So Your Man Wants to Drive a Bread Truck

I was sitting at work yesterday, chatting it up with a coworker of mine, when the topic of conversation steered to my plans for the next couple years. I plan on leaving my full-time role as an administrative assistant when Aaron graduates next spring. He will become the full-time corporate employee and I will focus most of my time on my business and kiddos.

"So what's he going to do?" asked my coworker.

"Oh, most likely accounting," I'd said. "He's getting his degree in Finance and Business Management. He's an accountant right now for a small manufacturing company......." blah blah blah. The conversation continued like this for a few minutes, me detailing the standard hopes and dreams of many American families...a good, steady job, good pay, good benefits...my coworker nodding his head in appreciation, listening as I expressed fears about the current job market and making ends meet.

Then I dropped this incredible thought:

"Ya know, if he had it his way, I mean really had it his way, you know what he would be? What he really wants to be?"

My coworker kinda raised his eyebrows, interested, but not sure where I was going.

"A bread truck driver. He would want to drive a bread truck. A real bread truck. With bread on it."

This was met with silence and unblinking eyes.

"I mean think about it, bread is light, easy to carry, and smells good. He would smell good all the time, just driving around his bread truck. Best job ever."

My coworker just kinda continued staring at me for a minute, then did that eye dart thing everyone unconsciously does when checking for hidden cameras.

"Oh wow...!" he said. "Yea...uhm......not much room to grow there, as a....uhm....bread truck driver."

He trailed off and slowly started to walk away. Now this is a nice guy, my coworker. He wasn't trying to be snotty, or uppity, or holier-than-thou. He was simply expressing his opinion - alluding to what it means to be successful in his eyes. To my coworker, a successful career means room to grow in a company, to advance, to become an executive, perhaps.

Our convo got me thinking.....

Ten years ago, had you asked me what kind of man I'd like to marry, a bread truck driver would've probably come in dead last. Ok it wouldn't have even been mentioned. Seriously who thinks of things like driving bread trucks??

Well Aaron, that's who.

Aaron's been deployed to Iraq twice, the first time for 15 months, the second for 13 months. He earned the rank of sergeant and had the incredible opportunity to be hand-selected for the Personal Security Detachment for the Command Sergeant Major (CSM) of his unit...which basically means he was a bodyguard for a big, high-ranking guy. He manned the 50-cal on top of the CSM's Humvee. Aaron was chosen for this job because during his first deployment he was caught in an ambush and survived primarily because he had the quick thinking to shoot out a generator supplying light to the streetlamps illuminating his entire convoy and making them an easy target for the heavily-armed terrorist snipers surrounding their position.

To him, a bread truck sounds nice.

Success. It can mean a million things and for each of the millions of possibilities it can mean for one person, it can mean equally as many things to someone else.

Success is making your oldest daughter laugh like a crazy person.

It's surviving an 8-hour plane ride with a kid suffering from motion sickness.

It's watching your dad and your daughter catch her very first fish.

It's maintaining, improving, and cherishing a marriage regardless of relentless obstacles.

It's having your baby girl open her eyes for the first time......and see you. 

It's surviving.

Nope, driving a bread truck won't nab the big bucks, or a corner office, or even, in some cases, the respect of others. But that's ok. There's more than one way to make your mark in this world.

Aaron may end up becoming an accountant. He may end up being a bread truck driver. He may hate both those things and just start working for his soon-to-be-famous wife (eh? ehhhhh???). Whatever he chooses, I know he will be successful, as he's always been, as I know he can be.

Do what makes you happy. Whether it's a six-figure paycheck or the scent of fresh-baked yeast, reach for your goals with intention and the knowledge that if you want something bad enough, I mean really want it, nothing can stop you. Not a confused coworker, not lack of time, not lack of money, nothing. The true measure of your desire is your commitment to making it a reality.

Here's to the dreamers, corner-office dwellers, and bread truck drivers.

Jen

jen@jenniferludwigsen.com

Concentrated Creativity

Living in Germany: More Than Just Schnitzel

Immediately after Aaron and I married, we moved to Germany. He was an active Army soldier and I was a new mom with anxiety and a strong, strange attraction to anything made by the Keebler elves.  ***fudgestripes!!***

I remember the flight over ----- eight hours of pure, unadulterated bliss....and by "bliss" I mean that creepy, glazed-over insanity I imagine Hannibal Lecter experiencing if he came face-to-face with Anne Hathaway's perfectly porcelain complexion.

Eight hours. Two crabby adults. One puking toddler (did I mention she has motion sickness?). No idea where we were going or what our new place would be like. Another yearlong deployment looming in the future. A whole new world to learn...and not the kind you find on the back of a magic carpet. No Aladdin and puffy, blue sleeves. Just creepy, glazed-over insanity.

