Leaving

Leaving is a very interesting thing. 

I left my store this week. My home. My adorable 5191 hot mess disaster home that I love so very much. The home that I ran with Jonah with our precious babes, my dear loves, I left it. I was forced out. I know it's for the best. I know I will do better and learn more and Jonah will do better and learn more but it's so hard. I feel like my heart is being ripped out and I'm leaving it every day to go to Mercer Island. The new kids are nice, they're fine. But they're not MINE. I know they probably will be. I know I have to give it time. 

But there's no Kristen and Tessa to joke around with and bring me Chick-fila-, there's no sensitive Alex to give me a back rub and come to me with problems, no more of my precious high school loves figuring out the world and growing up, no more documenting Berlin excuses. No more Jonah. No more rock that I hate and love and can't live without. 

The transition period is the worst. I miss my old team so much. I hate that they still text me and tell me how much they miss me and need me and I hate that they text me and tell me that they're doing okay without me. Every little bit, all of it, it hurts my heart. I hate that they can move on without me, even though they have to. I hate that I have to move on without them. But they all get to move on together, and I have to move on alone. 

I've even made weekly meetings with Jonah so I can see him and my babes. 

I know it's for the best. I know it'll make me better. I know Brittney will teach me more than I could ever learn from Jonah. But it's different. 

Everything is different. 

It's all just going to take time. 

Midnight Rants About Life

Growing up is the strangest thing that's ever happened to me. I think it's probably the strangest thing to happen to anyone. 

I'm going through the things you hear about as a kid, as a young adult. I suppose the term "kid" is too vague. I don't know when it happened that I became a real adult. Not when I thought I was an adult or acted like and adult but when it really happened. I don't often think of myself as a real adult but I really am. I'm closer to 30 than 21. I'm one of those "old people" teenagers know.

Things can happen to people at any age: death, tragedy, change, consistency, real happiness. I think some of these things are a rite of passage for your life. The stress of someone you care about having brain surgery, the devastation of hearing one of your friends got arrested and will face jail time, making your parents proud, but like, really proud. But at the same time knowing that you don't need that validation anymore (even though it's nice to have.) Realizing that your parents were right about almost everything but they're also fallible. And that it's okay to grow out of the things they taught you. To grow into yourself. 

I wonder if people with a set plan for their lives feel accomplished at the end of it. I wonder if people without a plan for their life feel accomlished at the end of it. And what that looks like for everyone. I've always had a plan but I've almost never followed it. It's never made me feel bad; it's mostly ever affected only me. It's just interesting what everyone values. And what adds value to people's lives. As someone with no one else to answer to, no significant other to worry about, no children whose lives I need to worry about, I'm trying to decide what adds the most value to my life, what I can measure success by. I think many people will say family, their significant other, their beliefs, possibly money. Happiness isn't as quantifiable but maybe contentment is. But when does that complacency turn into a plateau? Should we always be reaching?

These are the rantings of an overworked, over-tired brain. At this exact moment of my life, I'm going to measure success in how many hours of sleep I'm going to get tonight. And I think the outcome is something I can really be proud of. 

Short Stories

I tried not to picture the man with the mustache. But that was impossible; he kept popping up in my head. Any time I saw a mustache, this man's image invaded my mind. My boyfriend had a mustache so I made him shave it. He'd had it since before we started dating and I had never gotten to know the skin of his upper lip along with the rest of him. It made me feel uncomfortable and guilty that I refused to respect this skin just because it was covered by hair. What other skin was I neglecting? I had to break up with him before he started to go bald.

Dennis, we have to break up.

What the hell? Why?

Honestly?

Honestly.

Your upper lip skin makes me feel guilty.

Guilty? You told me I had to shave!

That's because I can't look at mustaches anymore but your upper lip skin made me feel guilty for neglecting it all this time. 

Neglecting....what?! Why can't you look at mustaches anymore? You used to love it!

I have to go.

We need to talk about this!

No. I can't talk about mustaches anymore. I have to go.

I think I probably hurt his feelings but he just didn't understand. And I wasn't about to go public about the mustache man so there was no way he could understand.

Stress

Stress is a funny thing. Maybe it's just my brain. Maybe I just need more coffee.

Here I sit, ready to interview prep and all I can think about is the Seahawks. Not altogether surprising, considering it's Super Bowl time again, but my oatmeal and my latte are getting cold and I'm staring off into the distance thinking about Seahawks socks. It's not productive and it's not going to get me a promotion.

When I think about if I'm stressed or not, of course my conscious brain gives me a very calm and collected answer that no, I'm certainly not stressed. I am completely ready for this interview and I can speak to everything I've been working on with complete clarity. I am so ready for this promotion and can do it with my eyes closed. After all, I've basically been doing the job for three months.

