Serendipity

Today was a quintessential weary publicist day.  I woke up slightly hungover from family visits, marathon training, birthday celebrating, good food and yes, perhaps too much tequila.  It was once again monsooning in Atlanta (seriously--when did this city turn into Seattle?), running on maaaaybe four hours of sleep and nursing some pretty nasty hives.  All I really wanted to do was go put on my flannel pajamas, curl up under the warm blanket and make it all go away.

But I fought the urge.  I promised myself I could take a nap once I finished up a 3pm call with a potential new client.

And then amazing things started happening.  Seredindipidous things.  The details of which aren't important.

The important thing is that I got out of bed.  I tried.  I strove.  I perservered.  

And the universe listened.

Dreams

January used to be the dedicated month for resolutions.  But it seems now that December is en vogue.  I've read quite a few blogs this week encouraging people to use the holiday season for self-reflection, planning and strategizing.

Maybe it's because my birthday falls at the beginning of December (I'm currently celebrating nearly 24 hours of being 34!), but this is also a natural time of year for me to ruminate and dream.

Note my use of the word "dream."  Substitute "vision," if you must.

Because I'm not a fan of resolutions.  Big lofty plans just seem destined to fail.  Maybe it's the free spirit in me, but I don't like to put boxes or limits or black ink on dreams.  Conceive them, believe in them and nourish them, but don't get bogged down by lists and tasks and metrics.

Dream big and dream often.

Tradition

I hate Thanksgiving.  I have nothing against thankfulness (something I try to practice daily), but as someone who has always struggled with food and body image, an entire day devoted to gluttony is definitely not on my list of favorite holidays.

For 32 years, I conformed.  I suffered the turkey, the congealed salads, the endless hours of preparation and cleanup, the excess, the obligations.

But not this year.  I threw out all the traditions and did Thanksgiving MY way.

Half marathon and pizza.  And I was happy.  And oh so grateful.

Love Letter

Two years ago tonight, I fell in love with my husband.

I didn't intend to fall in love, and I certainly didn't know I was falling in love at the time.

How did he win me over?  What was so sexy, seductive and special about this man?

He listened.  

And who doesn't want to be heard?

It Hurts to be Fabulous

I've recently taken steps to upgrade my wardrobe.  Because shockingly, pajamas are not appropriate attire for public places (though if you wore them to brunch at Rosebud this weekend, you got a free mimosa)!  

While I generally consider myself a fashionista, lately, fashion has taken a back seat to business.  So, now, when I look in my closet, things are all.wrong. Forget my cute shrugs--it's all about maxi sweaters now. Out with the trouser jeans, in with the skinnies, which of course means boots, boots and more boots.  And don't get me started on leggings (ick!), plaid shirts (double ick!) or the combination of the two (triple ick!).

Earlier this fall, I did finally give in to the skinny jeans and oversized sweater look, but I'd been resistant to the piece that pulls said look together--the big belt.

Until tonight.  I was invited to a restaurant opening, and thought I would look oh-so-chic in my wrap cardie sweater, skinny jeans, riding boots and belt.  Oh yes, the epitome of chic. 

And discomfort.

Did I mention that said restaurant specialized in MEXICAN food?  Fatty, salty, yummy goodness completely inhibited by the aforementioned skinny jeans (made even skinnier by an overextended stay in the dryer) and corset-like belt.  I seriously contemplated whether or not two weeks shy of 34 was an appropriate age for unzipping one's pants in public.

No wonder I do most of my eating at home in my yoga pants.

Sound of Silence

I'm not good with silence.  Or stillness.  I'm the girl who nervously figdets during meetings, giggles inappropriately during Christmas services and babbles right through that awkward first kiss.  I can't stop moving, thinking, planning, dreaming.  In the ten minutes since I started writing this blog, I've checked my Twitter feed twice, looked at a friend's photo album on Facebook, read a restaurant review, turned on the iPod and coveted a pair of leopard print heels online. I don't think I need to elaborate on why I rarely drink coffee! 

The one exception to my inability to sit still is my weekly restorative yoga class.  For those magical 90 minutes, I'm able to calm my body and my mind--to relax into the present and just BE.

In a way, writing is like that.  It's an art that requires stillness, mindfullness and discipline.  Qualities I think we could all spend a bit more time cultivating.

Confessions of an Over-Committer

I have a commitment problem.  I'm a habitual over-committer.

I come by it rightly--my mother is a serial volunteer.  She doesn't just join committees--she chairs them.  And while she hasn't had a full-time job since I was born, the woman logs more weekly hours than a Fortune 500 CEO.

As an entrepreneur in the business of public relations, the commitments can be overwhelming.  I feel obligated to say yes to every opportunity--every lunch with a new friend, every charity event, every PR committee--not only because they could lead to new connections and new business, but also because I love meeting interesting new people (free food and drinks don't hurt, either)!  While an endless stream of networking events, parties and restaurant openings, workshops and conferences may sound glamorous to some people, when they're sandwiched in between client meetings, conference calls, marathon training, being a wife and--oh yes--doing actual work for my clients--they can be exhausting.  And for those of you in the business of self-promotion, you know that while a non-stop agenda can be extremely energizing, even the most extroverted people have difficulty being "on" for extended periods of time.  By the fifth meeting of the day, I'm dying to ditch the heels, scrub off my makeup and slip into a pair of flannel pajamas, curl up with the remote and catch up on Mad Men (and no, I haven't finished watching Season Three, so please, no spoilers)!

So this week, I'm on a detox program.  Other than meals with dear friends and essential clients meetings, I'm staying home.  Spending quality time with my husband.  Resting up for my 20 mile run this weekend.  Keeping my long overdue date with Don Draper.  Dreaming and conserving energy for the next phase of this weary publicist's crazy life.

 

<---P.S. Dear Santa: I'd like these for Christmas.  xoxo, TWP