I wasn't very prepared for the move. We weren't given much time to think it over, really. Aaron was told Germany was his next duty station, so away we went. I knew a few vital words in German...hello, goodbye, please, thank you, bathroom. That's about it. I had one of those pocket German books.....but aside from that, I was absolutely one of those ignorant Americans who strolls into someone else's country with little understanding of the local culture, language, or social norms. Ahhh yes, Jen. The Queen of Wingin' It.

I learned fast.

BE CLEAN. I once witnessed an old lady bent over in the street, plucking grass out of the cracks in the pavement. She was still there when I passed her on my way home, quietly pulling the green blades by hand and then shuffling over to drop the pesky invaders into a lawn bag of doom. Littering was an absolute sin. Cars were pristine. I'm not exaggerating. The beautiful Peugeots, VWs, and Audis I'd walk past in town were honestly all pristine. An owner's manual, an emergency kit, and perhaps a phone charger.....that was about it. Like a rental car. They didn't have my a console stuffed with straw wrappers, chewed gum, and weird, tar-like squishy stuff. No food particles or CDs or coffee mugs or random business cards. Clean. For driving long distances. That's it.

BE GREEN. Walking, gardening, recycling, and windmills were a way of life. So there's me, driving three blocks to the commissary to get $200 worth of groceries to last me two weeks. And then there's little old Mother Teresa, trucking along with a flowery cotton bag, returning with broccoli and meat wrapped in parchment. They'd walk, everyday, from their homes to the town center to purchase fresh-baked bread for dinner.

In the spring, summer, and fall, they'd walk out to their gardens and gather ingredients for the day's meals. They had to hoof it in most instances ~ many of the homes were old, build close together like townhomes. Instead of yards, they had a section of town dedicated to plots of gardening space. The plot owners would build sheds to house their tools and then walk out to their plots everyday to tend their gardens.

Shopping everyday. Walking everyday. Making a social event out of it, stopping and standing on the streetcorners, talking amongst each other and nodding as I passed by with my eyes wide open, trying to imagine my life the same way, wondering if I would find it exhausting or peaceful.

Recycling was mandatory - they segregated things by color and material and size and molecular makeup...just kidding about that last one. But it was still intense.

And the windmills. I loved the windmills. They were everywhere. I could see them from my apartment windows, spinning all the time, gathering wind power and dotting the hills for miles. I loved this part of Germany....the consideration they gave to the planet.

ROUTINE. Steadfast, slow, but always predictable. I would find the same group of people at the same outdoor cafe day after day. The flower shop, bakery, drugstore and ice cream shop...all owned and staffed by the same people. I felt like I was in a story sometimes, looking for Mister Brown-Shoes-In-Front-of-Bank, or Missus Dachshund-With-Pink-Leash. I would worry about the regulars when I didn't see them, wonder if they were ill or on a trip. Jen the creeper.

WORK HARD, PLAY HARD. They didn't mess around. They were good at their trade and knew it well. Family businesses often spanned generations.

I remember my car broke down once. I took it to a Toyota mechanic a couple towns away. The owner and receptionist were course, rough, and scared the crap out of me. But DANG did they do a good job with my car. They were affordable, knowledgeable, and the car is still running like a champ. It's in my garage right now.

Very serious business style....slow to make decisions, carefully examining every angle. Very detailed, thorough, and proud of it. This isn't to say they worked their lives away. Quite the contrary.

At least once a month, the German calender had a four-day weekend. Holidays were plentiful and work hours, strict. You didn't work for twelve hours straight and you certainly didn't ask a new mother to head back to work six weeks after delivering a baby. The work-life balance was incredible...as were the parties. Those four-day weekends I mentioned? They were usually accompanied by some sort of festival. A festival for a saint, or a season, or some guy who did something for the town. Each festival was soaked in Hefeweizen and music, large, doughy pretzels and standing tables. As with work, when it came to cutting loose, I found the Germans didn't mess around.

DINING OUT LIKE A BOSS. When Americans go out to eat, they expect to be seated and served pretty quickly. They like server attention - more bread, more water, here's my order, where's my entree, give me my check. Waiting is no good. Not the case in Germany.

After about 7PM on any given day of the week, you can spot groups of five or six people sitting together in a dimly-lit corner of a small pub, drinking beer, eating, laughing, talking. They'd sit there for hours and hours, savoring every bite, soaking up the chance to relax and enjoy each other. Servers didn't come to tables unless beckoned (took me a minute to figure that one out).

