This week I began reading the most amazing book. It’s called “Run with the Bulls Without Getting Trampled” by Tim Irwin,  Ph.D.  The premise of his workmanship is regarding the way we strategize our navigation through our workplace. Work is unlike any other aspect of life because we need to work in order to  live. Our work produces our very means to our livelihood. This notion leads work to have some aspects that are very Darwinist; the idea of “survival of the fittest” and “every man for himself” seem to make perfect sense in that context. Yet, it gets complicated when we begin to realize that work is not that straight forward. There are politics, and social rules, and circumstances that all need to be maneuvered through in order for us to come out really enjoying the work.

I cannot speak for the entire book, as I’ve only made it through the first 50 pages or so. But I am already convinced that this author is a miracle worker, because Irwin has already made some cutting clarity for me in those first pages. This week I have been rolling around with a topic much bigger than work and careers, and I have even attempted to write several pieces on my thoughts. But for some reason, the words have flown stifled, or slightly sideways as I have grappled with my keyboard trying to type out the right things. In the grappling, I have realized that I’m not too sure of what I am trying to say. So I gave up the writing and took to reading. And there is was in black and white, on page 20 of Irwin’s book – the supposition that has been staggering me all week.

What I have been realizing in my own job is that even though all of the pieces have fallen in the right place for me, I am still beginning to discover that I am not satisfied. It seems strange to me that in a season most characterized by change that I would begin feeling this anxious so quickly. I would think that I would want life to settle, to have things fall into place a bit more; to open the new 401(k), to buy the condo, to get at least one promotion before I begin dreaming of big grandiose adventures. But when I go to bed at night staring at the ceiling, I realize that I cannot get away from that lingering thought. “I have itchy skin.”

I HAVE ITCHY SKIN.

Of course I don’t mean this in the way that I have some sort of skin disease. I mean that I’m beginning to feel the fidgeting in my soul already. Itchy skin is the best way that I can think to describe it; because that’s really what it feels like. I want more. I have big wants and even bigger dreams. I want…no I need more. More adventures, more stories, more one way plane tickets.When I’m really honest, that is what it comes down to for me. Getting out of the United States. Having a one way ticket to life in another culture, another people. Having an amazing career that allows me to travel the seas, and wander the world. And I’m not getting at the idea of having a job with more vacation time. I don’t want to do Western Resorts in every country in the world. I want an apartment in the heart of the city. I want to live in the culture. I want to work there. I want to walk in the parks there. I want to get lost there. I want to call my mom crying from there saying “Mom, I  just don’t know if I can do this!” And if I know my mom, I want her to reply back “Jenni, you’ll be just fine, you are doing so great….but you can come home if you want.”

Now here is the part that ties me in with this Irwin genius. I’m scared. I’m scared that I am just kidding myself. I’m afraid that I wake up at 40 and realize that I never got there. That I’m just lying to myself each morning to make the days more bearable. That I will never find the cure for my itchy skin. I will never gallivant around amazing cultured cities and wander the corporate halls overseas. I worry that instead, I will sit at my little desk in Southern California, picking at the scabs I have created from years and years of simply scratching the itch.

And then, there it lies in plain black and white on page 20. “A primary reason many people don’t pursue a life of significance is that they are busy providing for themselves and their families. Life is so daily. … For many, living has become more important than LIFE.” 

I nearly jumped out of my skin when I read that last part. I couldn’t help but think “Ah man, that’s exactly it!” The bills, the stress, the busy schedule, the commitments to daily things – they all get in the way. They lead me to thinking “I’ll pursue my dreams when life quites down a bit…I’ll go to Europe next year, I’ll start writing my book outline next week, I’ll buy a condo in a few years.”

I’m almost dumbfounded when I try to think of all of the things that I spend my time doing, or that I spend my money buying. And the only thing that I can really think of …is fluff. It seems very important in that moment, but give it a few seconds, and its more than forgotten.

