to a man

the start of fall is one of the greatest times of year. in my book, it's second only to christmas. the weather is perfect for my wardrobe decisions. i no longer have to worry about planning for the drastic temperature changes that summer heat and office climate control bring and don't yet have to choose my footwear based on the number of inches of snow on the ground. fall is also my birthday season, so people like to spend this time of year giving me things and making plans to hang out with me. perhaps best of all, though, are the sports. lots and lots of sports. they playoffs have started in baseball, football teams are starting to find their identity, and the puck has dropped on college hockey season.

the main side effect of all these sports is an abundance of television watching. i seem to be always watching sports, watching highlights of sports i missed, or watching sports commentary to hear other people break down the sports i have already watched. as you can imagine, there are certain things that i, an unathletic twenty something woman, get annoyed by in the commentary of middle-aged, former athlete men. they overanalyze the slightest things and comment about how great the teams that i hate the most are, but i am usually happy with hearing another point of view or getting to relive a great moment. there is only one thing, though, that will actually make me change the channel or stop watching, and that is when one of these talking heads uses the phrase "to a man."

growing up as a girl in the nineties means i have an odd relationship to feminism. the word feminist has been demonized due to the radical nature of the movement in the seventies. it is assumed that if you are a feminist you hate men, don't wear a bra, refuse to shave, and are likely a lesbian. discrimination against women was so ingrained in our culture in the sixties, that the movement had to go radical to really affect change. unfortunately, it came with the negative fall out. one of the things the movement did was start to change the collective vernacular. you didn't have a mailman, you had a mail carrier. you didn't have a chairman, you had a chairperson.

i've seen some writers try to apply this logic to the phrase "to a man" and use "to a person." it just does not work in this situation. the phrase is used to emphasize truthfulness. "i talked to the coach," the commentators will say, "and, to a man, he said they might not make the playoffs this year." i understand the point that these coaches or commentators are trying to make, that this was a tough statement to hear, but it is probably true. to make that point, though, we have to assume that the truth is too difficult for a woman to hear, so it can only be told to a man. the same point cannot be made by using "to a person." this somehow implies that the truth is too difficult to tell a non-person. i don't know about you, but i've never wanted to shield my goldfish from knowing the full story.

the reason that i love sports is because it transcends the self. i am a red sox fan, along with millions of others. together, we cheer, complain, hope and resign ourselves to the end of another year. as a fan, we get to be a part of the team. i am never going to win the world series, but i can be a part of a group that does. when a sports commentator or coach says "to a man" it automatically alienates me. i am not a man, so does that mean i don't get to be a part of their world? it reenforces the old boys club world of sports where only the athletes or the male fans are included.

as i have gotten older and shed much of the self-consciousness that comes with adolescence, i have realized that there is nothing wrong with being called a feminist. it just means that i believe that men and women should have equal rights and that our society shouldn't do anything to harm that. i know that there are many women's issues that are way more important than this phrase, but it is one of the easiest ways to see that biases still exist. i know that whenever i hear that phrase, i feel slighted. i am not on the "in" crowd. i am not smart enough, popular enough, cool enough, or man enough to know the truth. sure, you might say that i am overreacting to the issue, but i hope you would tell me that to my face and not just to a man.

the case of the missing hammer

Recently, one of my co-workers sent around an email asking if anyone had seen his hammer. It was a simple question, really. He went to use his hammer and could not find it. As I tried to move on with my work day, I could not stop thinking about the email. There it sat, glaring at me like the rest of the emails I had yet to respond to or thoughtfully place in one of my 172 email folders. I couldn’t decide what was worse: that I had 172 email folders, that I knew I had 172 email folders, or that I was contemplating making a new one for this hammer email. A quick check of my office confirmed I did not have the hammer, even though a quick check of my memory would have proved I hadn’t seen a hammer in at least three years. With this conclusion behind me, I set off to figure out what happened to the hammer.

First, I felt bad for the guy. I imagine the poor soul rummaging through his desk looking for the hammer. No one actually has a tool box at work, right? If I needed to keep a hammer, it would be right there in the top drawer of my desk next to my granola bar stash and the Liberace pocket mirror I have on hand in case I smear pen on my face during the day. When he couldn’t find the hammer in his desk, he probably started checking out his typical office haunts. It could be by the printer. Maybe he took it with him when he went to pick up that sign he just printed to remind everyone that they can save paper by not printing things. Or he could have left it in the kitchen when he went to check on the mystery smell someone had told him about earlier. Finally he must have decided the most logical conclusion was, even though he is the admin guy for an office of 99 women and 15 men, one of us must have taken it.

