Simplicity by Sunny

I’m a daydreamer.  Sitting next to a wide window at work, I spend most of my days staring at the mountains – elbow planted on cubicle desk, chin propped in palm – daydreaming about everything.  Like zipping through Manitou Springs in a ’54 Corvette Roadster.  Designing the perfect downtown loft, starting with white and chipped hardwood floors.  I remember the Tuileries Garden in Paris, from when I was an exchange student, and imagine sitting there again, reading Voltaire.  I daydream about Napa Valley, sighing with the idea of being chauffeured from one vineyard to the next, languid and happy. 

Well, I daydream about these things until my boss catches me . 

Having a secret, cherished, gorgeous world inside of my head is something I consider very important.  When all of those daydreams, though, are purely fantasy (don’t think the Roadster’s in my immediate future, more’s the pity) it can dampen the daydreaming experience.  Rather than melt into something fanciful, I begin feeling frustrated that nothing wonderful actually happens.  I’ve discovered that one of the best gifts I can give to myself is this:

Something to always look forward to.

Something that, during a tough day at work, I think about and immediately smile.  Something on the calendar that makes me excited for the beginning and ending of another day.  I still daydream about a Roadster (and a silk bandana for my hair, as it’s a convertible), but it’s tempered by many equally wonderful realities to also daydream over.   

Unfortunately, I’m not a wealthy woman.  I don’t have tickets to Brazil taped to the refrigerator.  Thank goodness, as I’m more Stockholm than Rio, anyway (Nordic architectural design!  IKEA!  Meatballs!).  Something to look forward to doesn’t mean something expensive or ridiculous.  My current “something to look forward to” is tickets to the Colorado Symphony on February 25^th.  Other treats I regularly indulge in:

• I print out movie tickets (from Fandango) for movies I can’t wait to see.  I buy them a week in advance and soak up the anticipation.
• Road trips with my camera.  I love planning all the details – cafés to stop at, scenic spots.
• Road trips to new trailheads. 
• Museum events.  Recently I saw the King Tut exhibit at the Denver Art Museum and eagerly counted down the days until I saw an Egyptian funeral mask with my very own eyes.
• Books Release dates.  I get excited for when my favorite author, or a book I’ve been excited about, finally hits the stands.  I put the date on my calendar and race to the bookstore.  The day after my purchase, I plan a Reading Day Extraordinaire – tucking myself into the couch, opening a bottle of Chianti, nibbling olives and chocolate.  This is my idea of perfection.
• Happy Hours or dinners with friends.  I like to have one evening scheduled for drinks or dinner with a good friend every month.  Nothing is more delicious than anticipating something yummy to go with long conversations about men, work, books, music, hiking, cooking, and photography.
• Visiting new cafés/bistros.  I like to try a new one every weekend.  I print out the online menu and tack it onto my cubicle wall – allowing me to indulge in how that upcoming afternoon will be like, latte in one hand, book in the other.

Think of something that you can look forward to.  Buy football tickets and display them in a prominent place.  Print out directions for a road trip and, throughout the days, make notes about the stops you’ll make along the way.  Plan a dinner date with your best friend and mark it in Big Block letters on your calendar.  Just do something that makes you wake up in the morning and say, “Another day for dreaming!  Another day for planning something fantastic!  Another day for doing something that makes me happy!”

I’m amazed at the beautiful imperfections of life.  I’m grateful for the imperfections.  Imperfect moments make the greatest stories.  Imperfect people are often the most wonderful.  It’s when things go wrong – you get lost, you lose, you fall – that you learn who you are.  Without the falls, the losing, the wrong turns, I’d never be where I am – or be who I am.  And I certainly wouldn’t laugh as often.  Life is an imperfect, completely unpredictable experience.   

I couldn’t have predicted, for example, again dating Mr. Convertible (from this previous post).  Which has certainly been an imperfect experience!  The dinner date I wrote about last August wasn’t our first date – far from it, actually.  Mr. Convertible and I met two years ago while dancing at Fado’s, an Irish pub complete with an excellent whiskey selection and peppy live bands.  We didn’t actually meet that night, he just stared at me while we both shook our booties on opposite ends of the dance floor.  For his viewing pleasure, I shook my booty with lots of enthusiasm . 

“What’s up with that guy?”  I shouted over the music to my ( à la moment) dance partner/date.

He glanced in Mr. Convertible’s direction.  “He’s either drunk or hot for your bod,” he said, giving me a twirl.  “He looks pretty sober, actually.”  He narrowed his eyes in a possessive little scowl.  “Want me to beat the crap out of him?”