Irwin doesn’t really unpack how to get beyond living and get to LIFE. Maybe I should keep reading – maybe he’s tucked his secrets in later chapters. He has hinted at the importance of commitment.And the older I get and the more people I talk to, the more I realize that commitment is somewhat of a theme. As human beings we have to be committed – to jobs, marriages, friendships, budgets – anything really that is worth having is going to ask some commitment of us. Maybe dreams are the same way. We have to use our commitment almost as a machete, hacking through all of the fluff of living, and keeping us straight to the core of life. Committed to our hopes and dreams, committed to find the path to international jobs, masters degrees and condominiums.

I think intellectually I can justify it all. I can talk myself through the steps, convincing my mind slowly, that if I just work hard enough, the dreams will be fulfilled. If I am committed enough, then things will work out how I want them to. However, I can’t seem to make it go past there – past my mind. My heart still dreams, still worries, still asks the qestions: What if we never get there? What if I wake up at 40 still longing for something bigger? What if I am lying to myself, and I will always sit in a cubical, dreaming of far off adventures, and picking at my itchy skin?

Today, I heard about a gal in her twenties that had been dating a guy for 10 months. Apparently, they had an amazing relationship, where they rarely fought, they had romantic dates, they had friends and parties together. In her mind, they were well on their way to a chapel, wedding cakes, and puffy white dresses. But then, all of a sudden, he hit her with “the bomb of Gilead”….out of the blue, he took her out to coffee (because that’s what really great men do when they are about to give you the “talk”), and told her that she just wasn’t marriage material for him. Obviously, she is devastated. Can’t eat, can’t sleep, needs a whole new friend group…the whole sha-bang.

Right before Christmas, a dear friend of mine had the same kind of “hit-by-the-break-up-bus” experience by her then fiancé, several weeks before their wedding. His reasonings were complicated, but when distilled, the same kind of message: “I’m not ready to be married to you.”

Us women joke that there must be something in the water, because about 2 months later, I had the same conversation with a boyfriend that I was planning on getting married to. I was planning on moving out of the country to be with him, and already had the boxes packed when I got the call. The only reasoning that he could give me was “I’m so sorry, I just can’t do this.”

Ok, so for me, this puts me at the end of a really bad dating streak. For the friends that know me, they have seen me date slews of men that I thought were just the greatest thing in the world. But in reality, they really treated me quite crappy….and things would get so horrible that the relationships with crumble.   …Or they would cheat on me….or they would call me when I was driving down the 405 Freeway and say “I’m so sorry I just can’t do this.”

So at this point, we have to ask “Jenni, why is it that you are always attracted to the asshole?” This is a really great question. I would love to find the answer to that. (Actually, when Im honest with myself, the answer to that question freaks the shit out of me). But, bottom line, I realize that some couch time with a shrink might do me some good.

In fact, I have several girlfriends that also got tired of getting their hearts ripped out and went to counseling to figure out their patterns. Several thousand tears later, the light bulbs go on. They realize that their dads were emotionally distant, they felt abandoned by people that they loved, their mothers were manipulative, or whatever twisted paths they had led them to choose assholes of men.

Now, while on the phone with my mother (because all good conversations about marriage take place while driving home on the phone with your mother), we are talking about me, and counseling, and the ways that I saw my dad be sometimes a little horrible to my mother, and the kinds of things in men that I can be blind to. It all seems overwhelming. Like here I am at 24, drowning in an emotional sea of dysfunctions, hurt, brokenness, abuses, fears, the unknown….and it dawns on me….

Since when has marriage been rocket science?

“Mom, was it always like this? I mean, was it like this when you were young? You got married at 22 or something…how did you figure all of this out before you married dad? And was it like this in the 70s or the 50s or the 40s? Did you sit down and delve into the depths of your path with a professional counselor just to feel like you could really say ‘yes’ to a man when he gets on one knee and gives you a ring box?”

“Nope”, my mom says. “It was different then. We just got married, and as you stumbled into the problems within your marriage, people just dealt with it differently. Men were workaholics, alcoholics, emotionally dead, or whatever it was that helped them deal with what came out of marriage.”

So this bring me to a long emotional conversation that I had over dinner at my favorite micro-brewery/restaurant (Karl Strauss in Costa Mesa, I highly recommend you visit) with a dear gal that I used to work with. She has been married for 38 years, and was nice enough to speak candidly with me about her marriage to her husband, his alcoholic tendencies, and the way thoses shaped her life and her thoughts in the wake of his lifestyle choices.  She is beautiful, and incredibly strong, although I don’t know if she knows that fully yet (If you are reading this, know that I think you are incredibly beautiful and strong).