Then, my mystery-loving brain started churning. I ignored the swarm of emails coming in and shoo-ed away the people who were hovering around my office waiting patiently for me to have time to think about their problems instead of my current dilemma. Was it Colonel Mustard in the library with the pipe? Who could have taken the hammer? And, even better, what could they be doing with it? Immediately, I jumped to the obvious. Janet was still angry with Brianne for neglecting to water her plants when Janet took a three week cruise on the Mediterranean. Of course Janet stole the hammer and was hiding in the bathroom until Brianne walked in unsuspectingly. Those plants years of upkeep that Brianne washed down the drain. Janet wasn’t sure what she would do when her enemy walked in, but she knew a hammer would help. All I knew was that I was waiting until I got home to use the bathroom.

Maybe it wasn’t so sinister. If there is one thing that TLC has taught me, it’s that anyone can build a desk with a little MDF (Is that what it’s called?), wood glue and a hammer. Meghan was always complaining about her metal desk. She must have come in early so as to not offend anyone with her project. If she hadn’t returned the hammer yet, she must still be working on the desk. Now that it was 2 pm, I bet she had a slab of wood with three uneven legs on it and realized building things was harder than Paige Davis made it seem. I had no doubt that by now she had glued her shirt sleeve to the floor so she couldn’t respond to the email. I took a lap around the office to see if she needed any help. Meghan was happily typing away as I walked by her office, though, and when I placed my ear up to the bathroom door (no way was I going in!) to see if Brianne needed any back up, I didn’t hear anything.

I returned to my desk to face reality. The co-workers I had tried to ignore were back and waiting. Even more emails had come in, pushing the hammer one down so far that, horrifyingly, I had to scroll to see it. I realized where I needed to file the email. Instead of spending time trying to solve a problem I had no specific knowledge of, other than my Clue-playing and TLC-watching expertise, I could spend my time helping to fix things in my control. While I couldn’t resolve the case of the missing hammer, I could resolve the issues of those asking for my help. People always tell me “It’s not the destination, it’s the journey,” but you know what? Sometimes it really is as simple needing your hammer. I deleted the email.

friday

i glanced around the living room to look at the remnants of my evening. the white bag with the red and white "tasty burger" sat on the area rug next to the coffee table. thirty minutes ago, that bag was crisp and clean, advertising the new burger place a few blocks away from my apartment. fifteen minutes ago, i was hurrying home with the top of the bag scrunched in my hand. the bag moved with me as i dodged traffic and red sox fans, dug through my tote bag to find my keys, propped open the door to the mail room as i unlocked my mail box and collected my mail, and climbed the three flights of stairs to my apartment. five minutes ago, i propped the bag on the floor to conveniently catch the wrapper of my gorgonzola hamburger when i was done.

white napkins littered the dark table in front of me. i only use napkins on rare occasions for especially messy meals. this was a rare occasion. the three-quarters full box of onion rings looked more like gray and red than white and red from the grease that had soaked through the cardboard. next to the onion right box sat a white paper cup with plastic lid and straw. the bright pink i saw through the lid was mocking me. there were just two sips of the strawberry milkshake left. i wasn't sure if i could do it or not.

the tv remote, wii remote and a few books lay scattered behind the food. i had ravenously shoved them aside to make room for my dinner. on the other side of the coffee table, my legs were propped up. it was a good thing i changed into my incredibly ugly, unquestionably comfortable capri elastic waist "university of pink" sweatpants before i started eating. as i leaned forward to grab the tv remote--the DVR was asking me if i wanted to save or delete last night's project runway i just finished watching--i realized there were pieces of fried batter perched on my red sox t-shirt.

as i contemplated whether to eat the batter or not, i thought about how i should have gone to the gym this morning. i thought about how i should have gone to the gym after work. i realized neither was going to happen now, so i might as well accept that. i thought about if this was really my life. friday night, home alone while my boyfriend is out with friends, indulging in dinner and reality television.

i thought about how last night it was me who was out with friends. i wore my sparkly shoes. we drank fancy cocktails at a local restaurant. i had duck. they got me a card for my birthday. we were tipsy on alcohol, laughter and life. i came home to a boyfriend expecting me. we watched the end of the movie up on HBO. i sobbed uncontrollably because the movie was so heartwarming.

i thought about how i was absolutely, inexplicably, absurdly, one-hundred percent as happy tonight as i was last night. i wiped the crumbs from my shirt and finished the milkshake.

