Okay, when I said – way back in March of last year – that I was going on a “break,” I didn’t truly know what that would ultimately mean.
I knew I was suffering from blogger’s burn-out, and I thought that my writing energy might better be directed elsewhere.
What I didn’t know is that I was one-quarter of the way into a year that would pull me in all kinds of angst-ridden directions. A year that would interrupt any peace I’d otherwise feel by presenting me with crap I could not ignore.
And I’m not talking about trivial crap. I’m talking about the kind of stuff that creates depression and the immobility that accompanies it. I’m talking about the kind of stuff that results in the loss of a friendship, or what was perceived as one. I’m talking about the deaths of loved ones and outside my immediate realm, the constant din of what happens in the world. When politics and prejudice preclude intelligent decision-making. When carnage on an elementary school campus is somehow insufficient fodder for a change in gun laws.
2012 sucked on all kinds of levels, and although 2013 has been “quiet” by comparison, I feel like I’m still recovering.
I may, in the weeks ahead, share a few details from annis horribilis, but I’ll also be keeping a lot of it to myself. Privacy is something I value above most everything else, and for me, the challenge of blogging always has been to straddle that public/private fence strategically.
… Besides, you don’t want to know everything!
So, I will return to my routine of a fresh blog on Thursdays and reruns on Mondays. Hopefully, I can keep up with myself.
I also hope to keep up with you. I have not visited a single blog since last March, and that is a reflection of my distinctly Libran ways. I am fairness-driven, and so I felt that if I visited some, I’d need to visit others. Likewise with commenting.
(God, I’m tedious!)
(Hopefully, I am also entertaining.)
I look forward to interacting again, and I thank you for dropping by!
Showing posts with label Libra. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Libra. Show all posts
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Monday, October 4, 2010
Monday Reruns: Groucho, Gandhi, and Me: an October 2nd Story
(original post-date: October 2, 2009)
I’m not a group person. Or, more accurately, I’m not terribly motivated within a group setting. (The virtually badgeless girl scout sash I sported in the fourth grade exists as proof.) So when my friend, Diane, asked if I would be interested in joining a theatre group, I didn’t jump at the opportunity.
It was the mid-80’s. It was New York. Diane, whom I had known since our prep school days in Virginia, was pursuing an acting career, and she was in the theatre group for that very reason. Comprising actors, actresses, directors, and writers, the collective was dedicated to staging original work. And they were always looking for writers. Diane hoped I’d bring my pen to the table.
I suppose there was a lull in the telephone dialogue (while I was trying to motivate myself to become something that I’m not). Diane jumped into that lull. “Katie,” she said, “all the men are straight.”
“When’s the next meeting?” I replied.
The thing is, I have always been attracted to right-brain men, and in New York, the idea of a theatre group filled with straight men was something I just couldn’t resist. So what if I wasn’t a “group person?” I was in my late 20’s, and finding a man was at the top of my agenda.
It took only a few weekly workshops (and the ever-popular post-workshop pitchers of beers) for me to befriend a fellow writer. Like me, Josh* was doing everything he could to get published or produced. We bonded over the struggle. We also were attracted to one another. And so one night, we left the post-workshop soiree together, and we rode the subway up to my apartment on 110th Street.
Shortly after we entered my large room, I filled in the awkward sense of what’s next? by picking up an item that had been in my Christmas stocking just two months earlier. It was one of those little desktop calendars that used to be popular: 4” by 4”; tear off the day and move on. This particular calendar was dedicated to Libras, and so each page featured that day’s horoscope. Each of the pages also included a list of three famous people born on that day. (So, in a sense, it was not an exclusively Libran accessory.)
Given that Josh and I were both writers, I was using words-on-paper to make the first move. (We needed to get the foreplay going, after all.) I flipped the pages of the calendar so as to reveal the three people born on my day (October 2nd). With pride, I showed him my list: Groucho Marx, Mahatma Gandhi, and… okay, Rex Reed. (The third name would be different today, no doubt. Kelly Ripa? Sting?)
