One More

Last one for today, but boy does it make me miss my econ class...

At the risk of sounding like an after-school special...

...I am going to write about self-esteem. Everyone knows that I attend ASU, and everyone is probably familiar with the 'fashion' problem on campus. This first part will mostly appeal to girls, but guys, I promise I will make this worth your time.

I was chatting with a friend of mine over lunch and she brought up a very interesting subject. She was telling me about her new sevens that she bought last week (for those of you who don't know, sevens or "7 for all mankind?" is this ridiculously expensive line of denim). She is from a smaller town in Pennsylvania, and she explained that she felt like she had to buy those jeans in order to keep up with everyone at ASU. To an extent, her point is a valid one in that the majority of girls do own coach/burberry/versace/other extremely pricey articles of clothing or accessories and it really makes one question the "starving college student" stereotype. As an economist, however, it is my job to question and analyze such irrational behavior.

First of all, let me preface my 'analysis' with this idea: could it be that many of the ladies, and guys, who buy these expensive items lack confidence in their personalities? Perhaps. Think of the 'popular' crowd from your high school (I'm using high school because that is where superficial behavior is easier to notice). Were they popular because they helped people, or told funny jokes, or smiled and said 'hi' to everyone? Certainly not at my high school. The 'popular' crowd was created thanks to Audi's and Coach bags and lifted F-150s and Versace sunglasses and an unlimited credit card courtesy of daddy. Which brings us to the core of the problem: why are people so impressed with stuff?

An example: a friend and I went shopping last week and we had to make a special trip to Biltmore Fashion Square. That was my first and last visit. The purpose of making that special trip was to visit Saks Fifth Avenue so she could buy a limited edition lipstick from some guy who used to design for Gucci. (I need to clarify that this lipstick she was looking for was colorless, so it was used for the same purpose that one would use Chapstick) She was carrying a Louis Vuitton bag, she was wearing a pair of sevens, and some other 'ooh la la' type of shirt. I was wearing plain jeans and a red shirt with flip flops. The woman at the counter didn't look at me. I walked over to the shoes while she was buying her stuff and no one stopped to ask if I needed a size. I was amazed. I've only heard about that type of treatment in the movies...

Now, let's analyze this example in real terms. We have a store full of sales people who wouldn't recognize my presence simply because I didn't have 'the look'. Now, I mentioned earlier that she was looking at this limited edition lipstick; $53 later, it was hers. Capitalism and the stupidity of the average American is really a beautiful thing. If you want to learn how to make money, this is how. Get your brand going, team up with an 'old' brand (i.e. Estee Lauder, Gucci, etc.), put out a product that costs you $8 to make, advertise in top fashion magazines emphasizing the 'limited quantity' of your desired product, and set the price as high as you want, watch your profits roll in. When one thinks about it in those terms, it seems embarrassing that anyone would pay more than $10 for a tube of lipstick. I won't even get in to the situation where women are buying anything that appears on Sex in the City...

The bottom line of this rambling is that if people would rely on their own abilities and talents to find happiness, the desire for 'stuff' would decrease greatly. I never thought that I would be surrounded by college students who have almost $1000 on their bodies in clothing alone. I could go over the details as to how consumer spending effects the national deficit that everyone is bitching and moaning about, but I'll let you try and figure that out on your own. It is quite depressing that people are using status and materialism to define themselves at such a young age. I thought that form of thinking wasn't supposed to happen until you moved to Scottsdale or the Foothills...

Another Old One

I have come so far. And it's exciting.

Every week my manager posts a quote on his whiteboard that is supposed to inspire us throughout the week. Usually I don't pay too much attention to them, but last week he posted this:

Very little is needed to make a happy life; it is all within yourself, in your way of thinking. - Marcus Aurelius

I'm sure he didn't do it intentionally, but it seemed like that quote was staring me straight in the face; challenging me to think about what happiness really is and when it was that I lost most of mine.