What I admire about her is that she never left him. She said “That’s just what you do. That is what sacrificial love is. Even if it kills you, you stay in it. I have a family, and I had to do what was the best for my family. I still think of my adult children and want to make sure that they are all happy.”

Now, it was the same thing with my Grandma. There were ALL KINDS of dysfunction that she dealt with. When asking her about it, she just says the same message “Jenni I had a family. I did what I had to do.” I know that my grandfather was injured which led him to be depressed, and alcoholic, etc. And the interesting thing is as a child I remember him being very quite and reserved. According to my grandma though, before the accident, he was always jovial and fun loving. She told me that she used to tell her children “Don’t worry about your Daddy, this isn’t really him. He really is a happy man, he is just not himself right now.”

Neither of these women would have ever dreamed of leaving their husbands. Despite the fact that they turned into very different men than the men that met them at their wedding alters, forever meant forever.

….So what changed?…

Finishing up my conversation with my mom, I joked that maybe we would all just be better off if we resorted to arranged marriages and wrote off the false idea that marriage is one giant romantic comedy. Maybe I am too much of a realist in that way, or maybe I have just gotten my heart broken too many times. But I hate romantic comedies. They poison our brains with the idea that there are men out there that know all of the right words at the right time, and they can swoop in and save us from our own adversity. They don’t show the part where you wake up 38 years later and realize that you might be angry with your husband for the ways you had to adjust to his choices. I think they give us overly sappy, unrealistic expectations to what love is like.

So, now that we are watching incredibly fake movies, going to counseling, and waiting to get married later in life, it changes the game. Isn’t it a lot of pressure to make sure that you have all of your issues sorted before you say yes to the beautiful man on one knee with a ring box? Because for me, at this point at least, I don’t know if I’m going to get there. I might just tell him “Go on ahead with out me…I’m just a mess!” Wouldn’t it be better if we just knew that each other were constantly going to be messes? We could get married to men that wooed us, and we could wake up later in life staying in the marriage because that is just what you do.

For me at least, the pressure seems too great. I love the idea of arranged marriages. In fact, I have been begging my parents to get me an arranged marriage since I had my first break up (they wont for the record). With arranged marriages you could chock out all of the fluffy expectations of a passionate, perfect marriage with a healthy man. You just own the fact that you don’t know each other very well, and you are going to do what it takes to make it work. I think that maybe a littler closer to what marriage turns out to be in reality any way.

I question whether or not we’ve gotten it better now. Maybe our marriages have less dysfunction in them, but it takes so much work to even get to the alter! I appreciate that in 50s, 60s and 70s, marriage was more like of an arrangement: Real. Not fluffy. Ugly sometimes. But everyone knew how it was going to be. No one was diluted with the “Rom-Com” mentality. Maybe if I beg my parents enough, they let me forgo the science experiment, and arrange a marriage for me after all.

As you may or may not know, I work for Corporate America. In fact, I have worked for several International Brand Companies in my employment experience. Now, the interesting thing is that I find myself in a particular situation when looking at the way that the world works from a consumer prospective. When I come across an organization that has especially capitalized their profit margin in a particular area of business, despite the fact that they may be exploiting shoppers, I have come to realize the talent within the effort.

Let me give you an example: Last weekend I went to a baseball game. It was one of the more exciting high profile games that I have attended in my life. In the more exciting games, the vendors really pull out all the stops. Every beer kiosk is stocked and ready for the hordes of thirsty excited fans. They are cram packed with peanuts, popcorn, deep dish nachos, foot long hot dogs, slushies – and not to forget the light-up iced beer mug. We will all shuffled to our seats, juggling our 12 glorious inches of hot dogs as to not spill out of our “Collector’s Beer Mugs.” Along the way we can’t help but pass by about a million “Team Stores” where they have branded every single article of clothing and worthless nick-nack imaginable with the team’s logo.

