Simplicity by Sunny

If you were to meet me in person, you’d quickly discover that I’m a chatty sort who adores conversation.  If you think I’m long-winded while writing, you ain’t seen (or heard) nuttin’.  I love to discuss everything!

I’m the kind of person you avoid at the water cooler because you’ve got better things to do than suffer my inability to shut-up, but I’m undeniably valuable at the corporate Christmas party because I prevent awkward silences.  When a new co-worker stops by my cubicle for the first time, I introduce myself as a verbal Venus Flytrap, but assure them that they’re allowed to escape me whenever they like.  (Since I sit alone at the end of the hall, my only company a cranky boss and a Philodendron, I get pretty lonely down there .  So, when a wonderful person visits me, I want to keep them prisoner for as long as possible.)

Such is the case with MM, one my favorite prisoners – I mean, co-workers.  Poor MM.  But she visits my cubicle even without a work related purpose, which makes me think she sorta likes me.  She and I talk about lots of things.  My colorful dating life, her children’s shenanigans, movies, and the meaning of life.  Work, after all, isn’t so much about work.  It’s about dissecting our life’s happenings in extreme detail thirty-five out of forty hours per week.  When I decided to enter the nursing program, then, she was one of the first people I told.   

I was taken aback when she got super excited on my behalf and said that she, too, had always wanted to be a nurse and had started the nursing program years earlier.

“What happened?” I asked.  “Why didn’t you finish?”

She shrugged.  “After I finished my prerequisites, we moved for my husband’s job.  The timing was awful, that’s all.”

Every day thereafter MM and I shared thoughts on the health care field – how vast it is, how interesting… how gross, but in the good way.  Sharing our thoughts was fun, especially for me.  MM’s eyes light up as she talks about nursing.  The only thing I love more than wine and chocolate is seeing my prisoners – I mean, my friends – happy.  

One day I said, “Why don’t you go back and finish?  Obviously nursing is something that still interests you, and I’d take you for my nurse any ol’ day.”

She pursed her lips and thought for a moment.  “I dunno.” 

Grabbing one of my purple Post-its, I scribbled down my academic advisor’s name.  “Give this guy a call to see what it’d take to finish.  What would it hurt?”

And she did.  As I write this, her credits are being transferred and she starts the nursing program this fall.  My enthusiasm for school rubbed off positively!  How exciting to know I can influence people in ways that don’t require bail money.  (Just kidding, that rarely happens anymore .)

Speaking of work, I recently dealt with a broken circuit breaker in our building and I hired an electrician to come save us.  Mr. Electric’s handsome smile, a welcome surprise, made me wish I’d prepared accordingly with fresh lip gloss.  

After showing him the electrical panel, I rushed into the bathroom armed with my toothbrush.  As I’d eaten Italian for lunch, I brushed with gusto, hoping to transform my breath from garlicky to minty.  In case Mr. Electric, once I’d dutifully signed his work order, decided to haul off and kiss me.  Stranger things have happened.  I’m sure of it.

A new co-worker of mine entered the bathroom in the middle of my scrubbing and joined me at the sink.  “Wow,” she said.  “Your dentist would be really proud of you.”

“No, he wouldn’t,” I answered, toothpaste mumbling my words.  “This is my vain attempt to scrub the garlic off my breath because there’s a good-looking electrician down the hall.” 

She raised a brow.  “Where down the hall exactly?”

I grinned with co-conspiracy.  “Accounting’s conference room, left of the projector.” 

Minutes later, after I’d returned to my desk and was fluffing my hair, she rushed to my cubicle, breathless and pink-cheeked.  “I think he’s related to Bradley Cooper.”

“I was leaning toward Wentworth Miller, but I can see it your way.”

As we continued chatting, utilizing the female talent of bouncing from one topic to another one that’s completely unrelated, we discovered a mutual love of coconut.  Before our conversation ended, we made a coconut coffee date for next week.  A new friend!  One I made because I’d shared a slice of girly behavior with a stranger.

Last week I had dinner with my friend Becky.  We were burning our tongues off with inferno-rated buffalo wings while swigging 90 Shilling Ale.  After our second beer, I told her about the stories I’m writing.  I shared my dilemma of Manuscript #1 versus Manuscript #2, mainly the troublesome plot issues of the former.   Normally, I don’t talk about writing.  Before a few months ago, I’d never told anyone about my dream of finishing a book.  Lately, though, I’ve been sharing this part of myself more easily.  It’s proven beneficial.

“I can’t describe how excited I am about finishing a novel,” I told her.  “And I really want to finish the first manuscript, but the problem with the plot is ruining everything.  Oh, Becky, I don’t know what to do!”

“How ’bout flag the waiter?”  She fanned her tongue.  “I need more sour cream before my mouth bursts into flames.” 

“I meant about my manuscript.”

“I know, but I can’t problem solve if my entire head is sweating!”

So, I did as instructed.  After licking sour cream from our forks, she knitted her brow and suddenly said, “How about if you …..”

And, within the space of one sentence, she solved my manuscript’s plot.  Thank goodness I shared my enthusiasm for Manuscript #1 with her, otherwise I’d still be wallowing

I can’t write about enthusiasm without mentioning my friend A.W., who’s having a baby.  A baby!  I’ve seen his little baby bottom in an ultrasound.  I’ve felt the flutter in her stomach as he kicked, my hand experiencing life at its very beginning.  I’ve been able to pick out baby clothes with her, an event that requires long-term smiling.  As I watch A.W. become even more beautiful in pregnancy, her belly growing daily, and hearing all of the prep work she and her husband are doing (and, boy, is there a lot of it), I’m infected by her enthusiasm.  I’m reminded of how awesome life is.   

The power of enthusiasm should never be underestimated.  Get excited and share your excitement.  Whether it’s about a project you’re working on, a dream you have, or a blue-eyed electrician.  Enthusiasm is contagious.  When you share it, you shine more brightly and the people around you shine, too.  

Speak up, dear shy friends!  And tell me – and everyone else – what you’re excited about.  Who knows what problems it’ll solve?  What friends it’ll bring?  What happiness it’ll give someone?  Or how simply sharing your enthusiasm will keep it alive.