Riding the Holiday Train

My first time riding the CTA Holiday Train was entirely coincidental.  I was headed home early from work to meet an old friend and happened upon the holiday train for the last leg of my journey.  Decked out in lights and tinsel, holiday music echoing through the cars, and elves with candy canes, I was surprised to see the train pull up at the Fullerton Brown Line station.  Not knowing exactly what to expect, I boarded the train and was greeted by the smells of gingerbread and mulled cider. 

Even though I was only riding for one stop, I was swept up in the fun of the holiday train.  Looking at the schedule I realized that it would run again while my son was home.  I dragged him to the station for an evening trip on the Holiday Train.  We got there early and watched the crowds build.  Some families with young children, some young adults in their Christmas pajamas, and some people like me.  As we waited other Red Line trains arrived and those who merely wanting to get somewhere boarded, unaware (?), unimpressed with the growing sense of anticipation.  Finally, the bedecked blue train arrived, with Santa on his own car.

We crowded on and you couldn't help but smile along with the other riders.  The thought I had, on that platform, was that my Mother would have loved this. It was exactly the right mix of kitsch and tradition, of holiday, family, and fun. She would have marveled at the lights and decorations, amazed at the effort and effect.  I wish she could share the Holiday Train with me.  I shared it with my son, though, and that was good.

Holiday Greetings

My latest past time at work is critiquing holiday cards.  This is the first year I sent out "professional" holiday cards.  I did not anticipate the angst that would be associated with such a decision.  Clearly, these must be of the non-sectarian "Season's Greetings" or "Happy Holidays" ilk, no mention of Christmas and no religious symbolism.

But, beyond that, what should the card convey?  There is the snowflake option, a sort of winter theme.  There is the corporate option, some element of my position or institution.  Then, there is the art option; something abstract and pretty that evokes good feelings.

Of course, cost is a consideration as well.  Size, weight, envelope, color....all influence the cost.  When you are ordering 500, that is not insignificant.

In the end we went with a winter scene of campus.  My college doesn't yet have its own place so there is no iconic building or statue to feature.  Instead, we have a shot of a snowy sculpture outside the library--winter, art, and institution all in one!

Now, cards from my colleagues have started to arrive.  Some are fancy, some less fancy, some bizarre.  We seem to have hit a happy medium, so I'm content with that for now.

Just enough

I've become entranced by the phrase "just enough."  

I'm finding it a comforting phrase.  The word "enough" alone can have a pretty negative connotation.  It often means not "sufficient," but more than sufficient, as in "I've heard enough of that whining!" (when really you have heard more than enough).  It is a simple synonym for crying "uncle", begging for something to stop, "Enough!"   Somehow, adding "just" to the front of it makes it softer, friendlier, and happier. 

Of course, there is the phrase "good enough," often used as a cover up.  "I've done a good enough job," meaning I've done a bad job but hopefully nobody will notice or care.  My kids were skilled in this usage.

"Just enough" hits that sweet spot between lacking and overabundance.  It seems achievable, doable.  For me, it nicely blends my new fascination with the idea that who I am is "enough" with a more precise measurement. I am "just enough." But, even though it adds precision, it still seems to allow for a hint of imperfection.  You don't have to be everything, you can be just enough. 

And being just enough, caring just enough, writing just enough is a happy place to be.

I think I've spent just enough time on this topic....

Making decisions

I've never tried to count the many decisions I make in a day.  From deciding whether to hop out of bed as soon as the alarm rings to deciding what to listen to as I fall asleep, every day I make hundreds, probably thousands of little decisions.  Many are easy, or at least inconsequential.  What to wear is always a big one for me, but what to have for lunch, not so much.

In my work life I'm faced with many decisions, too.  In fact, in a sense that is my job, to make decisions.  I remember once hearing an interview with President Obama where he was asked what were the hardest decisions he had to make.  In reply, he said that by the time they get to him, all the decisions are hard, someone else has made the easy ones. Not to presume that anything I decide has quite the weight of a presidential decision, but I can sympathize a bit.

I've come to understand over the years that few decisions are clear cut.  The many alternative routes can all have some value or merit, and some downsides as well.  The best we can do is....do our best.  Make the best decision we can with the information we have.  Sometimes we will come to see that we made a bad decision, that the outcome is not what we expected or wanted.  All we can do then is try to make it better.

In a commencement speech the late Nora Ephron made the point that few decisions in life are irreversible.  Talking about the choices facing women she said, "[Life] will be a little messy, but embrace the mess. It will be complicated, but rejoice in the complications. It will not be anything like what you think it will be like, but surprises are good for you. And don't be frightened: you can always change your mind. I know: I've had four careers and three husbands."

Life is messy, it is complicated, not everything turns out as you expected it.  We do the best we can.  Recognizing that is probably the best decision to make.