57

earlier this week, i found myself on the 57 bus from watertown yard to kenmore square. i rode the bus the entire route and was on it for about 50 minutes. i planned poorly for my bus trip and, after moving closer to the heart of the city last year, i am out of practice on long public transportation trips. i forgot my ipod and i am in between books. i rarely pick up one of the free newspapers because all of my trips are too short to get any good reading done. the bus wasn't crowded and there wasn't much traffic, but it wasn't long before i found myself getting annoyed with the people on the bus.

there was the 50-something man who got on at oak square with his two sons and a random lady. the father was trying to talk to an older asain man about his t-shirt, but the asain man could clearly not speak english. instead of just leaving him be, the father sat next to him and tried to explain in hand gestures what he was trying to say. the teenage son was flirting with the random lady they got on the bus with and the 12 year old son was hanging off of the hand railing.

after that, the stops became more frequent. we picked up the nurse on her way home from work at the hospital who was on her phone; the teenager who smelled of spray paint and carried paint cans; and two best friends--one wearing a tiara and a "twenty-one" sash and the other documenting every moment of it.

the bus started to fill up, especially in the front while i watched from the back of the bus. i was annoyed at the woman on her phone (can't it wait?) and the kid sitting in front of me who smelled like paint (what a punk!) and the girls celebrating a birthday (really? on a wednesday?!)

then, at harvard ave., a new mom, with stroller and child in tow, along with her friend, got on the bus. an older man who was sitting at the front of the bus got out of his seat and folded it up so there was room for the stroller and the mom to sit out of the way. the man then had to stand since he gave up his seat so the stroller could be out of the way. i started to get annoyed at everyone else, too, for not letting the poor guy sit down.

at the same time, though, i started to think how nice it was. this man, who i would place in his late 60s, gave up his seat for a healthy younger woman because she had a baby and his seat was the easiest place for them to be. you don't find many people like that, i thought to myself. and you know why? because everyone is too busy being annoyed with cell phones and punk kids and drunk students.

i realized that all the annoyances of the bus are actually what make it so great. here i am, a 20-something working gal, sharing space with people who i have nothing in common with other than proximity of destination. the annoying woman with the cell phone? she could have saved a life today. the punk kid with the spray paint? i decided he was on his way to art class instead of on his way to deface public property. and the mother? she just had a baby! these were amazing, interesting people. and for a short while, we were all headed on the same journey together.

i probably have very little in common with an elderly man riding the 57, but for 20 minutes, our lives crossed paths. really, it was just a smaller version of what is happening in life all the time. people get on and get off. if we are going to the same place, we might spend more time together, but if the drunk college girls want to go to the bar and i want to go home and go to bed, that is fine. we both move on. i can't control the people getting on and off the bus, all i can control is my attitude toward them. i can turn a crappy bus ride into an interesting and heart-warming one. i can turn a bad situation into a good one.

insanity?

it is said that insanity is doing the same thing over and over while expecting different results. by that definition, i think i might be insane.

almost a year ago, i wrote in defense of the scottish compassion clause that allowed the convicted lockerbie bomber to be released from prison. a doctor diagnosed him with prostate cancer and said he had three months to live. i thought this was a stunning turn of events. a man who was convicted of such a horrible act is then forced to face his mortality. at the same time, a government takes action based on a moral high ground rather than politics or emotions. what a great world to live in! now, in the wake of the BP oil spill in the gulf coast, the US senate is going to examine accusations that BP lobbied the British government to do what it could to secure the release of the bomber. if he went free, BP would close an oil deal with Libya, making millions of dollars.

so it looks like i was wrong. it's not the type of wrong that is easy to change. it's not like i got a math problem wrong and just need to refresh my memory on multiplication tables. it's not like i used the wrong form of a verb in the wrong location. i was wrong because i chose to believe that people and their actions are good, true, and just. i chose to believe that a government could do something selfless with no ulterior motives. now, even while in the midst of being proven wrong, i am choosing not to change my beliefs.