The food was heavy ~ a plate with breaded pork (there's the schnitzel!) and mushroom sauce, noodles, fries, bread, and vegetables. Potatoes, the best pumpkin soup I've ever had in my life, creamy cheesecakes and liquor-smothered ice cream. It wasn't just eating...it was living. One of the best experiences I had in Germany was with one of my dear friends....we "did the German thing" and went out to eat, just the two of us. We spent hours just talking and laughing, enjoying each other and enjoying our meal, people-watching, making fun of crazy sculptures on the restaurant windowsills...I'll never forget it. An unexpected moment of pure life.

I lived there for a little over three years. I love the serious, steady nature of the country and feel so privileged to have spent time there. I miss the Autobahn every day. My appreciation for Target has never been stronger and my German still sucks. I am an American through and through, but boy do I love me some Germany. If you get the chance to go, grab it and get ready to relax.

Jen

jen@jenniferludwigsen.com

Concentrated Creativity

Crazy Hooker to Crazy....Homemaker? ~ If I Can Do It, So Can You!

So this girl walks into a bar...

No really....I walked into a bar. It was a Sunday night. I had just ended things with a boyfriend ~ we did one of those really awesome dragged-out, disgusting, all-night, dramatic, battle-to-the-dawn, epic breakups. I was running on maybe three hours of sleep and my hair was piled on my head like a rat's nest. My friend made me go. It was karaoke night, she had whined to me over the phone. C'mon Jen. Karaoke.

So there I was. A girl in a bar.

We spotted this dude we knew and headed over to the booth he'd managed to nab. They still allowed smoking in the bars back then and through the dark haze I noticed another guy at the booth, this one unfamiliar. He was smoking and going on and on about how he was on leave from Fort Campbell, an Army base about 8 hours away. 

Not exactly sure what about him irritated me. Maybe it was his tone. Maybe it was the whole "ooo I'm an ARMY guy oooo!" It might've been my terrible hangover from the night before combined with breakup puffy-eye syndrome and general fatigue. Can't really put my finger on it. He annoyed the crap out of me.

"Ya know, I'm in the Army, too. 91-W series combat medic. Really not that big of a deal."

Unknown guy was surprised. "Oh yea? What unit?"

"634th FSB out of Camp Lincoln."

"Huh," he said. "That's an Army duty station? Where is that, exactly?"

Ugghhh here we go, I thought. "I'm not active duty. Army National Guard," I said, with force.

He smiled, irritatingly. "Ahhh, a weekend warrior."

I hated him. "Yea, I go to drill on the weekends. Oh and what did you say your MOS was, again? You pull triggers and pins, yes? Takes about 2 days to learn how to do that, huh? I was trained to save lives. I attended training at one of the best medical facilities in the world and am fully certified in both military and civilian medical services. Months of training, testing, and practicals in a fully-operational military hospital. So before you go spouting off about how easy we 'weekend warriors' have it, you might want to stop and consider who patches your butt up when you fall off that high horse."

He smiled again. Dammit. He liked that.

"Can I get you and your friend a drink?" he asked. 

Aha! Now that's what I'm talking about. I could handle insults when free stuff was involved. No shame. 

The moment he got up I grabbed my friend and shout-whispered, "HEY! You can have him! Go for it!"

"WHAT?" she shout-whispered back. "Jenny, what are you talking about! No! I'm not even looking for anything like that!"

Uggggh.

He returned with two drinks. I took my hair out of its falling rat's nest. He told me I should leave it down, it looked really pretty. I put it back up.

We'd arrived late so within an hour, the bar closed. At this point I was all amped up on caffeine and didn't want to go home. Plus I really enjoyed taking out my post-breakup man-hate on this unfamiliar guy. We'd found another friend and decided to go dancing ~ we knew a place about 45 minutes away that stayed open until 2AM. It was there, with my two friends dancing by themselves in the background, that unfamiliar guy kissed me. Eh, what the heck. I kissed back.

He became my very first one-night stand. Rebound? Absolutely. Did I like him the next day? Not really. Didn't know him, so I couldn't really form an opinion. Just keeping it classy.

And then the day came. The day. The woman day. It came and then it went. Nothing. Huh. Crazy. Broke out the stick. Two pink lines. My two dogs, Chevy and Dasani (named her after a water bottle, I'm so clever), found out first. I called my karaoke friend. What was I going to do? 

Sounds pretty dang terrible, huh? Oh it gets better.

I told unfamiliar guy about the baby and he took it well. Said he would be there for me. Then, one night, he called me drunk out of his mind. He was in his parents' driveway, he said, with no way to get in. Yea...that's about all it took for me to slam that door. I was freakin out as it was, I didn't need some alcohol-infused teen-man running around stressing me out. I told him to call me back when he wanted to talk about the baby. 