Unsure

The theater is smaller than I expected, a store front building with 80 chairs lined up in neat rows. For some odd reason the numbering starts from the rear, and row A, where I sit, is furthest from the stage. My father, next to me, keeps his jacket on over his sweater and shirt.  We've come to see Mr. Percifield in a community theater production of Oliver.  He and I have been in only sporadic contact for the last 40 years, but in high school much of my life revolved around his.  He introduced me to debate, and to my high school boyfriend.  He coached me, accompanied me to debate camp in the summer, drove me to state and national tournaments.  He directed the spring musical and I was his student director.  A short stocky man from Southern Indiana with a big laugh, tender demeanor, and liberal tendencies, he is a fixture in my adolescent memories. In all the years I performed in front of him, I've never seen him perform.  Sure, he would demonstrate how to deliver a line, but I've never seen him on stage.  The show is entertaining, but clearly amateur, and Mr. Percifield at times seems unsure of his lines. I clap heartily and congratulate him warmly after the show.

Leaving the theater, I turn in the crowded lobby to see if my father is following me. For only an instant, I see his frailty--his white hair, confused look, uncertain stance. He pauses as if unsure how to make his way safely through the jumble of patrons. I reach out to take his arm and we walk into the welcome cool air of night.

I drive home along a familiar road of childhood.  Even though it is dark, I can see the drifting dune sand in places crossing the road, bridging the space between the lake and the forest.  The changing leaves echo my changes.  Brilliant reds, deep  golds, satiny browns. I'm walking on a narrow path of the present, somewhere between the past and the future. Unsure.

Measures of success

When I teach undergraduate research methods we spend a good deal of time focused on the idea of measurement...how do you measure an abstract concept?  I lead students through an exercise where they take a concept, like wisdom, and develop measurable indicators of the idea.  I usually start with a discussion of the college ranking system used by U.S. News and World Report.  We talk about the indicators used, such as graduation rates, average SAT scores, and faculty to student ratios.  Are those indicators of a "good" school?  Are they the best?  The only?  I have a great reading that talks about the value of "soft measures" as well.  Are the school grounds attractive?  Are the buildings well  maintained?  Are faculty in their offices?

Measuring success has been on my mind.  How will I know if I'm successful in my new position?  I have some clear metrics, increased undergraduate enrollment, increased alumni support, and more faculty publications.  But on the day to day activities I find it harder.  Often after a meeting with faculty or alums I'm asked by my staff, "How did it go?"  I am baffled by the question.  What would make it a good meeting?  What would a successful outcome look like, or more importantly these days for me, what would it feel like?

After my first advisory board meeting I expected to feel either tremendously relieved to have gotten through it or wildly ecstatic about the outcome.  Instead, there was a blankness.  The meeting went well in that I was able to answer most questions, people seemed comfortable, there was conversation...was that the only goal?  What else could have happened?  It wasn't as stressful as I anticipated, so no big relief afterwards.  Is that good?  Should it be "just" another meeting?  Is it an indication that I was well-prepared?  I suppose what is nagging at me is that I somehow missed an opportunity...but for what?  I can't really think of what I would have done differently.

How should I measure my success on a day to day, meeting to meeting, basis?  What do I need to do to earn a gold star?

                                                     

Finding my voice

 

Back in my graduate school days, a highlight of professional conferences was the alumni night mixer.  Held in a big ballroom there was a band, alcohol, smoking and 1,000 or more people.  Sort of like a grown up frat party....

At one such event I noticed that I was having a great deal of difficulty talking in the noisy, smoky room and chalked it up to that--a night of noise and smoke.  Since then I would occasionally experience the same problem, losing my voice in noisy environments like parties, basketball games, and train stations.  Then I started having trouble lecturing, especially a second class on the same day.  I would find myself choking, coughing, eyes watering, nose running, unable to talk.  It started happening at lunch, in meetings, at presentations.  Some times I would be fine, other times not. I tried slowing down, drinking water, taking deep breaths.  Some times it would work, other times not.



Was this a real problem?  Was it my imagination? Was it just stress?  Was it all in my head?  Many days I was fine, but often enough to bother me, I was not. Finally this year I sought the advice of an ENT.  After his examination ruled out any structural problems, he sent me to a speech therapist.  I was able to have 5 sessions before my move.  We worked on some simple exercises, that, I admit, I had little faith in. I did my lip trills, read my lists of words, cut carbonated drinks out of my diet, and got better control of my reflux symptoms. I didn't notice a marked improvement. 

My job requires me to talk....a lot.  I have meetings, presentations, lectures, parties, a variety of events where my ability to communicate is key and where I am being judged on my "presentation of self."  Coughing and choking are not conducive to presenting a professional image.
                                                                                                                                                                               
 

Frustrated, I once again sought out help.  The new speech therapist has some new diagnoses--vocal chord dysfunction and "vocal fry," and some new ideas for treatment.  Most importantly, she assured me that I was not making this up and that it was a real, and treatable, problem.  She let me cry in her office.

It has me thinking about how we view our voices and the role they play in our identity.  So much of our perception of others is based on they talk and how we hear. It makes sense then that focusing on how we feel about our own voices is emotional and close.  People will often talk about needing to find their voice in a metaphoric way.  They mean that they are looking for how they express themselves...learning to have confidence that what they say matters.  I'm looking for my voice in a very literal sense...learning again how to have confidence in my vocal chords.