i always assume that the young guy on the train will give up his seat for the older man. i expect people to think of the feelings of others before speaking. and it would never cross my mind that someone would be anything other than genuine in what they are saying. i trust automatically. and even when proven otherwise, i still continue to trust.

in the back of my mind, i know it doesn't make much sense. as i am writing this, remembering every time i believed the best and was wrong, i still don't understand why i don't join every other cynic in believing that everyone is innately a jerk. what i think it is, though, are those few times when i am not wrong.

when my brother and i were younger, my mom took us through the drive through at mcdonalds. we had stopped at the atm before so my mom could get $20. as we were waiting for our food to come out, my mom was entertaining us by holding the bill in the opening in the door frame that was there because the window was rolled down. i can't remember how, but she dropped the money into the door, loosing it forever. just then, the employee opened the drive through window to get us to pay. my mom explained the situation to him, said she was very sorry, but she couldn't pay for the food. he asked us to wait one second. when he returned, he brought us our food and said not to worry about it, they would cover our meal.

stories like that give me reassurance that there is always a small chance that i will be right. it makes me think that if i believe the best in others, if i trust others, if i open myself up to others, that someone out there will do the same for me when i need it. so is there a chance that i am insane? yes. but no one ever said the insane were unhappy.

dear summer fridays

it's been a little over three years since we first met. i was a recent college grad just entering the workforce and you were a staple of office life in publishing companies. i was just starting as an assistant, and you were entering your umpteenth year of giving office workers a half day on friday after flexing their hours during the week. we've been through our ups and downs, but i just thought i would say this: i love you.

i'll admit that that first summer, i was confused. confused about why, exactly, you were in my life and confused about what, exactly, i was supposed to do with you. i didn't take advantage of all you had to offer. i used you for doing laundry, or watching law and order reruns. what was i thinking?

i definitely learned my lesson and the next summer, that was our best. i used you for lunch with my friends, leaving early for weekend trips, and sitting in the park. it was like a vacation day every friday afternoon and yet i was still working the same amount of hours and getting the same amount of work done.

last summer, well, that was a different story. we grew apart. i was stuck at the office working long hours on fridays while you strutted around with all my friends. gone were the days of friday afternoon lunches or weekends away. heck, i would have even taken an afternoon of law and order reruns! i was pretty angry with you at the end of last summer, i must say.

but then, a few months ago, they tried to take you away from me. not like last year, where i just had too much to do and couldn't actually spend the time with you but they tried to tell me we couldn't spend any time together at all! not even if i was able to! well, that got me all riled up. riled enough to fight and win you back.

it's been a rough year for us, but we've made it through stronger than ever. now, i actually cherish a friday that i spend doing laundry, but still make plans to go out to lunch, too. and, every once in a while, we spend some time apart and i work the whole friday. i've learned that you give me the freedom to do what i want, when i want. and that is why i love you.

greatness

i wrote a post a while ago about how as i have grown up, my goals in life have shifted from the concrete (novelist, journalist) to the ideal (to be happy). the problem with that is it's hard to quantify ideals. what does it mean to be happy? how do i achieve that?

i've been thinking about this recently because i am really happy. it's that wonderful, comfortable, content sort of happy. the kind of happy where, when sitting alone on my couch, i let out a deep breath and smile. just because. why is it that right now i am so happy? and how can i get this to continue?

it occurred to me that while creating my goals as a kid, i didn't want to be a non-selling author. i wanted to be a best-selling author. i didn't want to be a mediocre journalist, i wanted to be a great journalist in an exciting city. in reality, my goals were never about what i wanted to be, they were about being great at what i was doing.

i don't think i would have ever picked publishing media as a job when i was 10. (did i even know that it existed when i was 10? unlikely.) but here i am, succeeding, making a career, and enjoying my co-workers. i have a great job where i am constantly trying to be great.

i dreamed of living the fabulous new york life with a cool apartment, but it turns out that the cozy, easy life of boston is where i really feel at home. apparently boston has cool apartments and fun things to do, too.

i always imagined that i would meet good friends in college, but the reality of those friendships turned out to be much harder, but much more rewarding in return. i learned that some friendships were worth working at, and the ups and downs would make them stronger in the end.

there are times where my job isn't going well or my friendships are in down cycles in which i am less happy. but those hard times are what help me to grow and come out better--greater--on the other side. all i can do is try to live the greatest version of my life and be the greatest version of me that i can be. then, the happiness will come.