Seasonal Affective Disorder (& Christmas)

My mother, a social worker, tells me that this is one of those diagnostics people invented to explain a perfectly normal behavior and it has since spread like an epidemic in the minds of the general population. Think of it like Hallmark invented holidays.


I, on the other hand, believe it exists fully, rationally and completely and I, like many other summer-loving-people, suffer dramatically from S.A.D. Of course, I know very few people who don’t endure the “winter blues” – and the only people I know who really LOVE winter are those ski/snowboard fanatics. I ski, I snowboard – I just prefer to live in an endless summer.

So winter is constantly a game of making the best of it. Luckily this year, that’s been pretty easy.


My family is wonderful. We spend warmer afternoons taking the dogs ice skating (or ice-walking at least, on the really melty days) or curled up in front of the TV with a netflix we delivered to our door. I mean, how hard can life get?



Christmas was fantastic. Morning meant delicious a delicious breakfast and hours around the tree with my mother, father, brother and two pups. We just know how to have a good time…




That afternoon the whole family got together and actually got along (always a plus!), and with free flowing delicious wine and a well-thought-out gift exchange, the evening passed exceptionally well.




And it is with great shock, a “real” job, a new appreciation of the French language and no apartment of my own that I prepare to ring in the New Year… How different things were only twelve months ago…

thots

Sometimes I lay awake at night wondering how my life will unfold.

And then I figure as long as there's love in it, I'll be ok.

The Allure of Camarat

I suppose I’ve always been like this. I remember it vaguely; France always had my heart. It’s like I can hear it calling me. I guess the yearning to respond was just never this strong before, now that I’ve spent six months living a dream.

I miss it so much.
I miss walking outside the sunroom, sprawling out on our beloved “nappy chairs” with a book, looking at the pearl-white sailboat-spotted saphire sea beyond layers of emerald trees.
I long to drive my scooter along those windy scenic roads only to come back to find my beautiful, floppy, loving dog waiting in the driveway for my return.
I miss opening up a bottle of rosé to enjoy at that old wooden table stretched out in the dining room, surrounded by miss-matching chairs looking as if they belong in a dollhouse.
I miss the feel of the orange clay tiles under my feet.
I miss the promenade of Saint Tropez, or exploring the quaint, turning cobblestone streets of Ramatuelle.
I wish I could see the antique chairs surrounding the fireplace table topped with a full bouquet of sunflowers.
I miss the food and the language.

And now I’ve got a job that consumers my life. I spend something like 4 hours each day commuting, plus 9 in the office. I even have work to do on the weekends and holidays – the news keeps getting printed, you know?

Will I ever be able to escape again?

When can I run away, hide again in those beautiful Camarat walls?


Discovering this idyllic place, we find ourselves filled with a yearning to linger here, where time stands still and beauty overwhelms.

Prepping for Christmas Eve Traditions

We’re a family of traditions. Especially my mother's side: Polish, Catholic, Crazy – and a lot of fun. Seriously. At Easter (which may be our biggest holiday) we have egg fights because that's the Polish thing to do. For all the Christian holidays we share communion because that’s what we’ve always done. Christmas Eve is another HUGE deal and now, to make sure the Polish traditions live on, we've changed the date as to not conflict with the plans of extended family. (Or at least that’s what I tell myself… in reality, it’s changed so that my cousin’s kids can go to bed Christmas Eve in their own house.) Since we are slightly crazy, we no longer consider December 24th Christmas Eve and instead celebrate it the Saturday before hand (in this case, tomorrow). There are far too many traditions to explain here and now, but I think this may be my favorite story of hilarity regarding Christmas Eve/Polish Christian traditions we follow:

A couple years ago my roommate from Dartmouth, Nel, stayed with me over the Christmas recess rather than fly to her home in India. She was a hilarious, brilliant little girl - such a smart, dry sense of humor. And, as with many Indians, she was Muslim. But as the adopted member of my family that season, she joined us for all our holiday festivities - including Polish Christmas Eve.