My body is having a different reaction to the question at hand. Every time I think about the interview my stomach ties up in knots and I feel like I'm going to vomit on any and everything around me. My skin dries up and I have lovely red patches all over the place and my cuticles are a nightmare. But maybe that's just a lack of water. 

Every day closer to Tuesday my stomach ties up a little tighter and food becomes less and less appealing. The red patches aren't going away and my delightful conscious brain is still telling me I'm fine, I'm ready while I am unable to focus on preparing answers to interview questions and reflecting on my growth as a manager.

Why do you want to be a store manager?

I love coffee. I'm drinking coffee right now. It's getting cold. That day old bread looks delicious. I wonder if I should get some bread for later. Would anyone help me eat a loaf of bread? I don't need a whole loaf. These guys next to me are really loud. Not even Mozart can block them out. Mozart because it really helps me focus. I'm great at focusing and getting tasks done. Yeah, that's a great quality I should write that down. What category does that fall under? I need some juice. That hipster on the Mac is only wearing shades of green. I wonder if he did that on purpose. Is my typing too loud? I need a new pair of leggings. Yeah, to wear with the Seahawks socks! Good thing I got that gift card. I love my team. Oh yeah, my team. I want to inspire them. How have I inspired my team? 

The unusual thing is, I don't get too nervous for interviews. Maybe it's a good thing that I am. Maybe it's better. Minus the inability to prepare, maybe this means I'll be better. 

I guess we'll see how Tuesday goes.

It's One of Those Days

It's one of those days where I just really need to get something down on paper. Or rather, out of my brain and on to a page, of sorts. I often wish my days could just be filled with quiet downtown coffee shops with laptops and art and music but there's that little thing called rent and paying bills that keeps getting in the way.

The other day I was describing to my friend Ryan how I just wanted a job at a place where they would let me be myself. To some degree I have that; I have the freedom to have days off in the middle of the week to go to this and that concert, I can sleep in on a Monday and ease into a new week. But I still have to follow by all the corporate rules. I feel like I'm torn between this vision that I've always had for myself in my head of a successful woman working in a corporate environment with a very put together life and this person that I think I'm maybe becoming.

I blame my parents.

I grew up in the most normal of homes. Everything was stable and there was a very clear plan for how our lives should look. Which was almost exactly the route my father and his father took as well. I think all four of his children have fallen short of his hope for us. But really, that's the American Dream; the life where you achieve things in stages and there's little room for excitement.

School, College, Job, Marriage, House, Baby.

It's all so neat and tidy. It's all so...last generation.

My brain is still convinced that this is correct. That this is the way my life should go and I need to hit all these milestones to be a real person.

My life has really been something like: School, College, Realize College Isn't For Everyone, Move Away From Everything You Know, Make It Work For Who You Are.

That's pretty much as far as I've gotten in 26 years. I think I just need to break away from this mold that I grew up in. I can slowly feel myself peeling out of it but I'm still afraid of what shape I might take on my own. Because if I get a tattoo, it's never coming off. That will be me forever.

It seems like some sort of crossroads. My brain is convinced that it's one or the other: the JCrew corporate life or the tattooed dysfunctional hourly job life. They're probably not mutually exclusive. I just still have that voice in my head telling me that tattoos are not okay, and I have this vision that going to shows is for the youths. And that maybe you need to grow up and snap out of it. But this is pretty much who I am 100% of the time. I might just be afraid to own it. And those people, those heavily tattooed, show going punks have real lives. And jobs. And people allow them to just be who they are. And that's very nice.

Maybe it's time to branch out again. Maybe it's time to see what else this city has to offer. I have to get this image out of my head of who I think I am supposed to be. Or who my parents think I should be. Because let's be honest, I've already fallen short of their expectations. But I'm starting to live up to my own.

It's so silly that even after 26 years I'm still trying to figure all of this out. I'm still trying to grow up. I wonder when that ever ends.

I'm listening to Bastille on repeat because I was unable to procure tickets to tonight's show. And I'm having a pity party about it. It's not even my fault because they sold out in like a day. Rude, everyone else. That's quite inconsiderate of my needs. But I'm secretly hoping they're going to be at one of the mini-festivals this summer that I already have plans to attend. (Bumbershoot and Summer Camp.)

Fingers crossed for those beautiful British men to make their appearance in the PNW once more this year. At least.

It's another one of those times when I should be sleeping but my brain will not shut down. My body is so tired, having woken up at 3:30 this morning but my brain is just buzzing away, thinking of all the things. All the everythings. Not that I can focus this brain energy on anything efficient; I wanted to make a list of things to accomplish on my day off and the only thing I came up with was "Make a list."

Productive. Just really inspired.