Josh was clearly impressed, and he also felt challenged. When he held out his hand, I knew he wanted me to pass over the calendar. I did so, and he quickly found his birthday (May 10th). Together, we looked at the list. Silence. Who are these people? Truly, the list might as well have said John Doe, John Doe, and John Doe. (Had Rex Reed been born on May 10th, he would have held the number one spot.)
Josh – my fellow writer; my comrade in the struggle to be published or produced – was clearly disappointed. But he had the presence of mind to buy a little time...
He looked at his list in consternation...
He flipped back to October 2nd and looked again at my list...
He nodded (again) to convey respect...
He then returned to his list.
Then, he looked at me. “You’re gonna have to work a lot harder than I am,” he said.
***
*not his real name; he probably wouldn’t care, but since I haven’t been in touch with him…
I’m not a group person. Or, more accurately, I’m not terribly motivated within a group setting. (The virtually badgeless girl scout sash I sported in the fourth grade exists as proof.) So when my friend, Diane, asked if I would be interested in joining a theatre group, I didn’t jump at the opportunity.
It was the mid-80’s. It was New York. Diane, whom I had known since our prep school days in Virginia, was pursuing an acting career, and she was in the theatre group for that very reason. Comprising actors, actresses, directors, and writers, the collective was dedicated to staging original work. And they were always looking for writers. Diane hoped I’d bring my pen to the table.
I suppose there was a lull in the telephone dialogue (while I was trying to motivate myself to become something that I’m not). Diane jumped into that lull. “Katie,” she said, “all the men are straight.”
“When’s the next meeting?” I replied.
The thing is, I have always been attracted to right-brain men, and in New York, the idea of a theatre group filled with straight men was something I just couldn’t resist. So what if I wasn’t a “group person?” I was in my late 20’s, and finding a man was at the top of my agenda.
It took only a few weekly workshops (and the ever-popular post-workshop pitchers of beers) for me to befriend a fellow writer. Like me, Josh* was doing everything he could to get published or produced. We bonded over the struggle. We also were attracted to one another. And so one night, we left the post-workshop soiree together, and we rode the subway up to my apartment on 110th Street.
Shortly after we entered my large room, I filled in the awkward sense of what’s next? by picking up an item that had been in my Christmas stocking just two months earlier. It was one of those little desktop calendars that used to be popular: 4” by 4”; tear off the day and move on. This particular calendar was dedicated to Libras, and so each page featured that day’s horoscope. Each of the pages also included a list of three famous people born on that day. (So, in a sense, it was not an exclusively Libran accessory.)
Given that Josh and I were both writers, I was using words-on-paper to make the first move. (We needed to get the foreplay going, after all.) I flipped the pages of the calendar so as to reveal the three people born on my day (October 2nd). With pride, I showed him my list: Groucho Marx, Mahatma Gandhi, and… okay, Rex Reed. (The third name would be different today, no doubt. Kelly Ripa? Sting?)
Josh was clearly impressed, and he also felt challenged. When he held out his hand, I knew he wanted me to pass over the calendar. I did so, and he quickly found his birthday (May 10th). Together, we looked at the list. Silence. Who are these people? Truly, the list might as well have said John Doe, John Doe, and John Doe. (Had Rex Reed been born on May 10th, he would have held the number one spot.)
Josh – my fellow writer; my comrade in the struggle to be published or produced – was clearly disappointed. But he had the presence of mind to buy a little time...
He looked at his list in consternation...
He flipped back to October 2nd and looked again at my list...
He nodded (again) to convey respect...
He then returned to his list.
Then, he looked at me. “You’re gonna have to work a lot harder than I am,” he said.
