danapop

Image: Courtesy of Korean Air

In this economy many people are looking to fallback plans for their careers. The New York Times has a great piece all about it, which you can read here. Do you have one? You know, that option B, the in case of emergency contingency plan. That career path you’d have in another life. Or maybe even your life right now.

I would be a flight attendant for an airline whose uniforms are adorable; those Korean Air attendants are so chic in white and turquoise, I die. Side note—does Kate Spade still design the uniforms for JetBlue? Does JetBlue even still exist? I’d even have a Plan B for my Plan B, a fallback for my fallback—a bartender in an interesting place like Key West or New Orleans because think of the stories you’d get! I should note, I’d predictably be one of the world’s worst flight attendants or bartenders for the same reason … just like in “Cocktail,” I’d cop a major attitude the second someone asks me to sling them a Cuba Libre. Oh they’d get the side eye for sure on that one.

My brother, who has a big, fancy word like “partner” in his present job title, once told me he would be a plumber. Seriously. Another time he told me he’d be a cross-country coach at a high school. My sister, who has a smarty pants Ph.D. next to her name, dreams of being a trash collector. No joke. She explains that the hours are conducive to her schedule (she’s an early riser) and since she’s not queasy at all, I personally think it’d be the perfect fit. Her husband’s answer—a NYC or Vegas cab driver, and boy would I like him driving me around! He’d be the coolest person to talk to, believe me, you’d never want to get out of the taxi. You’d be cracking up and likely exchanging numbers to buy the guy a beer after his shift.

A good friend from college while in graduate school decided she’d like to take a course to become a certified nail technician. Not sure if it was just because she wanted to become an expert on her own cuticles or as a fallback plan, like just in case the patent law career doesn’t pan out, I can always give a good manicure. My best friend in Atlanta, who is a marketing genius, would open a sandwich shop serving only the tastiest lunchtime staples around. My sister-in-law has told me that one of the best jobs she ever had was working at William’s Sonoma. She’s a wonderful cook, and I could see her thriving there, despite the law and MBA degrees.

My television writer and producer husband would be a butcher. Oh, to be the butcher’s wife. I’d be such a happy cow sausaging into my fabulous uniform with the best snacks on the flight. Here’s to fallbacks, and Plans A through C.

I forget sometimes that danapop has readers outside the confines of Atlanta. There’s a whole world of folks out there that don’t receive the rounds of professional chatter, twitter, facebook, or a chance to catch up at events in person. That things might be happening and before I know it two months go by and I realize I’ve left you with a bomb tease of 2011 starting with a bang and you’re just left wondering what exactly I’m talking about. To circle back, the bang is me leaving a freelance job (DailyCandy Atlanta editor) I’ve had for almost three years and starting a new one (community manager for MSN’s portal called Postbox), which officially began this week.

It’s a great fit all around, but sometimes change is quite difficult with the overlap of duties, learning curves, and settling in to a new routine. But, all of it was sort of my own doing. You see, back in December after reflecting on the past year professionally, I merely mentioned to my husband that maybe this year I should think about another steady gig to do alongside my existing one (or if the offer was strong enough, replace the old one all-together). That little whisper, that little lion’s voice, started the ball rolling and within days I was thrown into the ring of applicants for a job I didn’t even know existed. The Mumford & Son’s performance at the Grammy’s the other night sort of sums up the beautiful chaos I’m feeling these days. Man, I love those guys. So here’s to gathering the lion’s roar and settling into new adventures.

I’ve just returned from an amazing week in Krakow, Poland. I won’t be able to go into full travel details here per usual, as I’ve been assigned that piece for a mortgage paying publication and they get first dibs, but I can tell you a few general things, first … go.

No huge surprise here, like most eastern European countries, in Poland, the dollar gets you far. The old town section of Krakow (the best part) is built around a central square, so if you start there, you’ll be in excellent shape. Park it at a café, sip coffee with steamed milk and just soak it in. Later in the day, add some sight seeing and prosecco, and by gum, you’ve got a vacation from everyday American life.

