Category Archives: renew

Mar 06 2024
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flight, mediocre white men, reduce, renew

Hey CEO: It’s 2024, not 1994

When the employer lucky enough to borrow my skillset asked me if I feel stress about return to office in early 2023, below is how I responded.

Said employer then not only ignored the feedback from its nearly 100,000 employees, but they doubled down and reclassified all remote jobs to hybrid recently.

Return to Office (RTO) is going to cause a lot of stress for me personally. Two years ago, I had a nanny with one child in preschool. Today, I have two kids in school without reliable school transportation meaning I need to deliver and pick up my children at 9:10 a.m. and 3:40 p.m. — Not a big deal if I’m at home. BIG problem if I’m downtown without a car. Bigger problem in that we only have one car.

I estimate that a second car — that we don’t otherwise need — will add $50,000 in expenses to do what? Be on conference calls all day with strangers as none of my team are in the same state?

Yeah, RTO is stressing me out. A lot.

In addition to money, RTO is costing me time. It’s taking two hours of seemingly unnecessary time away from me each day — between getting ready, commuting and then repeating in reverse at the end of the day.

The last two years have brought into perspective what is truly important to me. They’ve shown me what is possible when I work from home. Your question seems to be foreshadowing and has left me to contemplate if this company, with a mandated RTO, is the right place for me. I don’t know the answer yet, but in looking at the job market and knowing many of my friends and industry colleagues can work wherever they want to — I know there are remote opportunities for me should I want to pursue them.

My question to the decisionmakers at this company is simply: Why? Is it because you’ve signed multi-year leases on property? Because you don’t trust your employees? Because municipalities are giving you ridiculous tax incentives to bring people back downtown?

To cloak the real reasons under blanket “culture” statements seems to dismiss that all of us have functioned well for two years (not to mention the folks who are remote regardless of the pandemic). It’s causing distrust, discord and the creation of narratives you can’t control amongst the people who are impacted.

It has to be about money, so just be honest.

Last, I’ve been sick ONCE in two years. I’m not worried about COVID, but the flu, colds, and other germs from doorknobs, elevator buttons, faucets, water dispensers, printers, communal items, and so on. I’m not interested in that exposure or bringing that home to my family. It’s a small factor, but certainly one I’m taking into account.

Honestly, this is the first time I’ve spent time really looking at RTO holistically and how it will impact me. I’m not sure what this company could offer to retain me in lieu of a remote option should the scales tip in favor of a remote position.

Mar 05 2024
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postpartum depression, renew, trauma

It was so much worse than I thought

My friend had a baby two weeks ago and holy shit, seeing her with her newborn has brought some clarity to my own postpartum experience.

The reactionary feelings run the gamut. Joy for this woman who has longed to be a mother; realization of just how bad it was for me; grief over what I missed out on; heartache for myself as a first-time mother; pain over having to navigate it by myself; and if I’m being totally honest, a wee bit of jealousy.

The eight months I spent undiagnosed with postpartum depression and anxiety were even more brutal than I thought they were. I didn’t realize I’d be processing that time of life all over again, but in a way I’m grateful for the opportunity. I’m holding 37yo me gently as I navigate these complex feelings.

A silver lining of not being able to put your newborn daughter down: Eight years later, she still pulls the collar of my shirt down to rest her cheek against my decolletage when she needs connection. And it sends a rush of oxytocin through my heart every time.

Mar 05 2024
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fight, renew

All Are Welcome Here

Cleaning out the drafts folder. This one is from 2018.

What do the JCC and I have in common?

I visited the Holocaust museum in D.C. once.

One of my Brethren is Jewish. I made Challah for the Chanukah dinner he invited us to.

I ask my coworker a ton of questions because I’m fascinated with the culture.

But that’s pretty much it.

But then “Pittsburgh” happened. Some hate-filled disaster of a human being shot grandmas and grandpas at a synagogue. The anger that boiled in my heart was too much. So I Gingerly-ed and emailed the local Jewish Community Center.

“I’m so angry and want to channel that rage into something positive. Can I come volunteer? I can rake, clean, file — whatever you need me to do.”

It was probably comical and maybe a little odd to hear from some irate gentile, but they obliged and connected me to the development team who could use a warm body to stuff envelopes.

The first thing I saw when I reached the JCC was the security signage. The video recording sign. The security system signage. The controlled entrance. The armed security guard. Required ID for admittance.