I was a cocktail waitress at a bar. My boss fired me for being pregnant at drill with my unit on a night he needed me. I'd told him I would be at drill two weeks ahead of time, but the guy prolly didn't hear me through his 7th vodka and tonic. I'd been renting a room from a friend and couldn't afford to continue paying the rent. I had no insurance, no money, no job.

So I applied for Medicaid. And WIC. And got on the housing list. And found a new job working at a dental office. After six months of grueling interviews and applications and proving I wasn't some secretly wealthy pregnant lady, I secured an apartment at a brand-new, low-income apartment complex. I was the first person to live in my apartment. It was clean, fresh, small, and perfect.

But the baby. Still wasn't sure I could take care of a baby better than some rich family somewhere with a huge house and puppies and begonias lining the walkway. I scoured adoption sites and sobbed, picked out people who looked perfect and ready and loving. 

"Jen," my girlfriend said to me on one of my particularly bad days, "you know you can take care of a baby just as good as a rich couple. Look at your mom. Look at mine. They were both single moms without a lot of money. Were you miserable growing up?"

I remember her comments washing over me like sunlight. I didn't have to give up my baby. I could do this. I really could. I would need to work hard. But I could do it. I made a promise to myself, though, that if I decided to keep this baby, I would do so wholly and completely. No screwing around. The baby would come first, always, and I would do everything in my power to ensure she never felt unwanted or deprived of a stable life. I had my mother as the perfect example of what a family can become with a lot of love and a little creativity. I could do this. Right?

My answer came a few weeks later. I was about 6 months along and back on the adoption sites, tears welling up, when *thunk*......*thunk tumtum thunk*.....****THUMP**** .....hi mama. 

Unfamiliar guy was allowed back in shortly after those first kicks. I guess I needed that time to myself...to figure things out, to make some hard choices, to get settled. He forgave me and when he left for Iraq later that fall, he had my kisses on his lips and weekly letters on the horizon.

Our baby was born on a clear January night.

I'll be the first to tell you our circumstances were not ideal. I've heard and felt the sting of judgement many times, sometimes from those I loved and considered friends.  But in case you haven't guessed, that unknown guy stuck around for a little while. We'll be married seven years this January. Married after our beautiful daughter was born. Dating years after we were wed. Going through all the terrible hard stuff in the first five years. We apparently like to do things out of order.

But you see, something started for me in the worst of ways. Girl walks into bar, girl gets knocked up, girl loses job, girl gets on welfare. Aside from Congress, I am the most hated group in America, right??

I chose to dig, and climb, and scratch, and suck up the pride, and lean on those who loved me. I reached out to any resource I could find. I was very blessed. I was also very determined. 

Freaky, life-changing things happen everyday. I've made some terrible mistakes in my life......but working hard at this life I have chosen is not one of them. 

When you find yourself in a situation saturated with hopelessness and fear, draw on your powers of resourcefulness. Reach out. DO something. Change something. Make a choice. Find contentment or find another path. We each have an incredible ability to create......destruction or peace, joy or sorrow, your call.

I'm tellin ya, tho......joy and peace kinda rule.

Jen 

jen@jenniferludwigsen.com

Concentrated Creativity

Happiness Without Bacardi? It IS Possible!

Very exciting things around here this week! My new business page launched and with it, a fresh, stinky ball of fear! Risk is scary....

What if I can't generate a good client base?

What if I drop the ball?

What if I don't make any money?

What if I meet a crazy person?

What if my pants fall down?

Mmmmkay, maybe not that last one. But you get my point. Transition and change can be scary. You're moving from something established and proven to something unknown and unexplored. You can read every book in the business, follow every professional on Twitter, or talk your head off to every consoling friend in your life....and you'll still be starting with a blank, inexperienced slate. 

Moments like these really force me to drink copious amounts of Bacardi focus on why I'm doing this in the first place. 

What makes you smile, Jen? What makes you tick? How can you leave your stamp in this world and do the impossible: 

Satisfy your seemingly-unquenchable thirst for peace and happiness.

When I was 18, I made the decision to attend college in Iowa. I remember making the drive multiple times a year, flying down the highway, cruising under the biggest sky I've ever seen, always looking into the distance, focused on where I want to be. 

Flash forward to 2007, my family and I are stationed in Germany.

I'm driving through the hills, looking out over the intensely rich, beckoning landscapes, and always feeling drawn to "that place off in the distance".....acknowledging where I am, but constantly reaching out, wanting to be over there....on that mountain....the pretty one. 