I always believed myself to be happy a person. Someone who would radiate light when I walked into any situation, provide a positive spin on a gloomy idea, put smiles on people's faces. Two weeks ago I realized that I was exuding a facade. Behind the witty sarcasm, smiles, and upbeat tone lies an utterly dismal, gray cave where my true self resides. When I go into work, visit my parents, or hang out with friends, I hang beautiful curtains to cover the cracks and holes of the deteriorating cave. I shove feelings of disappointment, frustration and sadness under the rug that receives so many compliments. Little do people know what's truly residing in that place that is so beautifully kept, perfectly presentable.

I'm not quite sure when I started to cover what was really there. Perhaps it was four years ago when I found myself adjusting to a new life with new people surrounding me with their ideals and values. I felt uncomfortable and out of place, yet I swept those feelings under the "I can overlook that for the sake of cohesiveness" rug. That rug is probably the most ornate, because very few people know what's under that one.

Perhaps it was three years ago when my mom found out that her cancer would eventually kill her. I always found strength in my mom so when I felt the walls of my house start to crack because I would eventually lose her, I hung curtains of denial and "don't worry, everything will be alright" to cover the small cracks. As the years passed and her cancer became more evident, I had to increase the size of those curtains.

Perhaps it was one year ago when my dad went in for a routine check-up that changed our lives. He nearly died from heart failure after the surgery that was supposed to fix him. Instead of a crack in the wall, that created a gaping hole which demanded for an even bigger curtain of "don't worry mom, he will be alright" and "don't worry dad, the treatments will make you better" to be created.

Or, maybe it was even two weeks ago when we were informed that the treatments weren't working. Radiation did little to stop the movement of his cancer. Additionally, it became evident that it was time for my parents to relocate, leave their house behind, and start a new chapter in their lives. That nearly knocked out an entire wall, but still I tried to hang up beautiful curtains of "I can do this, I'm a strong person" to distract people from the drafty, unsightly hole of a missing wall.

Or perhaps it was even yesterday when I realized that it's nearly impossible for me to maintain a full time job while juggling my parents' needs during my "off" time. Disappointment, and even feelings of failure created yet another looming crack as I realized that my career may have to be put on hold. As I sat there in the oncologist's waiting room, I couldn't help but think about my peers who are receiving the career opportunities that perhaps I would receive if I was there to get them. All those years of sweat and tears through college, graduating top of my class, only to find myself spending less and less time pursuing what I love. I just don't have any more material for curtains or rugs to hide the hideous place where I reside. What was once a sturdy house filled with confidence, pride, and strength has become nothing more than a dreary cave.

But this blog is titled Happiness. You're probably wondering why, if it's titled Happiness, have I been talking about sheer unhappiness. It's because when I stood there, staring at that quote on his little whiteboard, I had an epiphany. I realized that for so long I've been trying to make my life accommodating to those around me. In other words, not many visitors would feel comfortable entering my house with holes and cracks and garbage littering the floor. No one wants to stay very long in an unsightly house. But as I stood there reading that quote, I realized that because I was so busy trying to cover up the cracks and holes, I didn't have any time left to mend them. I didn't have any time to work on my own internal happiness. Just when I started to patch the wall, a visitor would come by and I would throw a pretty curtain over it.

When I got back to my desk, I sat there for a moment truly thinking about all the 'visitors' that come and go. And why it's worth my time to have 'visitors' who not only can't stand the sight of a deteriorating house, they want no part in trying to fix it. And even on top of that, there are some 'visitors' who come in, dump their garbage on my floor and leave. In other words, I know of many people in my life who don't care to hear about my pain, my sadness, my hurt...it's too awkward or uncomfortable or hard for them. Instead, they call me and talk about their problems and issues and pain. And trying to be a good friend, I let them dump all their garbage on my floor. And instead of letting me dump some of mine, they leave.