A bomb threat two years ago spawned this level of vigilance. They had to get elderly people out of a swimming pool and escort them, barefoot, across a snowy parking lot to safety. Thirteen-year-olds were carrying infants. A mass exodus of 2,500 schoolkids, adults with disabilities, teachers and staff had to flee a community center because some monster, what, didn’t like Jewish people?!

Jesus fucking Christ.

As the development director gave a tour of the center and told me about the programs and services they offer to everyone, Jewish or not.

I was flabbergasted. “But, why? Why would welcome other people when they’ve been so awful?”

She simply said, “We know what it’s like to be excluded, so we make sure this a place of inclusivity. Everyone is welcome.”

And that’s why I volunteer at and give money to the JCC.

Mar 05 2024
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adventure, create, flight, recycle, renew, wellness

The smackdown

Cleaning out the drafts folder. This one is from 2021.

In T-minus-15 minutes, I’m going to get smacked down for a new job. The interesting thing about this rejection is that IDGAF.

In three rounds of interviews, I was 100% pure undiluted me. There was no gussy, peacocking or swagger — because that’s not me.

I’m a gritty, tenacious, excitable, idea machine. As an amorphous being in a round peg industry, I’m a utility player who’s as rare and universal as my blood type.

The investment in time and emotional energy in the job search is the part that irks. Nothing causes me to emote — from defeat to fury — more than someone wasting my time. Inevitably, there will be tears of frustration for the poor ROI, but only for that reason.

There’s a freedom in rounding 40.

Jan 29 2024
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fight, freeze, reduce, renew, trauma

That’s some 1950s shit right there

The road to women’s rage is lined with mediocre white men.

The women of my grandmother’s generation were meant to graduate from high school, immediately find a husband and produce as many kids as possible (Irish Catholic). She spent all day tending to the needs of her offspring all day only to tend to the needs of her husband after work.

Then their daughters were allowed to go to college with the exception they would find a husband, quit their jobs and rear children.

Men’s lives didn’t change.

Today, my generation is meant to go to college, grind at a job to earn $0.80 on a man’s dollar, get married, crank out kids and return immediately return to work where we need to be an equal earner to our spouses. We’re doing all of that while pumping breastmilk, not sleeping, trying to be promoted, raising wildly successful and enriched children, expected to live a Pinterest lifestyle, doing all the thinking and planning for the family, taking care of elderly parents and watching every calorie and staving off all signs of aging?

And still men’s lives haven’t changed? What. The. Actual. Fuck.

The guys I went to college with — my peers — have turned into their fathers. They idolized mediocre white men (in some cases, wealthy or worse, only generationally wealthy) and have grown up to fill their manchild-sized shoes.

Today, we’re forced to choose between two decrepit mediocre white men to lead the United States. Two men that came of age before JFK was assassinated, Niel Armstrong landed on the moon and Elvis Presley became famous. They grew up watching mothers abide by gender roles and dote on their husbands every whim.

I finished Kristin Hannah’s The Four Winds last week. It’s a historical fiction novel set in the Great Depression and told through the flipping lenses of a mother and daughter. It’s the story of the societal oppression of women; men abandoning their families; and ultimately rich white men getting richer on the backs of people strategically kept in poverty.

I finished this book at the same time my employer declared war on women. Or more palatable to him, the end of remote work. Semantics. A 61yo man on a modern-day throne decided to fuck all the women in one fell swoop.

It was — as my colleague put it so eloquently — as if a tornado was put in a blender with a grenade and the CEO hurdled it at us.

Mediocre white men can fuck right off.

Nov 09 2023
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adventure, mental illness, reduce, renew, wellness

SoloCal

I have loved every second of this trip. From the solitude and art classes to the sound of an uninhibited ocean and an electric car on an open road, I was free (aside from the obligatory call home) for six days in Southern California.

Oddly, the region in which I was conceived is a place of homecoming for me. The genes of two mentally ill people — one diagnosed, one susceptible to cult religion — somehow came together and the crazy DNA canceled itself out. Thankfully.

I’m at the airport and I don’t want to leave. Not a dread, but neither an excitement to get home. Here I am free. Home I am not. In my life I’ve never been free from crushing responsibilities of other peoples’ mental illness, pedophilia, torment, violence, needs.

This week has left me thirsty for freedom. I will take this trip again before I am choking and gasping for it.

Oct 30 2023
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cancer, melanoma, renew

Hospitals are the worst

I hate hospitals and I didn’t even know it.

It’s been a good four decades that I’ve been going to and leaving them on autopilot. I’ve been to every major hospital in the metro area.

Mostly psych units to visit my mom. Then cardiovascular units. Then rehabilitation centers. Then ICUs. Then more rehabs. And finally, the neuro ICU where the doctor told us she would not survive on her own.