I rolled my eyes.  I haven’t always dated the most congenial of men .

A week later Mr. Convertible appeared a second time  - like magic - at my Cocktail Club.  He stared at me in the same lascivious manner, but at least found the decency to introduce himself.  I’m still unsure of how he tracked me down, through our social grapevines somehow, but when he thrust his hand out at me, I had bigger concerns than his stalker-like behavior.  Like breathing properly.

“I’m Mr. Convertible,” he said, a smile lifting the corner of one lip.  He was the perfect image of a handsome, confident Cheshire cat.  Standing over me, blocking any interruption with the angle of his shoulders, he meant business.  And it was clear that he wasn’t going anywhere until I signed the papers.

I swallowed, grasping the extended hand.  When his fingers wrapped around mine, sending a delightful shock up my arm, I couldn’t remember my name.  “I’m…”

“Sunny,” he rolled my name out slowly. 

“How did you…?”  I couldn’t finish this sentence either.  Mostly because I couldn’t decide whether to punch him in the nose – the audacity! – or melt – how romantic! 

He gave a little shrug, which made me lean toward the “punch in nose” option.  “You’re Sunny,” he said again.  “And you’re going to have dinner with me tomorrow night.”

Well, geesh, what choice did I have?  The man is “pushy” personified.  Our first attempt at dating went horribly.  Because we’re imperfect.  He’s pushy, I’m stubborn.  Better stated, as in my previous post, he’s ravioli… and I’m peanut butter.  We’re exact opposites.  It didn’t last long and I was happy to leave the complication behind.  He wasn’t.  He’s pursued me relentlessly ever since.  I’ve, in response, mostly avoided him relentlessly. 

Every week thereafter he tried convincing me to join him for dinner – or the theatre, strange festivals, Rockies games, dancing, karaoke… Periodically I’d catch up with him over a drink or join him for dinner, but when it became clear that Mr. Convertible was incapable of seeing me without stealing my lips for a good-night kiss, I spent almost an entire year sidestepping his invitations.  ”Busy tonight”, “Oops, outta town”, “My new special-ops military boyfriend wouldn’t approve”.    Last October, though, he sent me an invitation so cruel.  So completely irresistible that I had no option but to cave.  

“Sunny,” he implored.  “Join me for a corn maze?” 

I’m from Wisconsin for the love of God!  Walking among eight-foot stalks of dried corn, under the stars, in the middle of manure-scented pastures?  Of course I have to go.  It’s my idea of heaven with a little twist of “back home”.  He tricked me.  He tricked me good. 

That night, lost together beneath an inky sky, bumping into corn stalks and into each other, I recognized a sudden craving for ravioli.  Since that moment, I’ve enjoyed many delicious Italian dinners.

We’re the most imperfect pair imaginable.  He’s a convertible driver, I’m a Subaru girl.  He’s worldly, I’m small-town.  He’s parties on a Friday night, I’m Netflix and fuzzy socks.  He’s beaches and palm trees, I’m cabin-in-the-woods.  But, somehow, it’s working.  Because I accepted what doesn’t make perfect sense and trusted what felt right.  I’ve realized – *gulp* - that compromise isn’t such a bad thing.  That setting aside perfection – that concrete visual ideal preventing possibility - welcomes knowledge and excitement.

I’m glad for our imperfections.  Glad that Mr. Convertible is so different from me.  He makes everything fun.  He shows me how to see things in a whole new way.  He makes me feel like I’m 16 again.  I’m forever changed, in a positive way, because of him.  I would’ve missed out on this – on a new part of myself – if I hadn’t loosened my grip from perfection.

As a recovering Type-A, I’ll never be capable of throwing all caution aside.  I believe in standards and expectations.  We should set standards for ourselves, from the way we’re treated in relationships to the routines we indulge in.  On the other hand, we must also welcome imperfection.  Open ourselves to things that we’re not quite sure about, but are drawn to anyway.  If you realize, no matter how soon or how much later, that it’s no longer right, you can always say, “no thanks, I’m done” and move on.  At least you tried, and you’ll have learned something new.  Without doubt, life will never be boring! 

Your life will always be imperfect, no matter what you do or how hard you try.  You have the choice, though, on whether it’s beautifully imperfect.

I went back to college, finally, because I realized the experience didn’t have to be perfect.  I didn’t need to immediately know which major I’d choose, how long it’d take me to graduate, or which career path I wanted to chase after.  It was enough to say, “This may not be easy, or end well, but it’s worth doing, even if I do it badly.”  