But this is a new year. I have a fresh opportunity to tear down the curtains that are so precisely hung. I have another chance to remove the rug that appears to lay so comfortably flat and reveal what lurks beneath it. Only then can I start to rebuild. It is going to be a hard process, but I will find happiness in 2009. I'm going to cut off a lot of dead weight. Many people will be offended, hurt, and surprised. Those are the people who do all the dumping. Those are the people who talk to me when it's convenient for them. But then there are those special few who truly care about me, the real me. Some of those people know me incredibly well. What's surprising is that most of those people hardly know me at all. They just know that I'm hurting and they want to help. The people in my life who are worth having around won't leave when they see all the cracks, all the garbage that's under the beautiful rug. They'll stay. They'll sit there with me and yell and cry and sob. Then they'll help me fix it.

An Oldie But a Goodie...

I posted this going on almost two years ago, and it still rings true. Here's an oldie but a goodie from my old blog's archive:

This One is for the Nice Guys...
Current mood: thankful

Dear Nice Guys,

I want to tell you how much I appreciate you. I am sorry that women in our society don't value you more than they do. A lot of women say "I hate men", "all men are jerks", and "why aren't there any nice guys out there?". I'm sure that annoys you just as much as it annoys me. Well, I'm here to set the record straight. There ARE nice guys out there. In fact, there are more nice guys than there are jerks. So why is it that so many women get tangled up in a relationship with a jerk?

First, STANDARDS. Lots of my female friends have the most backwards standards when it comes to finding a guy suitable for them to date. Despite what these women say, they don't REALLY want a nice guy. If they did, they wouldn't fall for the old "you're the most beautiful woman in this bar" line. If they did, they wouldn't judge you first based on your looks. If they really wanted a nice guy, they wouldn't settle for the Scottsdale asshole. What they really want, but are embarrassed to admit, is a shallow, materialistic shell of a 'relationship'. Which leads to the second reason why women allow themselves to date jerks.

MATERIALISM. That one still amazes me. Any dumbass can put on an expensive shirt and drive a nice car. In fact, those traits alone should make women wary to date those types of men to begin with. As most of you know (since I'm writing to you nice guys), if you have money you typically don't parade it around to attract women. In fact, quite the opposite it true. Many of you nice guys hide the fact that you have money. Why? Because you want to avoid women getting to know you for that purpose alone. And heaven forbid you actually have a personality that extends beyond your bank account. The guy who flashes what he's got isn't looking for anything real. If anything, he just wants arm candy and someone to go home with for a night. That segues right into reason #3 women find themselves stuck with jerks, looks. But before I go into that, I want to talk about the double standard that women have with that category. A woman will throw the 'looks' rule right out the window if the dude can make up for it by the amount of money he has. Bad move ladies, bad move. These ladies are already crippled by their lack of self-esteem, so then they find themselves attracted to men who are also emotionally crippled because they find their self worth in a pair of jeans and nice car? It's sad really.

LOOKS. This is probably the most obvious reason why women are always finding that "men suck". Instead of women getting to know a man first, she scans the area and tries to find the most physically attactive man in the bar. That's usually a combination of physical looks and what he wears. Now, you nice guys aren't always the sculpted Abercrombie-esque type of man that women are looking for. But, correct me if I'm wrong, the reason why you're not is because looks are not that important to you. Granted you all are usually good looking men, but most of you don't spend three hours in the gym. You nice guys understand that looks are fleeting and no matter how hard you work out in your twenties, when you turn seventy you're going to be a flabby lump of flesh like everyone else. I want to pose a question to the women reading this. Why would a beautiful hunk of a Greek God man still be single at age 27? If he's so incredible INSIDE and out, wouldn't someone have snatched him up immediately? Might it be that there's something about him that even his looks couldn't cover up? Perhaps the reason why he spends so much time on his physical appearance isn't because he wants to 'be healthy'. Perhaps it's because he, too, is crippled by low self-esteem and so he compensates not having any personality, any ambition, or any redeeming value by having washboard abs and perfect skin. I'm not saying a guy can't be both gorgeous AND internally facsiniating, I just think you need to look at the internal first. And, I bring this up not to single anyone out, but because I've had this happen on three separate occasions with three separate single ladies. I say "hey, there's this guy I want you to meet", and if not the immediate response after I say that, at least the second question my female friend asks is "what does he look like?". Not, "does he have a good sense of humor?" not, "can he support himself?" not, "is he nice?". In my opinion, all of those things matter way more that whether he's blonde or brunette. But society tells women to go for the guy who looks like Brad Pitt and earns like Bill Gates. Isn't there more to a relationship than that?