Sometimes I would drive out to the mountain, only to look back at the place I'd just come from and yearn to go back there. Never satisfied, always looking for the next best, most beautiful mountain. Green grass, greener on every side but the one I was on. 

The yearning continued through my early years with my husband....my first daughter.....and finally my second daughter. I needed to find my happy. What's the point of working so hard, Jen, if you can't sit and enjoy what you've done?

So I brainstormed. What am I good at? What could I picture myself doing forever? What would allow me to satisfy a thirst for more, for the best, the most beautiful, the most content, the most fulfilling? 

Writing was my answer. For you, it may be dancing. It may be nursing. It may even be cooking pizzas. Something makes you tick...something exists that will allow you to satisfy your thirst, if only for a few minutes at a time.  

I listened to this awesome live chat by my favorite blogging community, SITS. One of the ladies they interviewed, Danielle Smith, talked about how she prioritizes her life by glancing at a bracelet on her wrist that says, "Hell yeah!" I thought this was incredible....she literally asks herself, does this make me say "hell yeah?" If it doesn't, don't do it. Period.

Obligations and expectation aside, what makes you say "hell yeah!" ~? This can be the hardest part of the journey....you'll waffle, waver, and change your mind. I experience moments of self-doubt constantly.

But then I remind myself....

You love this. You are good at this. This allows you to dream forever. This allows you to reach for the next hill and not feel guilty about it. This allows you time to do the other things that make you happy. You can succeed.

I can. And so can you.

I am no expert. No, I'm the crazy chick just starting out...but believe me when I say, I've already learned some key steps towards happiness:

Step 1. Define joy. Like I said, this is one of the hardest steps. Be open-minded and honest. 

Step 2. Identify which circumstances will give you time with said joy.

Step 3. Create three paths towards your newly-identified circumstances.

Step 4. Evaluate your dedication ~ this is no cakewalk. You are redefining your career, your free time, and in some cases, the way you are perceived. You either give it 100% or you walk away and try again some other time. 

Step 5. Consider how your paths affect the outside world. Who will be influenced by these paths? How much do they impact your choices? 

Step 6. Decide which path is best for you and those you wish to keep around.

Step 7. Execute your plan.

Start small.....give yourself a reasonable goal. I gave myself three months to launch a website, complete with a light, but decent, portfolio. I am giving myself two years to become fully-profitable. I am a newbie. I have much to offer, but much to learn.

Most importantly...when you're pulling a late-night shift, suffering from exhaustion, feeling the pangs of regret, second-guessing yourself, and getting pulled 1,000 ways, remember:

You love this. You are good at this. You can do this.

And hey, if that doesn't work, you can always hit up the Bacardi....and then return to Step 1. 

Happy Friday :) Thanks so much for reading!

Jen

jen@jenniferludwigsen.com

Concentrated Creativity

Stress Less: Tips and Tricks from A Flighty, Reactive Person

At one point today I was:

1. Recording minutes during a leadership meeting

2. Receiving texts stating my youngest needed to be treated with a ventilator at the doctor's office

3. Receiving texts stating my oldest was locked out and alone after arriving home from a half-day at school

4. Answering emails about a missing yellow folder that needed vital signatures

5. Responding to a request for assistance with an executive-level presentation needed yesterday

6. Trying to eat a salad covered in high-fat dressing

7. Attempting to ignore guilty feelings about said salad high-fat dressing

I got in the car about an hour past my normal commute time and as I sat in the consequential traffic, I ran through my mental task list. Tick, tick, tick....Yes, did it...yep, knocked that out...waiting on that....finally completed that...totally didn't do that...need to do that....completed that...dang I forgot about that....sigh.

Everyday. This is life, everyday. Go, go, go.....lists and calls and demands and pressure. It's not just me. Change a few words up there in that task list and you've got any person, on any given day, minus maybe that old guy from Up.

After a long day like today, I can think of nothing I'd like more than to relax. Unfortunately, it's not that easy for me. Most relaxation techniques just make me pass out like a narcoleptic.

Oh, read in bed! 

Yes! Oooo I've got this great book I....DEAD.

Take a long bath! 

How nice! Bubbles and....DEAD.

Get a massage! 

Ahh, that feels gre.....DEAD, DEAD. 

I guess it's ok to fall asleep...I mean, I wouldn't fall asleep if I didn't need the sleep, right? But I find myself bummed out about it later.....I don't want to pass out, I want to consciously have that time to decompress...knock some "me time" things off my list (yea...I've even got a list of to-dos for relaxation...I hate you Pinterest...I hate you so damn bad). 

