rid of a huge mountain of clothes and only keep what makes me feel awesome when I wear it.

Someday I will have more than $17 in the bank the day before I get paid.

And maybe I will accomplish some of these things today.

Fantasy

Brett and I have our own fantasy football league. I really can’t decide which is more lame—the fact that he wouldn’t let me be in his regular league with all his guy friends, or that we “compromised” by having our own league—as in we are the only people in the league. We each have two teams, and all four teams are stacked with all the best players in the NFL. And we’re ridiculously competitive about beating each other.

One of my teams (the Hello Kitties) started the season 5-0. They’re now on a 1-5 run. It’s even more lame because every three weeks I play my other team (the Silly Beans). The Hello Kitties only recent win is against the Silly Beans, who are currently beating the Hello Kitties to make both teams’ records 6-5. Matt Forte is dead to me.

I’ve watched Brett play fantasy football for several years now, but this is my first year having my own team. It’s fun, nerdy, and heart-wrenching all at the same time. Since all of our teams have the best of the best players, it all comes down to match-ups when deciding who should play. Picking who should play—Larry Fitzgerald or Wes Welker—is always a tough coaching decision. Then there was the week that three of my best players (including Darren McFadden, who I declined to trade to Brett the day before!) all got hurt. I was so annoyed reading all the dumb updates streaming across the bottom of ESPN. That was the week our internet was out, so we had to guess our scores based on stats. You know, the old fashioned way.

I really didn’t expect to jump on the fantasy football bandwagon. But I’m definitely not as obsessed as Brett—who keeps a spreadsheet of whom he played each week and what their scores were. He says it’s necessary since he’s in 4 leagues and has 5 teams. Whatever. It’s about the nerdiest thing I’ve ever seen. He thinks it's dumb that I bench players the next week if they performed poorly the previous week—you know, as punishment. Fantasy football is seriously a weird hobby, and we all have our own methods.

But Matt Forte is still dead to me.

A Great Many Things

I’m a wife, a sister, a friend, a daughter, a granddaughter, a niece, and a cousin.

I’m a writer, an editor, a coach, a director, and a blogger.

I’m a slob, a procrastinator, a pack rat, and a sleep talker.

I’ve wanted to be a gymnast, an inventor, an aunt, an author, a barista, a doctor, an event planner, a bartender, an actor, an FBI agent, a lawyer, and a stay-at-home mom.

I can’t dance, I love to swim, I can’t keep a clean house, I’m awesome at remembering names, and I’ve always wanted to own my own business, but I don’t have any skills that I could market.

There’s a line in Little Women that I’ve been pondering for the last few weeks. Jo makes a sound, logical argument to Mr. Mayer on why women should vote.

Mr. Mayer then says: You should have been a lawyer, Miss March.
And Jo replies: I should have been a great many things.

I should have been a great many things.

Maybe not professionally, or even often, but I enjoy the many things I do. I am a great many things.

The Dream Job...or Dream Life

Today I received an unexpected email from a college friend. After graduation and a few months of unemployment and working some lame writing jobs, she accepted an offer at a magazine in New York City—obviously every writing major’s dream and the pay was surprisingly excellent. Her husband was supportive—grudgingly supportive, though happy about the large paycheck.

She was writing me to tell me how much she was doubting her decision. She said she’d been looking at my Facebook page, catching up on my life, and wondering if I was happy. She went on to write that she genuinely thought I would be the one to whisk away to the big city and do the writing thing. She had put all her hopes in a job and money, and now felt so alone she didn’t know what to do. She kept up-to-date through emails and Facebook. She knew who was married, who was buying a house, getting a promotion, and having kids. And she was missing all of it. Her college friends’ weddings, her high school best friend was having a baby in three weeks—and she wouldn’t be able to be the godmother as planned so many years ago. She was too far away.

Of course, a large part of me wishes I was doing the writing thing somewhere—New York, Seattle, Rome, Rio de Janeiro. Focusing all my attention on creativity and art, and crafting my masterpiece among the faces of humming city life. And my mind began to wander to all of these great adventures I could—should?—be having, had I chosen a different path after graduation.

And then she wrote: In college, I would have easily said, ‘I’d give up anything for a dream writing job’—I think we all would have said that. But look at everything I gave up.

And then I looked at my own life. What would I give up to have the dream writing job? Not my life with Brett. Not being here for all of my friends’ life-changing moments. Not the summer softball games of cold bleachers and summer-smudged feet of the next generation team. I wouldn’t give up my nights with friends drinking coffee, or watching Extreme Couponing and Say Yes to the Dress while the husbands play basketball. Not coaching volleyball or directing the play. Not downtown Owatonna’s memories of cruising with Karen and Emily while Josh wore a tube top. Not walking to Blast with Brett—only to realize the trail systems is WAY farther than we thought. Not the Christmas lighting in Central Park or the Bagel Shop or chocolate treats from Costa’s. Not being able to drive to my parents to steal their stuff every time I realize I’m missing something I need. Not being close to my grandparents so I can experience holidays exactly the same way as when I was a kid.

She’s right. In college I would have easily said I’d give up anything for a dream writing job. It’s easy to think who we are is defined by what we do—something I learned to overcome during my seven months of unemployment. I may not have a glamorous job or make lots of money, but I rather be known as someone who is always there for my friends. Someone who never misses a wedding, a baby shower, a ball game. I’d rather be here in Nowhere, Minnesota with my friends and my family then leave it all for a job and some money.

So to answer her question. Yes, I’m very happy. And I guess it turns out I’m not willing to give up anything for a dream writing job.