I went salsa dancing for the first time, having finally accepted how ridiculously imperfect I’d be.  I injured plenty of toes that night – still do, if you must know – and I laugh at how horrible a salsa dancer I am, because it’s funny and I’m having fun. 

I became a minimalist when I released my need for a perfectly furnished apartment or perfectly designed clothes. 

I’m openly eccentric because I don’t need a perfectly polished facade. 

Allow me to leave you with a Chinese proverb:  ”Were I to await perfection, my book would never be finished.”  So, go write your book!  Begin creating the imperfect and utterly beautiful story of your life.

“Sunny,” my boss said recently, propping a hip onto my cubicle’s desk.  “You need to arrest a homeless man.”

“What?”  I exclaimed. 

“He’s living in the underground garage of our downtown property,” she explained, inspecting her painted nails under the flourescent lighting.  “Tenants are complaining,” she brushed back her perfectly coiffed hair and released a dramatic sigh.   “Oh, and I need you to find a mouse running around in the janitor’s closet.”

With that, she swayed back into her office.

“Oh, boy,” I muttered, suddenly compelled to rummage through my filing cabinet.  “Do I have any Reese’s peanut butter cups around here, for the love of God?!”

This is the world of commercial real estate.  If you’re wise, you’ll never enter it. 

Several moments later, I settled my phone back into its cradle with a sense of satisfaction.  The homeless man wouldn’t be arrested, as I’d requested that he, instead, be escorted to a shelter.  I didn’t save the day, exactly, but I did what I could, and that filled me with happiness.  Unfortunately, this relief didn’t last long as my next task loomed ahead.   

“A mouse is teeny-tiny.  More importantly, his teeth are teeny-tiny,” I assured myself, but still a shudder vibrated through me.

With my incredible ability to dodge cleaning supplies, I victoriously captured the mouse in an old paint can.  Then I looked into a mirror.  Dust covered my nose.  My pants were ripped at the knee.   Unidentifiable particles were stuck to my cashmere sweater.  “Ewww,” I said to my image, but I also puffed up with pride.  “You’re disgusting,” I told myself and nodded with satisfaction.  “Good goin’.”

If I were independently rich, I’d let the mouse loose in my boss’s office and make a run for it.  I’d stroke a check for Mr. Homeless and tell him to buy a nice loft downtown, complete with stainless steel appliances and a minimalist decorator.

But… I’m not rich.  And neither are most of you.  I know, the reality of our lives is somewhat discouraging .  But the reality of our lives can also be amazingly satisfying when we realize how to incorporate the “have to do”s with the “want to do”s.

There are things that we must do, like pay our mortgage/rent and make sure we don’t starve to death.  Obligatory things that are what they are.  Taxes, car registrations, gasoline, eyeglasses, and booze (if you’re so inclined).  I’ve finally realized that the “have to do”s (which is most often our work lives) are not mutually exclusive from the “want to do”s.   

“But, Sunny,” you protest.  ”I despise my job and it sucks all of the energy from me!  There’s no way I can find any joy from my job.”

“You don’t say?”  I ask in return.  Try capturing a mouse in a paint can.  I’ve also been forced to do the following work tasks: (1) find the employee who stole 12 cases of toilet paper, (2) remove bird poop from third story windows…while wearing slingback heels, (3) tame wild sprinklers during a particularly excellent hair day, (4) alert tenants that the air conditioning has broken…in the middle of August.

Perhaps your work burdens are worse than mine.  If that’s the case, my sincere sympathy.  I’ve learned, though, that I must complete these undesirable tasks to collect my bi-monthly paycheck.  Without my paycheck, I can’t run through the Rocky Mountains on the weekends.  I can’t purchase blue-cheese stuffed olives to compliment my bottle of Pinot noir.  I can’t toss back tequila at my favorite Mexican bar.  Or swing across a wooden dance floor while learning the hip-shaking art of salsa.  Gone would be all that makes live worth living. 

Weekends, however, are never enthusiastically enjoyed when you’re exhausted from a work-and-chore week.  What’s to be done, then? 

You must inject energy into your “have to do” tasks.

I know, you’re an accountant.  A garbage collector.  A slave.  Work stinks.  It’s like prison.  You’re errands are exhausting.  The grocery store lines are neverending.  But take a moment to think differently about those things you hate doing.  Consider, for example, these suggestions:

1.  Create community wherever you are.

Make people laugh.  Be the person who tells a joke-of-the-day.  Bring in cookies every Wednesday to celebrate Hump Day.  Dance down the hallway.  Bring in delicious coffee creamers every week that everyone can sample.  Just create little pleasures where you work.  It’ll welcome personal interaction.  You might start liking your co-workers, if you don’t already.