The overarching theme I walked away with was taking time and allowing myself the space to just be. For us, this year has been one of twists and turns, and sometimes it has taken me a minute (or months) to integrate them into my life. To take time to fully grasp and appreciate the concept of the life I’ve built filled with close friendship, a supportive and loving family, and creative work that inspires me.

This trip allowed me the space to wander, think, write, and observe. The women in Europe are so chic. You’d never catch one in mom jeans looking haggard. No sir, even on long flights minding children and loads of luggage they still manage to put on mile high heels and lipstick. Affection is displayed quite openly and I found myself nostalgic about romance and those little moments I may not notice in my Atlanta life. It could also be because of the reason we were there … love was in the air.

We made the trek to Poland for a dear friend’s wedding, which was, without question, the nicest wedding I’ve ever attended (and like most people in their thirties, I’ve attended many). Planning my own wedding years ago, I made decisions merely to get them crossed off my list, but here that didn’t appear to be the case, seemingly taking such care in every decision from meal, to reading selection, to wine list. The loveliest ceremony I’ve ever witnessed.

Now, back to my cultural observations about both in being in Europe and being surrounded by mostly Irish and English wedding attendees. It seemed like in this lot, if one were to wear Jimmy Choos it’d be because they are good, quality shoes that’ll last, not because it’s something to boast to friends while sitting in your 5,000 square foot home one payment away from foreclosure.

Nothing seems to be done in an ostentatious way, just sophisticated and full of grace. It’s not about a carat diamond ring; it’s about the sentiment behind it. I could use a lot more weeks of taking notice like that in my life. Seems less about what you have and more about how you take care of it. I’ll take the moments over the material any day.

'All that Glitters' courtesy of Augusta Hyland, Atlanta-based Artist*

I’ve been thinking a lot about Southern women and the balance they have between their lives and their careers. Specifically Southern women writers. When I first moved to Atlanta it struck me how many people were not actually from here. They were transplanted here, mostly for work, like myself.

But, now, 10 years later, I’m surrounded by women who are actually from this area. I’m finding myself around especially strong women loaded with careers and creative aspirations (and all the while looking beautiful to boot).

Which sort of conflicts with the way I was raised. Growing up, you sort of had one or the other … not necessarily both (and certainly not at the same time). But, it seems like Southern women have mastered what their priorities are with a gentle balance of what’s expected of them and what they actually want for themselves. This is in sharp contrast to my own stereotypes of what I thought women from the South behaved and the life I assumed they wanted (an M.R.S. degree earned from a state school, cheering on SEC football while wearing a strapless dress and high heels).

Now, the word grace comes to mind when I think of Southern women. So, I’m looking towards women writers–Katherine Anne Porter, Harper Lee, Margaret Mitchell, Flannery O’Conner to allow me to be strong, yet graceful, in my writing and my life. And soaking in the Southern creative women surrounding me that embody it all and are guiding me down that path of elegance in life.

* For more of Augusta Hyland’s fantastic paintings (and great writing), check out her blog The View from my Studio Window.

Recently, my mind has been lost in thoughts of the next decade. I think it’s mostly because I’ve now been in Atlanta for ten years. It’s made me sort of want to reevaluate things on a life level, including the city I call my home. When I moved out here in 2000, I held a lot of titles-college graduate, daughter to a mother and father, single, scared, video journalist (a.k.a. the most entry-level position you can have at CNN), and Midwesterner (just to name a few).

I’ve still got that degree, my father died within 9 months of me moving here, I met my husband at CNN, my title changed from V.J. to producer by the time I was 26, and now, I no longer consider myself from the Midwest since the South is the longest I’ve ever lived in one spot. So here I am, examining the past decade and all my titles. Because as much as I hate to admit it, I care about those sorts of things, just as most of us do.

We all have them. But, what do they mean exactly? Are they simply just boxes people want to put us in or the frames around our life that fit other people’s mold of what they want us to be, or what we might call ourselves? Sometimes these titles actually fit with who we want to be, but often that’s not the case.

Going after what I want is never the issue with me. My husband describes my approach (lovingly, I think, err hope) as a bull in a china-shop. I’m not particularly proud of that. If there’s something within sight, I generally go after it and beat it into submission (although pretty sure said husband was not acquired that way).