***
*not his real name; he probably wouldn’t care, but since I haven’t been in touch with him…
Monday, September 27, 2010
Monday Reruns: Explaining My Relationship to Decision-Making
(original post-date: September 27, 2009)
It’s almost October, and that means I’ll soon be celebrating another birthday. It also means that the Sun has moved into Libra. I realize that, for some people, that solar transition means absolutely nothing. I appreciate that some people do not believe in astrology, and being a Libra, I would never force them to change their tune. But given what I’ve learned about the Libran character, it is difficult for me to disregard how a Sun sign might foretell behavior. In fact, I find the information helpful. In fact, in the realm of decision-making, my being a Libra pretty much explains everything. So I’ll take this opportunity to share what I’ve learned. If you roll your eyes at my reasoning, that’s your prerogative. (And I’m guessing you’re a Scorpio.)
Libras are known for their rather labored approach to decision-making. We’re the sign of the scales, and it is in our nature to weigh all aspects of an issue. It is in our nature to be fair. Extremely, painstakingly, tediously fair.
For people whose workday begins with changing into a judge’s robe, this bent toward circumspect decision-making is probably convenient (for all parties concerned). But for a gal who just wants to go out and do some quick shopping, this weighing thing is a pain in the ass. Once, during my college years in New York, I had some money to buy a new winter coat. It was going to be the first winter coat I ever bought “on my own,” and so it was a rather momentous occasion. I spent quite a bit of time in a relatively small clothing store on Madison Avenue. After more than an hour, I narrowed down my choice to two coats – a navy one and a black one. In addition to being different colors, they were quite different styles, thus bringing far too many factors into the decision-making process.
As I tried on the “other” coat for the nth time, the saleswoman, who had been patient with me up to that point, asked, “Are you a Gemini?”
“No,” I said, sensing – and at that point, sharing – her frustration. “A Libra.”
“Oh, God, that’s worse,” she said. “Take the black one!”
“Thank you,” I responded, realizing how desperately I appreciated the intervention. “I will.”
I put the black coat on the counter, and she began to ring up the sale. At that point, I felt she was my new best friend, and so I confided, “You’ll notice how no one accompanies me shopping.”
It was an observation I had made over the preceding years, and it was one that my family joked about. I really am impossible to shop with. I act as if every decision were going to change the direction in which the earth is spinning. But it seems I can’t help it. The stars have made it that way…
+++
In the mid-90’s, when I was working at a nonprofit in downtown Los Angeles, I had a co-worker named Robert. Robert, who was several years younger than I and who had married recently, was also a Libra. Having not looked at his astrological profile as carefully as I, he was intrigued when I began to describe some of the traits we shared. When I mentioned the shopping thing, he laughed, nodded, and indicated that he understood.
I told him about the time I was in the Woolworth’s in New York, selecting a shower curtain. I went into one of those Libran shopping trances, I told him. Each $2.00 shower curtain had a unique pattern, of course, and each featured different colors. So I had much to consider. As I picked up one shower curtain package after another, I was reviewing, in my mind, the colors of the towels that my husband and I had. I was considering the colors of the tiles in our bathroom. I was re-assessing the shower curtains’ patterns themselves. Did I want fish? Were flowers too girly? God, the questions!
The strange, strained look on my face caught the attention of a Woolworth’s sales associate, a man sporting a blue smock that featured a friendly name tag. He approached me and regarded the eight packages of shower curtains I was holding (these were the finalists). “Lady!” he said, “How many shower curtains do you need?”
Where was the Madison Avenue saleswoman when I needed her? Where was the person who might say, “Just get the blue one with the fish! It’s a fucking two-dollar shower curtain, for God’s sake!”
I probably also told Robert about the time when I was at a department store in a Los Angeles mall, and I tried on so many pairs of sunglasses that a security guard began hovering behind me. The guard probably reasoned that the exorbitant amount of time I was spending trying on an exorbitant number of sunglasses was all part of a plan to pocket at least one pair. But, I wasn’t looking to steal. And, in fact, the decision-making was so daunting that I just walked away. No new sunglasses for me that day. I was just too overwhelmed by the options.