I just can't land on anything long enough to actually think it through, to process how I feel about it. I am just ready for these next 5 weeks to be over so I can take a breath and make a plan.

But I have a super fun party to plan and Easter and roommate's parent's visit and May the Fourth Weekend and Franz Ferdinand and Bellevue 5k Volunteer Event and Corporate Visit and Grand Re-opening and Coffee Master to finish and trip to Montana and then breathingggggg. And sleeping for like a week.

I really enjoy being busy but I feel like all of this is right on the cusp of something else, something that I'm doing all of this for but I don't know what it is. All of this random planning for different things without anything after that seems hollow. But then I'm sure there will be many more things to plan after that.

I'm already tired.

Maybe I need an end goal. Once all this goes down I should have a better timeline. Yeah, timeline. That sounds nice.

But what sounds even nicer right now is my bed. Onward to shut off my brain!

you're using an awful lot of metaphors.

I'm sitting here in this messy room on the third floor overlooking the tiny valley with a view of just the corner of Lake Washington from the balcony. It's home.

It's been nearly four years since I left Montana and I literally can't imagine anything different anymore. Everything has panned out in a way I never could have imagined and my FOMO (which has become it's own internet acronym now) seems silly and ill-placed. I realize that fear was completely internal; it was a fear of growing up and becoming a real person.

I grew up.
And I still have a long way to go.

But that's a different story.

What I'm really thinking about at 2 am (which is WAY past my bedtime especially since I have to be up at 3:30 some days) is coffee. It's a thing I think a lot about these days for sundry reasons.

I'm also thinking about how I need to put away my laundry and vacuum, how I'm going to work out tomorrow if my knee is still aching, and when, oh, when I'm going to carve out time to call my grandparents. But I'm listening to Postal Service on Pandora and it's really putting me in a funny mood. Somehow nostalgic and forward-looking at the same time.

And let's talk about how Ben Gibbard married Zooey Deschanel and they lived in Seattle for a chunk of time in those apartments on Capitol Hill. But that's also beside the point.

I think I've maybe made a decision about my life. There are obviously no guarantees but it's funny how sometimes things just work out. I've made a very intentional effort to move forward. I've been stagnant for some time. Even in moving forward I've been stagnant. I've done what I've had to do to stay on top, always being the best, always doing the next thing in the line of things I'm doing to impress whoever I need to impress.

But this time I stopped.

I stopped and considered my position. Where I was, who was around me, where I could go. I stopped unintentionally moving forward so I could change direction, maybe somewhere I actually want to be. People keep asking me: "When are you going to be an ASM?" "How long until you have your own store? You would be a great store manager." "Are you going to stay at this store?"

Never. Never am I going to do these things that are in the immediate line of what I'm already doing.

Does that answer your question?

I am in this hub, this coffee hub. I often forget the magnitude of the company I work for. My sight line can be so small: register to bar, oven to hand-off plane, cup to mouth. But when I hear things like, "Howard mentioned your store at Shareholders last week and oh, he'll probably be in within the next 1-3 months," (Thank you for that excellent time frame, that's something I can really prepare for) it really reminds me of where I am.

Howard is the last person I have to meet. I've met and trained the VP of Retail, made a poor quality cappuccino for the President of Starbucks America and accidentally pawned the mistake on someone else, had a lively debate with the President of Starbucks Canada. I usually underestimate the significance of the things that are happening around me, it's so routine. It's like there's this constant buzzing but I'm so used to it I don't hear it anymore.

So I'm listening, I'm stopping and taking a different path. One that I might have to carve out for myself a little bit. I'm not following everyone's advice. I have a plan. I'm making it happen. I'm learning the ways to get ahead in this company and in business. I hate it; I think it has nothing to do with real skill but I'm playing their game. I'm networking. I'm setting up meetings at corporate and being strategic in who I meet and when and what paths to cross to make the networking stronger. I'm name-dropping. I'm schmoozing. It might be something I'm really good at, but then, I've always known that. I've been in customer service for 8 years and I've schmoozed my whole way through and impressed a lot of people. Now I'm schmoozing with a purpose. I'm thinking about coffee and what coffee can do for me. I have a goal and I have a plan.

It's funny that now I have some solid idea, everyone is telling me it's the wrong thing, the wrong path.
I've never been more excited to prove everyone wrong.

I have a meeting at corporate in about a month with a guy in the Global Coffee department. I'm going to get a time frame and an idea of where I can actually fit and how I can get to where I eventually want to be. Because I think I know that.

Do I know what I want to be when I grow up? No. I probably never will. But I think I've found something I would love doing, that would keep me fully engaged and excited, and would challenge me. Something I may have to work for. I've always done things because I've been good at them; I want to do something because I want to do it.

And herein lies the challenge: a future of my own design, and one that I might actually want.