I'm not one to categorize myself into a "fitness" person or a "crafter" (read more about why categories like this suck by clicking here). I'll try just about anything at least once. So I've explored a little, attempted a ton of different relaxation techniques, and tried to stay open to just about anything. What follows is a list of my favorite tricks; all of them keep me awake and completely distract me from the day's chaos:

The BodMan: Move your body in a way it's normally not moved. I'm not saying exercise.....although I do exercise, the very thought of it adds to my stress. Exercise has its place (specifically, the good feeling after you're DONE exercising has its place)..but that's not what I'm talking about here. I'm saying find something you don't always do, but can mindlessly execute...like wrestling a dog, dancing around your living room, sitting at a barstool without slouching, painting a wall, attempting something new with your hair (seriously, that makes your arms BURN!) moving some furniture around, tossing a frisbee, laying down with your feet up in the air...it doesn't matter what it is as long as it feels different and requires absolutely no thinking on your part. Sometimes I lie on my floor and check out what's under my couch. No jokes here, people.

The Task Killer: I have a list that literally haunts me....it's the "house" list. There's ALWAYS something to do around the house. Every now and then, I'll pick one to-do, and I'll actually do it. Moving boxes. It takes no mental effort and I feel good afterwards. Sweeping out the garage, stacking logs, picking weeds, wiping down windows....cleaning and organizing may not be fun, but it takes my mind off the insanity of my day and leaves me with one less item on my house list. I know it sounds crazy, but the next time you're overwhelmed, toss in a load of laundry and then wipe down the tops of the machines. Seriously.

The WalMart: People watching and clearance aisle. 'Nuff said. 

The Outside: This one is obvious, but important to mention. I'm not big on bugs, heat, or extreme cold. I do, however, like taking two minutes to step outside, breathe in some fresh air, and then come back inside. Sometimes just running down to the end of my driveway to grab the mail works. My latest trick? I planted some mums in my front yard. They're pretty and I like looking at them, so I will go outside and walk around, just looking at my flowers. It's not thrilling, but that's the point. I'm doing nothing. I like doing nothing. 

The Gamer: Video games are incredible because they allow you to escape. I love video games. I love them so much, I wrote a blog post about my favorite video games. Check it out by clicking here!

The Pandora: Ever feel like you should have a soundtrack? Me too. So I tried it out once. Turns out, your entire perspective changes with a lil bit of music. I grabbed my earbuds, put on my Florence and the Machine station on Pandora, and ate dinner with my music. It was crazy! My peas were like little green orbs of bouncing joy. I couldn't do it for too long...the fam was kinda getting creeped out by my spastic glares and shoulder shrugs. Nonetheless, it was a neat way to clear my head. Careful which channel you pick, though. Wouldn't want to go all emo.

The Big Bang Theory: Absolutely nothing on this show reminds me of my own life. Not a thing. Glorious. It is creative, funny, entertaining, and plays over and over on the one channel I get with my antenna. Other incredibly distancing shows include White Collar, Law and Order, and How I Met Your Mother. I know TV is not a creative suggestion, but it's a huge standby for me and I would be lying by omission if I didn't throw it in there. 

The next time you find yourself running through lists and wanting nothing more than to run away, try one of these techniques. If you hate it, you've lost nothing but a few minutes of your time. If you love it, you've gained an important tool in your stress-less kit.

Thanks for reading everyone and HAPPY FRIDAY!

Jen

Children vs Childless: Get Your Box Out of My Face

I've been wanting to write this post for a while and finally got the push I needed from a friend's Facebook status. She posted something similar to this:

If you're looking for a good punch in the face,

please remind me about how I don't

understand anything because I don't have children.

The writer? She's a teacher. Before teaching, she was a nanny. The girl knows kids. 

Now as a mom, I know there are certain elements of childcare you never fully grasp until you have a little rugrat of your own....midnight puke sessions....those small, teeny feet taking their first steps....the consuming, ferociously strong pull you get when watching them wave bye-bye. I could go on and on.

But my Facebook friend knows this. She even made mention of it in her post...admitted she may not fully grasp everything there is to know about raising kids....but she's certainly no idiot, either. 

So why is she being condemned? I'll tell you what I think....I think the person who said it shoved my friend into a box lined with flimsy stereotypes and bad experiences. 

Yes, some people are genuinely clueless when it comes to kids....but **hey hey!!** some of these people are also parents. We've seen the incredible actions of the world's worst parents....having kids doesn't mean you're instantly blessed with the complete guide on how to care for them. Any parent who denies this is plain lying...unless that parent has cared for 11 children...should you meet this parent treat them like the golden reservoir of holiness they are and send them directly to my house.