Right now, I have career opportunities open to me. But, I’ve realized I make decisions quickly, not really giving the care and attention to if they are right or wrong decisions, just so that decision is made. Because of that, I don’t operate with the boundaries of just letting things play out, then a few years later I might think to myself, “hmm I could’ve let that rest a bit.”

I’m still trying to figure out what I want to be this decade or even just this year. Mother? Published author? Freelance writer? Communications Director? Editor? Or, answer D … all of the above? There are many people in my life struggling to come to terms with their own titles-estranged, unemployed, single, separated, mother, infertile, brave-it’s beyond career stuff.

What titles do you want to keep this year? Which ones would you throw out the window?

I read somewhere that most people tend to stick to their goals better if they can visualize them. My mind is apparently wired the same as the majority, because if I see it, it’s generally easier for me to achieve it. In lieu of the standard resolutions for this coming decade, here’s my vision. My creative board of what I’d like to happen and what inspires me to make it a reality. Universe, are you listening? Bueller?… Bueller?… So, what’s on your vision board?

All photos courtesy "Mudbug"

I didn’t write this week’s post. An old friend tracked down through the power of social networking did. He has graciously written an extraordinary piece for danapop in what I think captures the true essence of the holiday season.

Happy holidays all.

dp

When I was a kid, I used to watch the holiday messages made by troops stationed overseas.  I aspired to be like those soldiers on television.  I envied those who were off in some far away country, doing interesting things.  I wanted to give a big smile, a wave and tell everyone best wishes from somewhere nobody had ever heard of.  Of course, when I was growing up, we were not at war.

I recently had the opportunity to make just such a video.   You could record a holiday message in an area set aside in the morale tent.  I sat down on the stool, looked at the camera, started to say something, but nothing came out.  I looked at film tech and said, “I’m sorry, but I can’t do this.”  I then grabbed my helmet and walked off to a meeting to talk about the latest insurgent tactics.

I am not sure why I couldn’t say anything.  Maybe because it was September and it was 110 degrees.  Maybe because Christmas was the last thing I was thinking about.  Maybe because I didn’t want to make a video wishing everyone back home a Merry Christmas, when there was the possibility that I might be dead before the video even aired back home.  And when I tried to say Merry Christmas in September, it just sort of…died on my lips.

Time back home is marked by holidays and the passage of seasons.  The hands on the clock and the days on the calendar have meaning.  Around September, when the air first starts to get a chill, we pull our sweaters out of the closet and can’t help, but think that soon it will be Christmas.

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How I wonder what you are.

As a child, I was obsessed with outer space. If I had to guess now, it was more likely the idea of a vast universe with all sorts of matter floating around. It intrigued me and filled my mind with curiosity for years, the existential questions of what is really out there, the unknown. Because I’m so familiar with these thoughts in my own mind, I often wonder why is it so scary, the unknown? I’ve always wrestled with it. Now, the full disclosure–after thinking our life was going one way, it’s clearly not.

This was supposed to be our baby year. This was supposed to be my writing year. This was the husband gets a promotion at work year so I could have both the writing and us working on trying for a baby. Then, the economy tanked, just after I’d started up my business.

Then, my husband’s company kept eliminating positions until finally, while I was in California (which you’ll read all about next week) visiting my sister, my husband calmly (err, sort of calmly) told me he’d been laid off. The news was delivered in a tone I recognized from five years prior when I was post-appendectomy with my husband tearing through the Piedmont Hospital hallway screaming, “My wife is throwing up!” and me sitting in the mechanical bed covered in vomit wearing my coke bottle glasses, crying, “I don’t know why you love me!” We really know how to hold it together, the both of us.

It didn’t come as a huge surprise. We’d been waiting for this day for a while, as the writing has been on the wall for ages now. But, if you ignore it enough, it goes away, right? Let me tell you, waiting for the shoe to drop doesn’t make it any less scary. Or easier. So, there’s quite a bit of unknowns at the moment. More than I can begin to wrap my head around.