The family was just beginning to sit down for the gigantic feast currently being finished in the kitchen. Nel (Dartmouth roommate), Alex (brother), Tim (boyfriend at the time) and myself sipped wine beside the beautifully decorated Christmas tree. My aunt Lori (who is a kind woman and host of the party, and had recently received a kidney transplant from her sister-in-law, my aunt Jackie, an ex-nun with a heart of gold) herded the “babies” of the family - my cousin's two children Michael and Abby - to the little table beside us. These sweet little kids quickly and politely took their seats and then, as the curious youth tend to do, asked a very valid question:

"Aunt Lori?" Michael peeped up in his innocent little voice. "Who's that place set for?" and he pointed across the blue Fisher Price table to a place mat, silverware, bowl & plate. On the plastic seat was a bit of straw.

In all seriousness, my aunt looked at her grandchildren and said, "Oh, that place is set for baby Jesus."

And instantly Nel burst out laughing.

Looking around at the suddenly stern looks of my nearby family members and then at my brother and myself struggling to keep a straight face, she bowed her head and turned to me and whispered: "Oh my God," her bony, tanned fingers hid a huge smile, "she was serious?!"

That's about when I gave into the laughter too.

Who knows why we do these things. Truth is, my babcis did them and my grandchildren will too. After all, that is the essence of tradition... right?

Welcome to the Working World

Sunday night, my AOL away message read simply, “Tomorrow is the beginning of the end for me. I begin my career, forever embarking upon a path that will take me farther and farther from the carefree, whimsical days of youth where laughing and dancing and drinking were the most important priorities, forever to be a slave to the 9-5 work day.” As I went to bed that night laughing at my flair for the dramatic, I had no idea how right I was.

Of course, I’ll be lucky if my days are ever just 9 to 5.

Now four days later, I’m experiencing my first few minutes to myself that I’ve had all week. Unfortunately, I have to experience them while stuffing my face with a sandwich in my cubicle. (Lunch time.) Regardless, each second of my day is consumed by work. I suddenly live and breathe career – a drastic change from all the nothingness I began exactly two months prior to my start date here.

This week, my first week of work, I’m drowning in adjusting to this lifestyle. Not to mention I’m physically exhausted from so little sleep, depressed I don’t get to do anything fun (I have three Netflix movies at home I don’t think I’ll ever get to watch!) and fighting off an ear/sinus infection with self-prescribed & nearly expired antibiotics.

Each day, my alarm sounds at 5:30 to get me out of the house within an hour. When the train doesn’t break down, I get to work a little past 8. When it does (as with today and yesterday), I’m stuck on it until 9:30 or 10. Then I work my ass off non-stop all day long until I can peel myself away from my glorified cubicle (which I’m quite fond of), usually in time to catch the 6:15 hour-long train home. If I miss that one, I don’t walk through my front door until after 9:00pm.

But aside from the shock of working, I LOVE it. The firm I’m at is amazing. The clients are fascinating, the people I work with are both talented and young, the work is constant and interesting. They have such high expectations for me – which unfortunately has put me under overwhelming pressure this first week of adjustments! I’m excited; they plan to nurture me into an exceptional PR professional. There’s just always that inner fear that I cannot meet their dreams. But we’ll see. Work’s supposed to be tough; you learn best by overcoming challenges. I’m happy here. And I think once I figure out the phones and get used to my daily duties, I’m really going to thrive.

Meanwhile, we took an hour last night (I left work early, catching the 5:40 home) to decorate our cute little Christmas tree as a family. The high has been freezing; snow's falling often and rapidly transforming into slippery ice or disgusting brown slush. I had a brief conversation with my best friend who’s moving away for months and who I might not even be able to see before she leaves in two weeks. Christmas presents to give and receive arrive in the mail, waiting to be wrapped or torn apart. I have email after email I’ve been dying to respond to, and no time. Is this really what the rest of my life is going to be like?

Ok, lunch break’s over… wish me luck!