Going back to you, nice guys. I have had some of the most intellectually stimulating conversations with you. Not only about current events, but life, philosophy, the meaning of words, friendship...everything. You are some of the deepest people I know. For me personally, I have to be with someone who can match my intelligence. I don't care how 'gorgeous' you are, if you can't keep up with my rants about China's microeconomic development I'm just not interested. And 90% of the nice guys in my life can.

Second, you nice guys treat women like queens. Not only can you carry on an intelligent conversation, you can hold the door open for me while doing it. You respect women and value them not because they look good in a mini skirt, but because you truly care about them as people. You put their needs first. You make sure your lady is comofortable and taken care of. You make sure your lady knows she's your whole world. And if she gains ten pounds or loses ten pounds, you could care less. Because you know that eventually, we'll all look like wrinkley prunes. But inwardly, who they are will never change.

Third, all of you nice guys in my life can take care of yourselves. No, you may not earn CEO salaries, but you work hard and provide the best you can. And those of you who do make better than average money, most people would never know it. And I love that about you. I love how most of you are nerds, big nerds. And you're not too cool to admit it. I can talk finance and mathematics and grammar with you. Or I can talk about Count Chocula cereal and how it differs from it's competitors Boo Berry and Frankenberry.

So to all the rest of you nice guys out there, you definitely don't always finish last. In fact, you will find that when you do meet Ms. Right, your life couldn't be more perfect. You are a rare commodity out there, and just because society doesn't recognize you for the amazing people that you are doesn't change anything. There is nothing sexier, more romantic, more emotionally and intellectually stimulating than knowing that if I got in a horrible car accident where most of my face burned away and lost my high salary job, I would still be the most beautiful being in my nice guy's life. Ladies, we owe it to these men to feel the same. Try to get past the stereotype, Hollywood style relationship and challenge yourselves to look for more. For all you single ladies, I know plenty of fabulous catches, but I just don't think that you're quite worthy of them just yet. I've put them in a special "reserved" section until someone who truly appreciates them for who they are comes along...

Emotional? Maybe.

I was talking to my dad today, which is peculiar because he passed away a month ago tomorrow, and I was explaining to him how I had to get two new tires on my car because one sliced open when I drove over a crow bar looking object, and the other one had a nail in it. It went something like this: "So Dad (pause). You would be super unhappy to hear that I not only destroyed one rear tire, but two (laugh)! And that's not the worst of it (pause)- I had to take it to the dealership to have them fix it. Remember those run flats I was telling you about earlier this year? Yeah, I had to buy two of those things. I know, I know, we practiced changing tires many times but unfortunately there is no spare tire because...well, remember, I explained this earlier?" It wasn't until I got to that second question that I realized perhaps the person sitting next to me in their car, stopped at the red light, might be wondering if I had lost my mind. I briefly looked to my right and sure enough, the middle aged woman in a tan mini van was staring straight at me looking for some sign of a blue tooth. I guess I did look pretty crazy having a conversation with...well, myself.

I often wonder when I'm going to stop doing that. Talking to him. Even during his final days in hospice, when he could barely respond, I would just tell him about the nuances of my day. Sometimes I wondered if he knew what I was saying, but it seemed like he enjoyed hearing my voice anyway. And every once in a while I would get a smile. Sometimes I wonder if he can hear when I talk to him; and if, wherever he is, he smiles once in a while.