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Leavenworth, Kansas circa 1800’s-Courtesy of the Command General Staff College of Ft. Leavenworth

When we visited Vancouver earlier this summer there was a chatty store owner talking to my mom, sister and I while we were shopping. She couldn’t fully comprehend how my sister could live in Maryland (she’s since moved to California), my mom in Kansas, and me in Georgia. None of it made sense to her. She kept asking why we didn’t live near each other–we all sort of struggled with an answer, but the easiest one was because of work. Which is true, but only partly.

There is something to be said about small towns. A quaint Main Street with boutiques, a past rich in history, where everyone knows your story. Leavenworth, Kansas, for me, is that place. Although we moved around quite a bit growing up, Leavenworth is (and likely will always be) home. It’s where my parents chose to set roots–where I attended school off of a military post for the first time, where I graduated high school, where friends I have known the longest live, and where my mother still is (with my brother and his family not too far either).

One of the oldest themes in everything from movies to music is the idea of leaving home. You know, putting the past town behind and starting fresh, in a new city. I did that. I left home almost a decade ago at 23 and haven’t returned much besides holiday visits and the occasional baby shower, hometown wedding, or milestone birthday celebration. I left my small town in Kansas in my rear view mirror for a job, which I’ve since also put in the rear view.

And while I look at my Leavenworth with fondness, I do feel a teeter-totter emotion of extreme complacency when I visit. When I go home I see the small town sadness and a desperation that is just not present in my life in Atlanta. Once I arrived here, I quickly came to the realization that I was a very small fish in a very large pond, especially compared to where I came from. I was nervous, scared shitless, excited and totally unprepared for the whirlwind of a life I would have here, those first few years.

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The last thing in the world I wanted to have happen when I started this site was for it to stress me out.  Make no mistake; I think some level of stress and challenge in life is a good thing. In theory though, this was to be the arena for me to look the most forward to. And right now, if I’m being totally honest, it isn’t. Because this, alongside my other writing gigs, has gotten to be more than I can pull off, for now.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s partly because of this venue that I’ve managed to build up such solid work and for that, I’m very grateful. The full disclosure is this–at the beginning of the summer I went under contract to write a book–ghostwrite, and it, as you can imagine, is quite time consuming (and fantastic). I’ve juggled it thus far, but currently feel I’m not doing anyone any favors (other clients, dog, husband, family, and dirty dishes in the sink included) keeping this pace and this crazed look in my eye.

I always said that when I had my own company I would never want the work to suffer, any part of it. So, I’m slowing down. I’m trying a new format here with once-a-week-postings to publish on Tuesdays. I’d rather publish less often, but let the standard still be there than to go on pretending I’m not checking it off my mental list of articles to write in a week.

Like most changes in life, it’s bittersweet–on one hand I’m hoping it’s temporary, on the other, thrilled at the reality of being so busy at something I created. Until then, continue to enjoy reading, just at a less frantic pace.

Here’s to filling the cup, but not letting it run over.

It’s always around this time of year when the Holiday hub-bub is just about over that I get the urge to travel. Specifically, taking a trip that involves a beach. For now, I must only write about it than actually experiencing it myself. So, here’s a wishful thought for surfing in the new year…

For me, surfing, much like life, is mostly about balance. That thin line of being steady, in control and powerful, dueling in sharp contrast with wiping out in one quick misstep. I recently discovered an amazing product that combines the notion of surfing with the design aesthetic of custom artwork – London L Surf.

I was fortunate enough to chat with Brittany Tripp, designer of London L Surf, a custom surfboard company out of Costa Mesa, California.

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When I write, I tend to be more focused and inspired when I light a candle. So, it’s not uncommon for me to have one burning most of the day. The balance of scent is tricky…I never want something too strong in its note (too floral or fruity or one that makes me want to devour a plate of sugar cookies or an entire apple pie). So, finding that perfect line of candles is complex with a ton of fragrance induced headaches and mysterious food cravings.  I found my solution years ago though, when a friend gifted me a Paddywax candle.

From first match strike, I knew, this was the candle company for me. Hand poured, eco friendly, family owned and operated…I had to get an interview with its founders. So I did. David Duncan and I sat down for a chat about the company he founded with his wife Gretchen, Paddywax.

Also, a timely sidenote – Paddywax candles are on my wish list for stocking stuffers…and should be on yours too.

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