That's it. I'm sick of all this. I just want a job!

I’m an adventurer, that’s just who I am.

I follow dreams, it’s just the thing I like to do.

So why, when it comes between taking a risk for a dream firm across the country or choosing the “safe” route and staying home with a good job in familiar, old Boston am I leaning towards the “easier” path?

I’m the kind of girl who takes the road less traveled. I’m not afraid of risks, of venturing off on my own. And I feel like I’m copping out by doing this. I feel like everyone expects me to move across the country for a job that may or may not even exist (after this crisis) because that’s exactly the kind of thing I would do. I spoke to a friend online and he simply said to me, before signing of, “Just call and let me know if you decide to move to another country or another coast before the weekend, ok?” I tried to explain why I wanted the Boston job because it’s good & guaranteed to another friend of mine and she replied, “But you’ve never been afraid to take a risk?”

I feel like I’m failing because I'm not picking up and moving across the country and making a life of my own in my own apartment with naught but my dog. Because this won’t be another adventure like mine in France.

But it’s the right thing to do “long term,” as my grandfather so wisely encouraged me to consider. This PR firm in Boston focuses on what I want to do later on in life: work in politics and “the public sphere.” So this is the perfect entry-level position for me, even if the pay’s shit and there’s only one office. After this I can move to Cali to work in my dream firm – just in a higher-level position – because I think I can really keep in touch with this recruiter for some time. We get along. And we both have big, white golden retrievers. Then I can do the quasi-high tech thing and make my resume show that I can really do PR for anything. Then I can work on a political campaign and kick ass and do whatever the hell I want to do, wherever I want to do it… I see myself moving to Paris someday. Hell, the future is wide open.

So that’s it. I have made up my mind. San Francisco is a beautiful dream I will someday realize, but now I have to follow my dream job… not my dream firm or dream city. Hell, the right job will get me there later.

Right?

l'hiver

snowed again today... lots...

& a blizzard's on the way


Get ready for the cold of winter.

The Roller Coaster of a Job Search

Nothing is easy. EVER.

I was so psyched to meet with my dream firm in the beginning of last week, before I had any offers or any commitments. I was even more thrilled when the recruiter loved me so much she wanted me on a plane to San Francisco as soon as possible to meet with the rest of the team and get started. I was ecstatic when she promised me more money and a free plane ticket and life on a silver platter “if only I would choose them.”

But that was back three days ago when things looked like smooth sailing. The next evening, Wednesday, the woman I had interviewed with called and to say the team was crazy busy and only had a brief opening the following afternoon to meet with me. She seemed disappointed.

“Fine,” I said, shocking her. “I’m flexible and willing to travel at a moment’s notice.”

“Oh, um… ok!” She went off to finalize times and I pulled out the old red suitcase. Unfortunately, she came back with bad news. “I’m sorry, it looks like that’s not going to happen. But I think most of them will be available on Monday?”

I sighed, put the suitcase away. “Just let me know.”

“Trust me,” I could hear in her voice that she was really sincere about all of this. “I’ll let you know anything as soon as I do.”

But I heard nothing from her the following day, yesterday, Thursday. I did, however, hear from a PR firm in Boston, a firm that does what I want to do (well, what I hope to do later on down the line) but pays poorly and is a small, one-office operation (and lacks the career development quality that I admire most about *Company Anonymous*). I was relieved to have some kind of offer until I realized this would do nothing but complicate my life even more. I had to make a commitment of 18 months, and I had to let them know by the following Tuesday. As in the day after I meet in SF. And I’d have to start right away. And they’re not flexible. With anything – from the salary to that a.s.a.p. start date.

Of course that was my queue to panic. Friends and family calmed me down… “wait to see what news comes from California.”

Desperate, I called my contact in San Francisco this morning only to reach her voice mail. “Um, I just wanted to know if I was flying anywhere this weekend?” Please???

It doesn’t help that I’ve been trapped in my bedroom with two stinky dogs all week while painters slave away throughout the rest of the house. I’m itching to get out.