Now, as I sit in my seat and chow my amazing ball park food, one can’t help but notice the electricity in the air, the fact that the whole crowd is in matching colors to their teams…and my wheels start turning. As I am taking in all of the “baseball-isms.” I realize that I don’t care that I just spent $45 dollars on hot dogs, peanuts and beer. And for that matter, I don’t think that anyone else does either. We all are just so excited to be there, and take part in the experience, we will gladly give away our money.

Now, as I really begin to delve into this thought, I think about the 20, 30,  or 40 players on each team that has contracts signed. At 10 million dollars a pop, or several hundred thousand per game, you can imagine that the bills really begin to add up. Factor in the cost of paying all of the employees to be there, the cost of electricity, water, and other utilities to keep the stadium open,…clearly we are talking about nearly a billion dollar industry. 

Now my first thought goes to the VPs that overseethose operations. I’m totally impressed. Jealous even. The fact that they can generate that kind of capital, or even that they can even forecast the enormous amount of revenue that passes through their books each week is a talent that is far beyond most of our capabilities.  If each of us in life is given talents or gifts that we are extraordinary at, I think it is fair to say that I fully recognize and appreciate these VP’s ability to make money in the baseball industry.

Now here is the funny thing: as a consumer, I am completely different.  One of the things that drives me absolutely bonkers is the “Self Check Out” lane at the grocery store. Now I know that a number of my friends like them, and some might go so far as to say that they even LOVE them. Maybe its the novelty of checking your own items – like a child playing grocery store. They love scanning their items, seeing all the lights, touching the screen, and bagging their own groceries. Or for some people, maybe its a privacy thing; they dont want anyone to know that they menstruate and need tampons, have sex and need condoms, accidental wet their pants and want Adult diapers, or whatever other embarrassing items that cause you to not want to make eye contact with your checker.

For me, the self check out drives me crazy. And the reason is simple: when a business sits down to figure in the retail price of an item on the shelf, there are about a million factors that go into choosing the price. Where on the shelf the item is placed, the color of the packaging, the month of the year that it is sold it, the neighborhood in which the store is located in –  these are all deciphering factors in a price of an item. Even more so, the cost of keeping the store lit, air conditioned, refrigerated,  cleaned, stocked, employed, etc. are all also factors that pay into the price of the item that I purchase. Now it might sound crazy to actually think about these things, but I am certain that entire companies spend $millions$ of dollars a year researching, tracking, testing and sorting facts like this to determine the price of their items.

The point I am getting to is this: when you buy an item, a very small part of that list price is the dollar amount that it will take that particular grocery store to pay the checker to scan your items. Now, when I stand at the “Self Check Out” line, and scan my own items, do I get a discount? After all, I am doing the work of the employees…I am saving that corporation money by doing the work FOR the checker. Ok, I do realize that we are talking about pennies, or even fractions of pennies. But any  person that works in business long enough knows that if you have several thousand “fractions of pennies,” adding up several thousands of times a day, it doesn’t take very long to have dollars, and even thousands of dollars.

And all of this doesn’t even mention the fact that now we have one “Self Checker Supervisor” that can overlook 8 check stands at  time, thus eliminating jobs for other checkers. We are single handedly volunteering to put our checkers out of work…for free!

I do get it that this is all ridiculous and extreme. I still do use the Self Check out once in a while (particularly when I am on the phone and don’t want to be rude to the checker and talk while they are checking me out – I’ll stay on the phone and check my own groceries).

I suppose my point is this: the individuals that work for corporate America are incredibly talented. They get me to check my own groceries or pay $10 for a 33 cent hot dog without even batting an eyelid. And I don’t say that with spite as much as I do awe. I can’t really fault the industry, it’s the hand that feeds me. Corporate America literally pays my pays my paychecks. Ideally, I want to grow up to be just like them -making billions of dollars for my company based on and initiative that I birthed into the marketplace.

But at the same time…it really pisses me off that I don’t get my 2 cent discount when I check my own milk, tampons and adult diapers.

As a teenager, I would have given anything to have the freedom and the guts to walk out and leap into the world. And I do mean that as a two part statement, in that not only did I not have the ability to do so, but I don’t think that I had the courage to either. 