Some of the best parenting advice I've ever received has come from my best girlfriend.....who, no.big.deal, has no children. It's not about her birthing count, it's about her brain. 

The same can be said about a bunch of other boxes people try to shove us into.....wanna know a few of my favs?

Box 1
Southern Girl vs Northern Girl: I love country music, but can't stand those songs about country girls shakin it. I can shake it. What about me shakin it. I was born in Park Ridge, Illinois...can I still shake it? I get the whole "being proud of where you come from"... but shakin it? And looking cute in short shorts and plaid shirts? Hell, I can do that. Gimmie one.

Box 2
Working vs At-Home: Stop, just stop. There is nothing good about this box. I've done both, multiple times now, and it's different for everyone. I don't suck because I work and I don't suck because I don't want to work. I won't suck when I stop working and if I work again I won't suck then either. Enough with the "empowered people keep careers" and "working people don't care about family." It makes me sick. We are all people.

Box 3
Sons vs Daughters: Ooooo I can feel the sting in your eyes as you read this one! Very hot topic. I get it. Boys are different from girls. Raising them, therefore, can present unique challenges. I like to think every child presents unique challenges as every child is a completely different person, but if you'd like to place the bulk of the reasoning on gender, be my guest. Just don't shove me in that box and expect me to sit there quietly and take it. I will destroy that box...because I'm telling you what....parents are parents. Raising a child is challenging. Accept it at that and be compassionate. Tossing out isolating statements like, "you'll never understand, you don't have boys...." is completely nonconstructive and jacks me directly into defense mode.

Box 4
City vs Country: I live in a suburb. I would someday like to live in a place with land, fresh air, and plenty of room to roam. I also love heading into the city...I squeal like an idiot every time I see huge, tall buildings. I guess I don't belong in either box....I don't know how to drive a tractor and I have no idea how to ride an elevated train. Hey, but you know what? I betcha I could learn...just like a city person could learn how to live in the suburbs...and a country bumpkin could learn how to hail a taxi.

Now would they want to? Well, guys, that is the real question.

You see, at the heart of the box factory, there lies a fierce pride in who you are and what you stand for. You don't respond well to young punks running in and turning years worth of work into cheap, easily-attained knowledge....nor should you. Long-lived expertise deserves respect (remember that golden parent of 11??).

No, I'm not saying we should lessen the cornerstones of someone's identity and livelihood, further weakening a crumbling platform of social collaboration....nope. Not that.

I am saying, instead, that the experts should treat the inexperienced with kindness.

Hey, childless person who criticizes parents for "losing themselves" in their kids, be nice. Invite your parent friends to a park near their house. Ask them about their kids. Be a real person.

Hey, parent who criticizes childless people for "not knowing jack" about kids, be nice. Those people can be glorious fountains of unique ideas and perspective, not to mention a welcome escape from kid talk. Ask them about their weekend plans. Be a real person.

I am guilty as charged. This blog is called Flaws, Forgiven, right? Where would we be without a little lesson for Jen embedded in here....

I get impatient real quick. I deal with stupid, stupid people all the time who box me in and make me so mad, I could scream. I gotta get over it. I've found stupid people everywhere...with kids, without kids, with money, without money, friends, family, from all over the country. Ignorance needs to be pitied, nothing more. Maybe they'll someday understand, maybe not. Guess you could try and help them, if you can trust yourself not to kill them. I'm working on that one.

In general, however, you'll find the majority of the population is an expert in one or more things. Identify your expertise, but don't hold it above the heads of others. You never know what they are truly capable of. That city boy could be your best detassler. That choir girl might be a blast at the club. Your mom friends might be awesome at organizing large events and your non-mom friends might be awesome at chalk creations. Stop with the boxes and start giving the benefit of the doubt.

Ending note: The girl in these pictures, while not the Facebook poster I mentioned above, has also never had a baby. Notice...she seems to be doing just fine working her magic on mine... :) Have a great weekend everybody. 

Jen

jen@jenniferludwigsen.com

Concentrated Creativity

Diggin' For Rainbows

I went to my daughter's Curriculum Night last night. Her school hosts them every year, normally within the first week. It's a brief, informative event where parents squeeze into teeny little chairs and try to not act uncomfortable. The objective of the evening is to explore the learning goals for the year. We're introduced to lesson plans, given a snapshot of what a report card will look like, and told about the testing each kid will undergo at multiple points throughout the school year. It was nice and the teacher gave us some good info. 

Have you ever seen the movie Matilda? Remember Miss Honey? That's my daughter's teacher. She's the sweetest, nicest, most beautiful teacher I've ever met...very easy to talk to, highly communicative, and my kid is crazy about her.