Robert enjoyed my anecdotes, and I learned the next morning, when he came into my office, that they had provided him with some enlightenment. “I told my wife about the Libra thing and shopping,” Robert said, referring to a conversation he had with his new bride the previous night. “You totally hit the nail on the head! She hates shopping with me! I drive her crazy!”
+++
Robert and I continued to bond over our common idiosyncrasies, and one day, when I went into his office to see if he had a dictionary, I learned how clearly he had come to understand the burden we Libras carry. I was looking for a dictionary that day because our boss had edited a grant proposal I drafted, and she suggested, in her edit, that the word “reexamine” should be hyphenated. Being the stickler I am, I wanted to consult an almighty reference book before making the change.
Robert directed me to his dictionary, and as I opened it, I told him why I was needing it. He continued about his work as I looked up the word. When I found the entry for “reexamine” and learned that, according to that dictionary, the word could either be hyphenated or not, I really felt the onset of a quandary.
“Oh great,” I said in a frustrated tone that was driven by playfulness.
“What?” he asked.
“It could go either way,” I let him know.
Robert sighed for both of us and looked at me with matter-of-fact concern and a gleam in his eye. “Well,” he said, “There goes your day!”
+++
My next staff job was at a higher ed institution, where I was the Rob Petrie of the three-person proposal writing team. Our administrative support came from Lisa, who prepped all proposals for final packaging. Lisa, who was quickly becoming a friend, knew of my decision-making dilemmas. And, often-times, she was more in tuned to them than I was.
One day, she wanted to consult with me about a budget page that she had completed. I was standing in the middle of the writers’ room when she approached. She gave no hint of being anything other than professional as she held up the sheet and pointed to the bottom line number. “This grand total,” she said, quite seriously, “Should I bold it or give it a double-underscore?”
She then watched my face as it took on an extremely pained look. She watched the busy-ness that was taking place therein and amused herself as she imagined what considerations I could possibly be entertaining. When it was clear we might miss the deadline waiting for my answer, she smiled her broad smile. “GOTCHA!” she said, as she ran off to make the decision herself.
+++
So there I’ve been in life. Deliberating for minutes and hours-on-end about shower curtains, sunglasses, hyphenations, and the appearance of fonts.
And yet there have been other decisions that seemed to take no time whatsoever: Should I get married? Sure! Move to California? Why not? Quit my job? Absolutely! Quit this job, too? Yup. And this one? Face it; it sucks. Even though I don’t have another job lined up? When has that stopped you before? Buy a new car? Gotta drive!
When I drove my 1998 Honda Civic off the lot, it had seven miles on the odometer, and I was committed to five years of car payments. I could swing it, I knew, and I wasn’t bothered by the commitment. But I was struck by how quickly I had made the decision. I would recount the adventure later, telling friends, “My God, I chose a car faster than I choose a parking space!”
Which is when it dawned on me: It’s the small decisions I cannot seem to make…
It took a few years, but I have finally reached a place where I can apply that discovery to everyday life. I have learned that if I can’t make a decision quickly, then I just don’t care. What a freeing revelation this has been! I have a formula now! When a question is asked of me, I either answer immediately or I volley it back to the person who posed it. “Surprise me!” I say.
As I’ve come to understand my relationship to decisions, and as I have freed myself up by letting others make the smaller ones, I also have come to appreciate my ease with the larger ones. It’s about intuition. It comes from the gut.
It’s almost October, and that means I’ll soon be celebrating another birthday. It also means that the Sun has moved into Libra. I realize that, for some people, that solar transition means absolutely nothing. I appreciate that some people do not believe in astrology, and being a Libra, I would never force them to change their tune. But given what I’ve learned about the Libran character, it is difficult for me to disregard how a Sun sign might foretell behavior. In fact, I find the information helpful. In fact, in the realm of decision-making, my being a Libra pretty much explains everything. So I’ll take this opportunity to share what I’ve learned. If you roll your eyes at my reasoning, that’s your prerogative. (And I’m guessing you’re a Scorpio.)