Outside of the corporate environment, like grocery shopping and errand running, you can positively interact with others.  Talk to the person in front of you at the DMV.  Compliment the people you pass on the streets  – for their earrings, dragon tattoo, shoes, golden tooth.  It’s fun and makes you feel good.  And, of course, it makes other people feel good, too.

2.  Inject yourself into all that you do.

While working on a project, look for ways that you can put yourself into it.  Design a PowerPoint document with artwork that makes you smile.  Find a personally meaningful quotation as an ice-breaker to your presentation.  Make a board meeting cozy by bringing in homemade muffins.  Send emails with a touch of humor.  Don’t forget yourself, or create a different personality, when walking into work. 

During other undesirable tasks, make yourself comfortable.  Eat your favorite ice cream while balancing your checkbook.  Listen to audio books while stuck in traffic.  Splurge on your favorite magazine when you know you’ll be waiting in a doctor’s office.  Have special boots, decked in polka dots, for shoveling the driveway.  Spin your personal style into everything.

3.  Build relationships through inquiry.

Whether you’re taking a sales call from someone trying to sell you a completely needless gazooka, chit-chatting with a co-worker in the break room, or serving pancakes to a man with a handlebar moustache, build relationships.  Whether the relationship lasts one moment or a decade, they make your working life (and life in general) worthwhile. 

So, learn to ask questions.  When I receive sales calls from people who speak in a southern drawl, I try to guess where they’re from.  “Texas?”  My first guess is always wrong.  “Georgia?” My second guess is always wrong, too.  When they finally reveal their location, I ask about the weather, how long they’ve been working for their current company, and if they can recommend a recipe from their home state.  I love solicitors! 

4.  Cultivate happiness into small breaks throughout the day.

I love blogs about minimalism (big surprise, I know).  Periodically, I check out my favorite sites for recent posts.  It keeps me energized.  I also love French press coffee and have created a tradition of brewing a cup every afternoon.  Yum!  

Sprinkle joy throughout your day.  Keep a cookbook in your filing cabinet for reading during coffee breaks (or conference calls ).  Send an email to your sweetheart during lunch.  Brainstorm your next vacation while waiting for everyone to arrive at a meeting. 

5.  Whatever you’re doing, sing all the while.

Whether you’re in an office, washing cars, scrubbing your shower, taking out the garbage, flossing your teeth, driving your daily commute, be sure to sing your favorite song.  Or do a little dance. 

 Just.  Act.  Happy.  Acting happy often leads to feeling happy.  If you work eight hours a day, you can’t change that fact.  If the oven needs scrubbing, you can’t change that fact, either.  You can go about these things with a grin or a scowl.  That’s completely up to you.  I recommend the grin.  It’s done like this:  .

6.  Treat every task with positive expectation.

I used to hate Christmas.  More accurately, I used to hate my job during Christmas.  I have to decorate each of our commercial properties for the holidays.  It never fails that 100+ people pass me and say, “Boy, howdy, is really that time already?”

I’d be tempted to snap at the defenseless soul.  ”Do you really think that’s the first time I’ve heard that line today, hm?” 

I’ve learned to quench my Scrooge-like tendencies.  Now I really look forward to my holiday tasks.  I stop by Starbucks before arriving at the building, indulging in a seasonally flavored pumpkin spice latte, and take my leisurely time arranging each ornament on the tree.  It’s amazing, too, how much fun it is talking to those people who pass by, the ones I once found annoying.

“So, what’s your holiday tradition?” I ask them, always surprised by the replies.

There are many projects thrown my way that I could immediately expect to dislike.  But I give them a chance.  They can be truly exciting if they’re approached with an open mind…and lots of Starbucks .

7.  Remember:  You are YOU, on Monday morning AND Saturday afternoon.  

You cannot separate who you are at work and who you are on the weekend.  Naturally, you aren’t going to drop the F-bomb in front of the CEO.  You aren’t going to proudly greet your boss with, “I won last night’s beer drinking contest!  I’ve never been so hungover in my life.” 

But…

You are you.  Whatever you’re doing – working at a frustrating job, reading a great book, dusting your refrigerator’s coils, skiing down a mountain - you’re always pursuing things that support your entire life.  Your dreams, loves, obsessions, family, financial health, clean socks.  These are not separated because YOU are not separated.  You and ALL of your tasks coincide.  ALL of your tasks, too, are filled with unlimited possibility.