It's strange what sort of memories surface during times like this. I think about movies and shows, specifically the TLC "Don't Go Chasing Waterfalls" music video where someone passes away and it's signified by them 'fading out' of the picture. The opposite has kind of been happening to me lately. It was always a...tradition of sorts, for my dad to walk outside and wave goodbye to me as I would pull out of their driveway and drive away. Even after I turned out of their street, he knew I could still see him in my rear-view mirror and he would wave until I was out of sight. When I left that house today after visiting my mom, I stared in that mirror until I could see a vague outline of him waving at me in the distance. It was a strange feeling- equally melancholy and silly. I half-smiled as I kept driving.

I get scared sometimes. I'm afraid I'm going to forget little things he used to do or say. And it seems obvious, write it down right? I've tried and it just feels strange creating a list- some sort of weird two dimensional representation of my dad. Last night Jay and I were making dinner and he was looking for something in the kitchen. "My Fina!", he yelled, "Where is the (insert kitchen object he was looking for here)?" I turned around and almost cried the type of cry that happens when you're happy or sentimental because I had already almost forgotten that my dad used to call me that. It's the Southern way of saying "finer", but because of the drawl, it comes out sounding like fine-a. Anyway, he used to sing "Nothing could be fina that my sweet Carolina" whenever I would tell him something witty or funny, and he would just call me "Fina" sometimes. For now, I'm happy to have those memories surprise me at unexpected times, instead of reviewing a list.



Earlier this week, Tuesday to be exact, I went to Target to pick up a couple things and I happened to walk past their gardening section. Because it's the end of the summer, their packages of seeds are all on clearance. I had to stop. My dad used to have a huge vegetable garden: eggplant, cabbage, carrots, black eyed peas, corn, tomatoes, okra, watermelon...the list goes on. He had a green thumb, to say the least. But the one thing that he couldn't get to grow correctly was strawberries. He tried both the plant form, and the seed form, and every year they would just stay yellow and die. Once we got past the irritation of having them die every year, it became sort of a recurring joke. I searched the seeds until I found a package for strawberries and thought "Oh man! Remember these? How many packages did I help you plant again?" only I did one of those things where I thought I said that in my head, when in actuality I said it aloud. So loud, in fact, an associate in the garden section asked "Was there something I can help you with?" To which I sadly shook my head, put the seeds back, and finished my shopping.

I don't know if I can stop talking to him. At least in the near future anyway. So many things (tools, seeds, car parts, suit jackets), places (Auto Zone, Wells Fargo, Circle K), smells (pumpkin pie, cornbread, motor oil) carry memories of him. And I'm not sure that's a bad thing. The logical part of me says that should make me sad because he's not alive anymore. But the emotional part of me is elated because in a strange way, he is in so much of my daily life. So for now, in a rare Caroline move, I'm going to let my emotions have this one.


"Dad, I miss you. But please don't worry about me. I am finding happiness every day, and I try to remember to tell you about it. I love you."

For You

Dear You,

I always had an idea of you in my head, but like everything else, I figured my expectations were too high and I would need to settle like everyone else. When I left my past life, I knew there was a high probability that I would be alone and over time, I learned to be ok, if not happy, with that. But then I met you. And your wonderful sarcasm and blue eyes and broad shoulders. And your slight arrogance that is just enough to be attractive...your 'not-even-close-to-politically-correct' rants, your laugh, the way you say my name, your lips....I guess I should be sending a thank you card to Facebook and Four Peaks, because without those two silly little things my life would be vastly different and much less fun. You have shown me what real love is, as much as I didn't want to admit it existed, you proved me wrong. Instead of backing away during my most difficult times, you are always front and center. Thank you. For everything. Since music is 'my thing', these remind me of you:

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Focusing on the positive

is not something I do naturally. Often, trying to 'see things realistically' causes me to be negative, to say the least. These are some of the final days that my dad has, and I have been with him everyday since Saturday. Although this is perhaps one of the most difficult times of my life, I am trying to consciously focus on positives so as not to go...well...insane. As I did about a year ago, here is a list of things that bring happiness:

• Remembering Mom's last birthday- I went shopping for my dad to buy her the best presents money could buy, and it was probably one of the best birthdays to date. She got a bag, new knives, perfume, new earrings, and best of all, Dad was still able to sit up and laugh and talk. Alyssa made a cake that was shaped like a hummingbird and it was amazing. Just thinking about that day makes me smile.
  