Libras are known for their rather labored approach to decision-making. We’re the sign of the scales, and it is in our nature to weigh all aspects of an issue. It is in our nature to be fair. Extremely, painstakingly, tediously fair.
For people whose workday begins with changing into a judge’s robe, this bent toward circumspect decision-making is probably convenient (for all parties concerned). But for a gal who just wants to go out and do some quick shopping, this weighing thing is a pain in the ass. Once, during my college years in New York, I had some money to buy a new winter coat. It was going to be the first winter coat I ever bought “on my own,” and so it was a rather momentous occasion. I spent quite a bit of time in a relatively small clothing store on Madison Avenue. After more than an hour, I narrowed down my choice to two coats – a navy one and a black one. In addition to being different colors, they were quite different styles, thus bringing far too many factors into the decision-making process.
As I tried on the “other” coat for the nth time, the saleswoman, who had been patient with me up to that point, asked, “Are you a Gemini?”
“No,” I said, sensing – and at that point, sharing – her frustration. “A Libra.”
“Oh, God, that’s worse,” she said. “Take the black one!”
“Thank you,” I responded, realizing how desperately I appreciated the intervention. “I will.”
I put the black coat on the counter, and she began to ring up the sale. At that point, I felt she was my new best friend, and so I confided, “You’ll notice how no one accompanies me shopping.”
It was an observation I had made over the preceding years, and it was one that my family joked about. I really am impossible to shop with. I act as if every decision were going to change the direction in which the earth is spinning. But it seems I can’t help it. The stars have made it that way…
+++
In the mid-90’s, when I was working at a nonprofit in downtown Los Angeles, I had a co-worker named Robert. Robert, who was several years younger than I and who had married recently, was also a Libra. Having not looked at his astrological profile as carefully as I, he was intrigued when I began to describe some of the traits we shared. When I mentioned the shopping thing, he laughed, nodded, and indicated that he understood.
I told him about the time I was in the Woolworth’s in New York, selecting a shower curtain. I went into one of those Libran shopping trances, I told him. Each $2.00 shower curtain had a unique pattern, of course, and each featured different colors. So I had much to consider. As I picked up one shower curtain package after another, I was reviewing, in my mind, the colors of the towels that my husband and I had. I was considering the colors of the tiles in our bathroom. I was re-assessing the shower curtains’ patterns themselves. Did I want fish? Were flowers too girly? God, the questions!
The strange, strained look on my face caught the attention of a Woolworth’s sales associate, a man sporting a blue smock that featured a friendly name tag. He approached me and regarded the eight packages of shower curtains I was holding (these were the finalists). “Lady!” he said, “How many shower curtains do you need?”
Where was the Madison Avenue saleswoman when I needed her? Where was the person who might say, “Just get the blue one with the fish! It’s a fucking two-dollar shower curtain, for God’s sake!”
I probably also told Robert about the time when I was at a department store in a Los Angeles mall, and I tried on so many pairs of sunglasses that a security guard began hovering behind me. The guard probably reasoned that the exorbitant amount of time I was spending trying on an exorbitant number of sunglasses was all part of a plan to pocket at least one pair. But, I wasn’t looking to steal. And, in fact, the decision-making was so daunting that I just walked away. No new sunglasses for me that day. I was just too overwhelmed by the options.
Robert enjoyed my anecdotes, and I learned the next morning, when he came into my office, that they had provided him with some enlightenment. “I told my wife about the Libra thing and shopping,” Robert said, referring to a conversation he had with his new bride the previous night. “You totally hit the nail on the head! She hates shopping with me! I drive her crazy!”
+++
Robert and I continued to bond over our common idiosyncrasies, and one day, when I went into his office to see if he had a dictionary, I learned how clearly he had come to understand the burden we Libras carry. I was looking for a dictionary that day because our boss had edited a grant proposal I drafted, and she suggested, in her edit, that the word “reexamine” should be hyphenated. Being the stickler I am, I wanted to consult an almighty reference book before making the change.