She called back in the afternoon with some news – two interviews on Monday. “But I want you to meet with another team too, and they won’t be available until later in the week.” She said this like it was a problem.

“That’s ok. I have friends out there who I can stay with. I can spend the whole week if you want. Do I book the tickets or do you?” The suitcases came out once again.

We agreed we’d both search for flights and reconvene at a later hour. I called sometime before dinner when I found a cheap fare. She returned the phone call after I ate.

“I’m so sorry Catherine.” Oh no. They hired someone else? “I feel like I’m swimming upstream. It’s so frustrating. Even I don’t understand this. I want to get this excellent candidate (that’s you) out there as soon as possible to get started right away, and it’s so difficult. This should be the easy part! I already found the perfect person for the job!”

She sounded very sweet and all, but I had no idea what she was talking about. “I don’t understand?”

“The team’s busy Monday. They won’t be back until the middle/end of the week.”

Sigh of relief. I’m still going for the job. “That’s ok. I’ll work with you.”

“I know, but I just wanted you to see us before taking another offer...”

“Listen,” time to speak candidly. I want this job, I don’t want to screw myself over, and I really believe this woman is my ally. “I want to work for *Company Anonymous*. I just don’t want to make the mistake of telling another offer no by their deadline of Tuesday, taking a risk for *Company Anonymous*, if it’s not going to work out with you guys for whatever reason.”

“You mean if it isn’t a match?”

“Right.”

“I completely understand, but I don’t see why that would happen. You’ve got everything we look for in candidates; your qualifications are perfect for this position. I’m your advocate here – trust me, I don’t spend this much time and go crazy for all the people I meet with! I want you to have this job too… it’s just…”

I felt my heart stop. Then relief. I realized that even if this dream job wasn’t meant to happen, even if there was someone rejecting me, at least I’d know. At least the Boston offer would be the smart – and only – option.

“There’s been a little bit of a crisis.”

“A crisis?”

“Yes. That’s why they can’t meet with you Monday. And… well… if things don’t clear up, they might not be able to hire someone until January.”

Hey – a January start would guarantee me Christmas with my family here. That doesn’t sound so bad.

“I could work with that. If I knew there was a job for me.”

“I want a job for you for sure, on paper, before I tell you to refuse other opportunities.”

Fair enough.

“Call me Monday with any news. Or this weekend. I think we’re kind of stuck right now.”

“Ok, I’ll call you as soon as I hear something.”


And now I get to sit and stir all weekend long, wondering what awaits me in the future. God, I have no idea what to do. Just as many people have told me to keep hoping for San Francisco as people who have told me “a bird in hand is worth two in the bush.”

Someone sort me out.

Chain-blog?

Today's been a confusing day. I'd rather not get into it. But I still felt like writing, or posting in the blog at least, and after checking out someone's blog, I found the perfect, mindless entry to get my spirits up. It certainly looked interesting on her really fun site, at least:

Yes, it's one of those lame chain-mail-ish things. This one just didn't seem so lame. The rules are simple (though they can be stretched slightly ; ) ... just post the first image that comes up when you search the following:

1. Name of the town I was born in: (yea, I have no idea.)



2. Name of the town where I live now: (number two image on the same page as the one above... sad that I now live in the same town I was born in)



3. My first name: (hottness)



4. My grandmother's first name: (I used both grandmothers' names...and these are the first images after all the porno pictures that popped up - no pun intended)




5. My favorite food:(I can't help it!)



6. My favorite drink:



7. My favorite smell:



8. My favorite place in the world: (interestingly enough, when I searched this, a photo of me came up too)



9. My age:

(for what I actually am)

(for what I tell people)

(for when I lie - which is, in fact, a different number than what I tell people... but the latter isn't lying... more like exaggerating the truth? C'mon! All women lie about their age!)

10. The year I was born:



11. The names of my pets: (Yes, Tikki has a middle name)



(tee hee!)


et au revoir ~