It’s a sterile sensory overload. I hate it so much.

It was driving to sit with S in post-surgical recovery – this time it was removing 7” of her colon for a yet-to-be-determined mass – that I realized that I just loathe them.

I hate everything about them.

Thank you to the people who work in them, but fuck I haaate hospitals.

Later…

The mass is a new cancer.

To recap, at 45yo, S has Stage IV melanoma and Stage III neuroendocrine.

We just laughed because, I mean, what in the actual fuck?

Jul 01 2023
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depression, renew

Solidarity, sister

Your laugh brought me joy today.

There a song lyric that I repeated to myself like a mantra when in the depths of the emotional purgatory that is my mind: It’s always darkest before the dawn. 

It’s the fortitude of your character and the incredible strengthen of your backbone that leaves little doubt you will survive this divorce. 

However, it’s because you haven’t lost the light in your eyes that I’m confident you will thrive on the other side of this emotional abuse.

I came in hot to the conversation with the shitshow that is my marriage because I wanted you to know you’re not alone. And even if my marriage was healthy, I still want you to know that I’m quietly standing beside you along with the rest of your people. No one is going to let you fall. We’re all there for you to collapse against each time you lose your footing—Regardless of lapsed time or distance.

What a remarkable group of women at brunch today. You all are a true blessing to my life. It doesn’t matter where we are in the time space continuum. I know I can tap any one of you. You know you can tap me.

Oh, and my kid just learned the middle finger at school. We talked about how it’s meant to be hurtful and disrespectful. However, given the opportunity, I will implore her to join me in using both hands to vehemently flip the bird at the poor excuse for a human that is your soon-to-be ex-anchor. And then I will high five her. 

Feb 22 2022
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favorites, renew, wellness

Unleaded

A pencil. Something as simple and retro as a Number 2 pencil is changing the planning game.

I’ve tried many a digital planner, but never cease to return to the tried and true paper version. We’re one week into 2022 and I think I’ve found the one (or three really) that work for me.

  1. Moleskine 5×7 weekly/monthly
  2. Outlook
  3. Weekly tear sheet notepad

I use the Moleskine for my personal diary and task lists; Outlook for my work, personal and family schedule; and a weekly tear sheet for a family weekly planner affixed to the fridge.

This is monumental as it’s been six years since I’ve felt in control of my day — at least the planning of it.

But what thing thing that’s really made the difference? A pencil.

It is liberating to simply erase and unfinished task or a first thought.

Dec 01 2018
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renew

Awkwardly Kind

I learned to be compassionate by watching my mom. Ginger’s 5’1″ body houses a mammoth heart.

When I was growing up, she was sometimes (okay, frequently) uncomfortably kind to strangers and acquaintances.

I suspect she overcompensated for the lack of kindness she experienced. And I cast no stones; I’m the same way. It’s taken me most of my 40-years to recognize and temper it.

“Is this too Gingerly?” is something I ask my husband and best friend to gauge the awkwardness of an idea.

For instance, my aunt passed away recently. We weren’t close, but reconnected after she shared her cancer diagnosis last year. She liked pictures/videos of and FaceTime with my family so I tried to do that regularly. It helped that my daughter is a particularly entertaining 3.5yo who doesn’t really get the concept of dying and provided much needed comedy to tragedy.

SIDE STORY: We were recording a video for Marilyn when she entered the hospital for the last time. We were wishing her a good night when my baby’s brow suddenly furrowed. “You messed up my room. That wasn’t very nice.” She scolded.

In the background, I’m failing to stifle a smile. “Baby, we’re talking to Auntie Marilyn, not the cleaning lady.” Apparently, we had flipped from wishing Marilyn sweet dreams to airing grievances to the sweet woman who cleans our house. She takes the time to arrange the mosh pit of stuffed animals that blanket my child’s bed, clearly to her dismay.

My uncle is now a widower and my 24yo cousin‘s mom is gone. These aren’t two people I know well but am fighting the need to smother with acts of kindness. I want to make ridiculous amounts of food, send cards and emails and care package, shovel/mow/rake, invite them for dinner, clean their house, something — ANY-thing to take away the pain.

“Too Gingerly,” my husband says. “But, what if I …” I protest. “Too Gingerly,” he counters every time. And I begrudgingly listen. Because he’s right. There’s nothing I can do to take away the pain.

However, I’m thankful that extreme kindness is ingrained in me. I would rather err on the side of awkwardly compassionate anyway.

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