Robert directed me to his dictionary, and as I opened it, I told him why I was needing it. He continued about his work as I looked up the word. When I found the entry for “reexamine” and learned that, according to that dictionary, the word could either be hyphenated or not, I really felt the onset of a quandary.
“Oh great,” I said in a frustrated tone that was driven by playfulness.
“What?” he asked.
“It could go either way,” I let him know.
Robert sighed for both of us and looked at me with matter-of-fact concern and a gleam in his eye. “Well,” he said, “There goes your day!”
+++
My next staff job was at a higher ed institution, where I was the Rob Petrie of the three-person proposal writing team. Our administrative support came from Lisa, who prepped all proposals for final packaging. Lisa, who was quickly becoming a friend, knew of my decision-making dilemmas. And, often-times, she was more in tuned to them than I was.
One day, she wanted to consult with me about a budget page that she had completed. I was standing in the middle of the writers’ room when she approached. She gave no hint of being anything other than professional as she held up the sheet and pointed to the bottom line number. “This grand total,” she said, quite seriously, “Should I bold it or give it a double-underscore?”
She then watched my face as it took on an extremely pained look. She watched the busy-ness that was taking place therein and amused herself as she imagined what considerations I could possibly be entertaining. When it was clear we might miss the deadline waiting for my answer, she smiled her broad smile. “GOTCHA!” she said, as she ran off to make the decision herself.
+++
So there I’ve been in life. Deliberating for minutes and hours-on-end about shower curtains, sunglasses, hyphenations, and the appearance of fonts.
And yet there have been other decisions that seemed to take no time whatsoever: Should I get married? Sure! Move to California? Why not? Quit my job? Absolutely! Quit this job, too? Yup. And this one? Face it; it sucks. Even though I don’t have another job lined up? When has that stopped you before? Buy a new car? Gotta drive!
When I drove my 1998 Honda Civic off the lot, it had seven miles on the odometer, and I was committed to five years of car payments. I could swing it, I knew, and I wasn’t bothered by the commitment. But I was struck by how quickly I had made the decision. I would recount the adventure later, telling friends, “My God, I chose a car faster than I choose a parking space!”
Which is when it dawned on me: It’s the small decisions I cannot seem to make…
It took a few years, but I have finally reached a place where I can apply that discovery to everyday life. I have learned that if I can’t make a decision quickly, then I just don’t care. What a freeing revelation this has been! I have a formula now! When a question is asked of me, I either answer immediately or I volley it back to the person who posed it. “Surprise me!” I say.
As I’ve come to understand my relationship to decisions, and as I have freed myself up by letting others make the smaller ones, I also have come to appreciate my ease with the larger ones. It’s about intuition. It comes from the gut.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Explaining My Relationship to Decision-Making
It’s almost October, and that means I’ll soon be celebrating another birthday. It also means that the Sun has moved into Libra. I realize that, for some people, that solar transition means absolutely nothing. I appreciate that some people do not believe in astrology, and being a Libra, I would never force them to change their tune. But given what I’ve learned about the Libran character, it is difficult for me to disregard how a Sun sign might foretell behavior. In fact, I find the information helpful. In fact, in the realm of decision-making, my being a Libra pretty much explains everything. So I’ll take this opportunity to share what I’ve learned. If you roll your eyes at my reasoning, that’s your prerogative. (And I’m guessing you’re a Scorpio.)
Libras are known for their rather labored approach to decision-making. We’re the sign of the scales, and it is in our nature to weigh all aspects of an issue. It is in our nature to be fair. Extremely, painstakingly, tediously fair.
For people whose workday begins with changing into a judge’s robe, this bent toward circumspect decision-making is probably convenient (for all parties concerned). But for a gal who just wants to go out and do some quick shopping, this weighing thing is a pain in the ass. Once, during my college years in New York, I had some money to buy a new winter coat. It was going to be the first winter coat I ever bought “on my own,” and so it was a rather momentous occasion. I spent quite a bit of time in a relatively small clothing store on Madison Avenue. After more than an hour, I narrowed down my choice to two coats – a navy one and a black one. In addition to being different colors, they were quite different styles, thus bringing far too many factors into the decision-making process.