• My fuzzy, red blanket from Costco. That thing can put me to sleep like nothing else.
• Pedicures- I've started forcing myself to get them on a regular basis because that is at least 45 minutes of time where I can zone out and think about nothing. My current toenail color is blue. Yes, blue.
  
• Driving my car- that German has some umph and every now and then it's nice to take a drive.
  
• Scented candles after a long day- there's nothing quite like sitting in the light of a candle that smells like chocolate coconut.
• Tall shoes. The novelty still hasn't worn off as I bought a new pair several weeks ago.

• Jay, of course.

• Netflix instant documentaries- I have become addicted and have nearly watched all of them.
• The people I work with. They're still wonderful.

• A little tan dog that never barks and is always a Good Girl.
• Country music- no better reminder of my dad's better days than that.

I was once told that people will always surprise you. Some of the people who you expect will always be there will often let you down, and a lot of the ones you forgot were there will be there when you need someone most. It's amazing how true that statement is. For those who are no longer in my life, I have learned from those relationships and moved on. For those who are here that I did not expect, thank you. I can't wait to experience life with you.

Personal Inventory

Sometimes when one makes decisions, no matter how much planning and foresight went into said decision, it still doesn't work out nearly as planned. And unfortunately, those decisions often come with consequences. It seems that despite meticulous planning, life never works out as intended.

During the past 10 months, I have worked tirelessly to create a new life for myself. One filled with freedom, responsibility, passion, joy and success. Realistically, that's what everyone wants regardless of whether they admit it or not. I think humans desire the feelings of liberation and happiness that comes with perseverance to achieve something, no matter how small. As I began to settle in to this new life, I was abruptly reminded that I was indeed living life and not a fairy tale.

Consequences from altering my prior life still exist as a burden both physically as there is still unfinished business and emotionally as I must often consciously remind myself that people are not all the same. I am more willing to accept these struggles as they came from my own choices and decisions.

But what about the 'consequences' that came from nothing more than being a part of humanity? I suppose those are the ones that I should concern myself least with; however, those are the struggles that consume me the most. Watching the progression of cancer transform both of my parents' lives at a torturous snail's pace is almost too much to handle at times. Yet as long as it seems that I have been an observer in their struggles, time has gone entirely too fast. It is difficult to describe the pain that comes with watching one person die, much less two people, and having zero control over anything. There is a line in one of my favorite songs that simply says "love is watching someone die", which perhaps seems strange but there is a calming, happy truth to that. And as a result, I suppose I feel almost privileged to love in that capacity.

What I find to be the strangest part of this chapter in my life is that although there are times I feel intense pain, those times are often outweighed by incredible happiness. I have found something that makes me truly, uncontrollably happy...rather, it found me. I haven't decided what it is yet. I think most people would call it love, but I'm not convinced that fully explains it. Society has many variations on the 'love' theme, none of which really matches what I'm experiencing. I suppose it's more like a contentedness that you feel after an extravagant dinner where you don't need nor want to eat anything else. Where even thinking about eating anymore makes you feel a little uncomfortable. Where all you want to do is nap with a grin of satisfaction as you fall asleep.

I never thought I would discover what it really meant, my happiness. Now I think I have an idea. On the dark and cold and miry path that has and continues to be my journey, I have somehow stumbled upon a light that has yet to go out. I mentally trained to take that journey alone, preparing for the unease as I walk in the dark. I meticulously planned how to handle the shock of turning the corner to face whatever monster lurked there alone. But life never works out as planned. And in this case, I am thankful it didn't. Although I still must keep moving forward on the road that scares me more than anything I can imagine, I am clutching onto the light that somehow decided to walk with me. And because of that, he makes it a little easier to see...