But guts or not, there was still a hunger there – a hunger to get out and see the world, to eat exotic foods, to meet interesting people; to do what I liked and what I wanted. I wanted to wake up in the morning, and have my feet hit the floor with purpose. I wanted a job that made me feel important and was something that mattered to me. I wanted to be very good at my job. I wanted to be talented, fabulous, and nothing less. I wanted loads of great friends with interesting stories who loved to eat at interesting places and spending our time doing our interesting hobbies. I wanted to be outstanding, independent, beautiful, and brave.

As I sit here and roll over these things in my mind, I dont know that these desires sound too outlandish. Most people want success. Most people want friends. Most people want to love the life that they are living. I’d like to think that most people aim for those things on a daily basis.

But the interesting thing is, as I move along this plan, I am blessed in that the road is finally beginning to resemble what I always had thought it should. I just got a job – a real job that pays me a great salary and fantastic benefits. I just bought a brand new car that makes me look and feel incredibly grown up. I just moved back into my apartment where I sleep in a beautiful king sized bed like any respectable adult. I do have loads of interesting friends. They have lived all over the world, the read, they paint, they hike, they rock climb. They love to laugh and drink wine and cheese. They love to go to baseball games, eat hot dogs and drink beers.

The one thing that I didnt count on, is that the road of this fabulous life has pockets of lonely. That not being surrounded by my parents means…not being surrounded. Not to say that I am completely alone, I know that I am more than well supported. I just figured that when you “arrive” into your life, that it comes complete with a gift basket and a corner office. That you are happy, the skies are sunny, and you love to smile.

ok, well even as I admit that out loud, I can clearly see where I went wrong. Of course it doenst happen that way. We all know it doesnt. But I can’t help but fight the compulsion to call my mom. To ask her if I am allowed to come back home and sleep in my old bed. To have her wake me in the morning to be sure that I am not going to be late for work.

At this point in my life, that really would do me no good. I dont need a mother like that anymore. I know I dont. But what if I just want one? I know that my mom is probably saying “Jenni you can have one. You can come home at anytime you want. You can sleep in your old bed, and come to dinner whenever you feel like.” I think that’s what good mothers are supposed to say. But  I also think that adult daughters are supposed to say “Shesh mom. I’ll be ok. Really dont worry. I’ll be fine!”

And it doesn’t matter that I am scared, or a little lonely, unsure of how this adult-thing is going to pan out. Maybe that’s part of it. To walk down my own road  and not be sure that it will turn out ok. I guess you can’t have mom walking next to you for that.

I know it gets better. I know it doesnt always feel this way. I know I get used to being a little more alone. But for tonight, I’d really like to be under my parents roof – even if it is a little ridiculous.

Be brave, be brave.

The world can spin, and the newness can swell. Almost as if there was a pulse of its own, tapping slowly in time – marking the second, the moments as they pass.

Life seems confusing, not in a way to lead you to be frantic, but isntead prepetually fighting the feeling of disorientation.  I know left from right, and how the map works; but figuring the road alone for the first time seems to take so much intention.

New rooms and old boxes, finding their way into the correct spaces on the shelves. Leaving what was behind, and finding the places for all of the adult parts to fit like pieces of a complicated puzzle. There are cars, and new jobs, and parents living farther away.

And then there are realizations that the gravy-train-days of being carefully sheltered by loving parents might be over. Walking the life alone, with them standing behind me and cheering is a good thing. It is what should be taking place. But as the road leads me off of their street, and down the road to my own life, I can’t help but feel a little lonely.

Like my wonderful king sized bed and perfect desk won’t shout “JENNI’S HOME” when I walk in the door. Like I can’t hear my mom laughing with my dad upstairs while I sit and watch TV. Like there isn’t a busy whirl of plans and people and yelling and laughing contantly.  Like this is mine now. Its what I make it. The rest of the road goes to where I lead it.

Its nothing impossible, maybe just overwhelming.

But I know they are proud. And I know we cannot stop the current of life. And staying won’t yeild the life that I want, but some handicapped version of childhood.

So, I sit back on a cardboard box, and continue to unpack my things. Finding places for my adult life along the new clean shelves.

Be Brave. Be brave.