As I tried on the “other” coat for the nth time, the saleswoman, who had been patient with me up to that point, asked, “Are you a Gemini?”
“No,” I said, sensing – and at that point, sharing – her frustration. “A Libra.”
“Oh, God, that’s worse,” she said. “Take the black one!”
“Thank you,” I responded, realizing how desperately I appreciated the intervention. “I will.”
I put the black coat on the counter, and she began to ring up the sale. At that point, I felt she was my new best friend, and so I confided, “You’ll notice how no one accompanies me shopping.”
It was an observation I had made over the preceding years, and it was one that my family joked about. I really am impossible to shop with. I act as if every decision were going to change the direction in which the earth is spinning. But it seems I can’t help it. The stars have made it that way…
+++
In the mid-90’s, when I was working at a nonprofit in downtown Los Angeles, I had a co-worker named Robert. Robert, who was several years younger than I and who had married recently, was also a Libra. Having not looked at his astrological profile as carefully as I, he was intrigued when I began to describe some of the traits we shared. When I mentioned the shopping thing, he laughed, nodded, and indicated that he understood.
I told him about the time I was in the Woolworth’s in New York, selecting a shower curtain. I went into one of those Libran shopping trances, I told him. Each $2.00 shower curtain had a unique pattern, of course, and each featured different colors. So I had much to consider. As I picked up one shower curtain package after another, I was reviewing, in my mind, the colors of the towels that my husband and I had. I was considering the colors of the tiles in our bathroom. I was re-assessing the shower curtains’ patterns themselves. Did I want fish? Were flowers too girly? God, the questions!
The strange, strained look on my face caught the attention of a Woolworth’s sales associate, a man sporting a blue smock that featured a friendly name tag. He approached me and regarded the eight packages of shower curtains I was holding (these were the finalists). “Lady!” he said, “How many shower curtains do you need?”
Where was the Madison Avenue saleswoman when I needed her? Where was the person who might say, “Just get the blue one with the fish! It’s a fucking two-dollar shower curtain, for God’s sake!”
I probably also told Robert about the time when I was at a department store in a Los Angeles mall, and I tried on so many pairs of sunglasses that a security guard began hovering behind me. The guard probably reasoned that the exorbitant amount of time I was spending trying on an exorbitant number of sunglasses was all part of a plan to pocket at least one pair. But, I wasn’t looking to steal. And, in fact, the decision-making was so daunting that I just walked away. No new sunglasses for me that day. I was just too overwhelmed by the options.
Robert enjoyed my anecdotes, and I learned the next morning, when he came into my office, that they had provided him with some enlightenment. “I told my wife about the Libra thing and shopping,” Robert said, referring to a conversation he had with his new bride the previous night. “You totally hit the nail on the head! She hates shopping with me! I drive her crazy!”
+++
Robert and I continued to bond over our common idiosyncrasies, and one day, when I went into his office to see if he had a dictionary, I learned how clearly he had come to understand the burden we Libras carry. I was looking for a dictionary that day because our boss had edited a grant proposal I drafted, and she suggested, in her edit, that the word “reexamine” should be hyphenated. Being the stickler I am, I wanted to consult an almighty reference book before making the change.
Robert directed me to his dictionary, and as I opened it, I told him why I was needing it. He continued about his work as I looked up the word. When I found the entry for “reexamine” and learned that, according to that dictionary, the word could either be hyphenated or not, I really felt the onset of a quandary.
“Oh great,” I said in frustrated tone that was driven by playfulness.
“What?” he asked.
“It could go either way,” I let him know.
Robert sighed for both of us and looked at me with matter-of-fact concern and a gleam in his eye. “Well,” he said, “There goes your day!”
