Tonight I went to a “Network Marketing” party thrown by my friend’s cousin. For those of you that are unfamiliar with the term “Network Marketing,” it is the marketing practice used by companies that try to get you to buy their products from one of their sales men; and then they get you become a salesmen yourself, recruiting your friends and family, until they become one of you, selling to their families and all of their friends. Some call the pyramid schemes, some call them genius money-makers, some call them straight out – a headache.

The product in discussion at this particular party was Monavie, the amazing “Super Fruit” juice, as endorsed by Oprah…and we all know, if Oprah says it goes, then you might as well etch it in stone, because its the God Honest Truth. In reality, I’m on the fence about the product itself. There are alot of doubts in my mind, like for example “Are we harvesting this precious Acai berry at the hands of the Brazilian farmers, both risking their lives and destroying the Amazon Forrest that it comes from – like blood diamonds?” And “Is this really that good for you? Or is this another shee-shee Newport mom drink that is going to work out all of the wonders of life?” Because I’m sure human beings couldn’t function as people before we found the technology to harvest the Acai berry and bottle it in wine bottles to sell for 45 bucks a pop. But who knows, like I said, I’m on the fence – I could be calling you in a few weeks to get you to have a “Tasting Party” so I can sucker you into the crap with me.

Now I have been to “Network Marketing” parties before, and we all hate them! Why we continue to accept the invitations is beyond me. Maybe we think that “I’ll really leave my wallet in the car this time, and I wont buy anything!” But they always end the same way. Me sitting there trying to convince myself that I really want to buy this over-priced novelty, while I fill out an order form.

The quintessential experience was the last time I went to a Party Lite Party. My girlfriend had bought the lie that if she really got into it and made it her full time job, she would make 3 million dollars a year….by selling over priced candles to her friends. Now here is the scene with that party:

There is a beautiful platter of strawberries, blueberries, brie cheese and crackers, decorated with small white doyleys. There couches are filled with beautiful women, dressed to the nines, as they politely listen to the sales pitch and thumb through the catalogue of products. By the end of the evening, the hostess is counting her orders, the guests are all questing why they just bought a candle for 36 dollars. All of the brie cheese is gone, and the fruit platter is demolished. The friends smile and hug, thanking each other for their time before they head for home.

Now let’s flip to the Monavie Party. There were also beautiful platters of strawberries, blueberries, brie cheese and crackers. But the major difference was that the Seller was a male, meaning that the majority of the guests were male. The speaker was a male. Now, we listened to the sales pitch, and most of the men sat with their arms crossed. By the end of the evening, all of the brie cheese and strawberries lay completely untouched, and the men were screaming at one another.  Ok, maybe not really screaming, but I think the word “explosive” was used to describe the events. The men didnt want to just sit with their hands folded and listen. They asked questions,…hard questions. They were calculating numbers, and debating right back at the speaker. And it wasn’t just one boisterous man, it was most of them.

Now here is the part that I get a bit jealous of. Those guys didnt walk to their cars asking themselves why they just bought a 46 dollar bottle of juice. The screamed their piece, they calmed down, they shook hands, and they went home as friends. No hard feelings…closed just like that. Now, my question is

Why can’t women do that?

I think if that would have happened at the PartyLite party, women would have gone home fuming, turning over the events of the evening, and calling her girlfriends to “Just make sure I’m not crazy on this one.” Now when I came home and told my roommate about my experience, she quickly responded “women are just more SENSITIVE to each others feelings!“

…? Ok women of the world…where is our logic in that!

We are more in tune with each others feelings, so we repress our own and buy things that we dont want? While the MEN just sit there and lay in all of the table. They feel irritated, they yell. They feel they disagree, they interrupt the speaker to interject their opinion. Isn’t THAT more on an example of being in touch with your feelings….so we can express them to one another? If we as women are SO MUCH MORE in touch with emotions, shouldnt we be SO MUCH BETTER at expressing them to one another? Telling each other what we feel? And the cherry on this Sundae is the part where all the men could just STOP – realize that the conversation WAS NOT personal – they cracked open a beer, hugged it out  and headed for the door. No hard feelings, just like that.

Monavie or no Monavie…I’m stumped. Sorry girls, but I can’t help but be envious of the guys on this one. They seem to have to “Emotional communication” way more figured out than we do. And even thought I’ve been walking around feeling and thinking woman thoughts and feelings my whole life…..I still think we’re crazy.

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?

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.

First Day.

Big Building. Marble Floors. Crystal Doors.

Stiff Suits and high heels.

Hard handshake. Firm grip. Bright smile.

“Hello, Sir, its nice to finally meet you.”

But what you dont know is that I am really saying, “Hello Sir. You are about to meet the biggest face that the company has ever seen. I am about to change your world. I am smart. I am smarter than you know what to do with. I am quick. I learn systems and processes, and then re-write processes to be better than you could have ever imagined. Little do you know it, but you have just met your next star player.”

Sit down coyly. Smile brightly. Say “Ok, sir what would you have me to do first?”

Then as you walk back to your office, determination crosses my brow. A smile comes over my lips. First things first. Get rid of all of the nonsense of wasted time that suffocated the desk before I got there. We are in business now, and we dont have time for such silly exersises.

Deep breath. Late nights. Early mornings.

Gritted teeth, hard pushes, long hours and brilliant ideas.

Sir do you remember what it feels like to be young and hungry? To want to accomplish something great more than anything else you could imagine? Give me one good thing, one inkling of success that I can sink my teeth into, and turn it into a masterpiece that could make you proud.

For I am smart.

And I am hungry.

I will make you look good.

And It is so nice to meet you,

Can I please run your company now?

 In Between.

Upside down.

Backward.

Opposite.

Beautiful. 

Painful.

 Salty tears and concrete smiles. Wide spread fingers and open eyes.

Furrowed brows and a down turned mouth.

I guess its just time. Always just time, simply time.

Busy worldwind day of papers and order and corporate suits and high toned heals. Soft hearts of missing you far away in the lonely night over text messages. Long drives with soft warm heat and tired eyes. Early mornings of not wanting to get out of bed, and yet still missing you.

How much missing you? Can it be known? And slightly frustrated because I don’t know if it is enough for you. There is no knowing the future, if we can stick it out, and I can be your girl. Not knowing if this is the place that is going to take me to the heights of my dreams, open office and corporate smiles.

Not even knowing if this is the place that will take me into next week. Permanent placement. I cannot be your girl and I cannot be an admin assistant. Planing the big man’s meetings kills my soul as much as driving down the 5 and knowing you don’t want to see me over pancakes.

But it is space.

And time.

Simply and always. Space and time.

 Space for the backward to stretch itself out. Time for the inbetween to twist itself into a snuggled fit. Slowly and methodically for the backward to become forward.

For the opposites to find themselves in the middle with lips barley bracing each other across the distance.

It does not feel beautiful.

But tonight you feel far. And the corporate office feels far to close. And that, makes it a little too painful.

Too Painful.

Too Beautiful.

We are too opposite.

This life feels too backward.

Corporate work is always too upside down.

Am I am much too inbetween.