Before I left for Curriculum Night, my big girl had suggested I take some time to explore and "look for the owls." She said the whole classroom was decorated in owls because her teacher thought they were all so wise:

It was really sweet. They really did have owls everywhere ~ an owl alphabet, owl cubbies, owl locker stickers...so cute. My favorite part of the whole night, however, was when I went looking for my kid's artwork on the wall. You see, it took me all of about two seconds to find my daughter's contributions. In every assignment she colored a rainbow.

I stood there, staring at how bright and bold and beautiful her little ice cream cone was, imagining her coloring it and using all the crayons in the box...taking the extra time to dig out each individual color and then shove it back again. Such a pain in the ass, but so worth it. I was a rainbow colorist, too. All about it. I ate rainbows for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. 

I remember thinking: Please don't ever let her stop coloring rainbows.

Big, radiant colors sometimes get lost in adulthood. I work in an office with gray cubicles, brown carpet, and taupe floors. Most of my work clothes are black, brown, or tan. I wore blue eyeshadow once (it was casual Friday, people....and I promise I can rock it like only a true 80's baby can). I was told it was against the dress code policy. My tattoos are also against the dress code policy...even the pretty blue one on my arm ;)

I make up for it by tacking my big girl's artwork all over my cubicle. I mean all. Freaking. Over. No rules against that yet, but I know I'm on borrowed time. The newer offices have rules against personal items at the cubicle. If my office ever moves, I'd be highly limited in what I could hang at my desk.

To spite the corporate thugs early, I go a little color crazy. I've got twenty seven a few pictures up. Bought a couple pads of heart-shaped, hot-pink sticky notes. Use colorful Expo markers to decorate my own personal dry-erase board. I stuck little pink bows on the corners of my computer monitor and refer to it as a "she"...

Unprofessional, in the standard sense of the word? Absolutely. 

Joyful, bright, and enjoyed by those who visit my desk? You're damn right. 

We're taught in school to be creative, use our minds, decorate the world with color. Then, somewhere along the way to "professionalism," we sense the only way to be successful is to follow in the drab, standard footsteps of leaders before us. This can be especially true for women...I mean, let's face it, I don't think most of the guys in my office even know what color my hair is (dark -they would say dark).....on a serious note, though, women are still struggling to break into male-dominated roles throughout the workplace. Why would they want to reduce their chances with "girly" boldness and individuality?

The most memorable people in our lives are the most colorful. Consider the irony in that statement. 

I went to an important leadership development meeting once. Oh yea, it was big time. I would be surrounded by people who owned many leather-bound books. I was a wreck the night before, pressing my business suits (and by "pressing," I mean shoving them in the dryer after dousing them with water from my showerhead), picking out the perfect shoes, practicing my severe hair bun, working on an appearance that really screamed potential!! I got there and was feeling good...my outfit was right on target. Everyone else wore similar garb...black, gray, a little white....We were business people. Power heels as far as the eye could see.

Then, this woman with an enormous, billowing, fringed shawl and a cloud of long, curly, white hair came floating into the room. She had loafers on her feet and bangles glittering up and down her arms. Oh gosh, I thought, she is doomed. These people are going to eat her alive with their eyes. Within minutes, she had captured the attention of everyone on my side of the room. Instead of glares, however, I saw only smiles. Everyone seemed to know who she was...and more importantly, they seemed very, very happy to see her. "Who is that?" I whispered to my neighbor. "Oh she's great!" was the response. "The best doctor ever and so, so funny. Here, I'll introduce you!"

She smelled like mint and cookies. I shook her hand and her blue eyes shone at me. Santa? She didn't look through me, the lowly secretary who was somehow invited to this thing....no. She looked right at me, asked my name, told me it was nice to meet me, asked if we could just skip to lunch. She was absolutely one of those people you wanted to talk to. She was full of life....full of color. 

Without speaking more than a few sentences, that woman taught me the only lesson I learned that day: Be who you are and be loved. 

I'm sure she encountered severe challenges prior to arriving to her current state...she was an older, female physician. Medical school is no joke, especially at a time when women really didn't go to medical school. She undoubtedly needed to cover her colors on more than one occasion.....but you know what? Colors won. 

For all of you feeling suffocated by your circumstances, stop yourself every now and again and remember your passions. Be it a box of crayons, a walk in the woods, or a picture of a hot rod....everyone has something that fills them with joy and life and all the good things. Don't ever stop coloring your world with things that make you happy. Those rainbow prisms of light we call diamonds? They are dug from dirt. Hi-ho, hi-ho, everyone.... :)

Happy Friday!