+++
My next staff job was at a higher ed institution, where I was the Rob Petrie of the three-person proposal writing team. Our administrative support came from Lisa, who prepped all proposals for final packaging. Lisa, who was quickly becoming a friend, knew of my decision-making dilemmas. And, often-times, she was more in tuned to them than I was.
One day, she wanted to consult with me about a budget page that she had completed. I was standing in the middle of the writers’ room when she approached. She gave no hint of being anything other than professional as she held up the sheet and pointed to the bottom line number. “This grand total,” she said, quite seriously, “Should I bold it or give it a double-underscore?”
She then watched my face as it took on an extremely pained look. She watched the busy- ness that was taking place therein and amused herself as she imagined what considerations I could possibly be entertaining. When it was clear we might miss the deadline waiting for my answer, she smiled her broad smile. “GOTCHA!” she said, as she ran off to make the decision herself.
+++
So there I’ve been in life. Deliberating for minutes and hours-on-end about shower curtains, sunglasses, hyphenations, and the appearance of fonts.
And yet there have been other decisions that seemed to take no time whatsoever: Should I get married? Sure! Move to California? Why not? Quit my job? Absolutely! Quit this job, too? Yup. And this one? Face it; it sucks. Even though I don’t have another job lined up? When has that stopped you before? Buy a new car? Gotta drive!
When I drove my 1998 Honda Civic off the lot, it had seven miles on the odometer, and I was committed to five years of car payments. I could swing it, I knew, and I wasn’t bothered by the commitment. But I was struck by how quickly I had made the decision. I would recount the adventure later, telling friends, “My God, I chose a car faster than I choose a parking space!”
Which is when it dawned on me: It’s the small decisions I cannot seem to make…
It took a few years, but I have finally reached a place where I can apply that discovery to everyday life. I have learned that if I can’t make a decision quickly, then I just don’t care. What a freeing revelation this has been! I have a formula now! When a question is asked of me, I either answer immediately or I volley it back to the person who posed it. “Surprise me!” I say.
As I’ve come to understand my relationship to decisions, and as I have freed myself up by letting others make the smaller ones, I also have come to appreciate my ease with the larger ones. It’s about intuition. It comes from the gut.
Libras are known for their rather labored approach to decision-making. We’re the sign of the scales, and it is in our nature to weigh all aspects of an issue. It is in our nature to be fair. Extremely, painstakingly, tediously fair.
For people whose workday begins with changing into a judge’s robe, this bent toward circumspect decision-making is probably convenient (for all parties concerned). But for a gal who just wants to go out and do some quick shopping, this weighing thing is a pain in the ass. Once, during my college years in New York, I had some money to buy a new winter coat. It was going to be the first winter coat I ever bought “on my own,” and so it was a rather momentous occasion. I spent quite a bit of time in a relatively small clothing store on Madison Avenue. After more than an hour, I narrowed down my choice to two coats – a navy one and a black one. In addition to being different colors, they were quite different styles, thus bringing far too many factors into the decision-making process.
As I tried on the “other” coat for the nth time, the saleswoman, who had been patient with me up to that point, asked, “Are you a Gemini?”
“No,” I said, sensing – and at that point, sharing – her frustration. “A Libra.”
“Oh, God, that’s worse,” she said. “Take the black one!”
“Thank you,” I responded, realizing how desperately I appreciated the intervention. “I will.”
I put the black coat on the counter, and she began to ring up the sale. At that point, I felt she was my new best friend, and so I confided, “You’ll notice how no one accompanies me shopping.”
It was an observation I had made over the preceding years, and it was one that my family joked about. I really am impossible to shop with. I act as if every decision were going to change the direction in which the earth is spinning. But it seems I can’t help it. The stars have made it that way…
+++
In the mid-90’s, when I was working at a nonprofit in downtown Los Angeles, I had a co-worker named Robert. Robert, who was several years younger than I and who had married recently, was also a Libra. Having not looked at his astrological profile as carefully as I, he was intrigued when I began to describe some of the traits we shared. When I mentioned the shopping thing, he laughed, nodded, and indicated that he understood.
I told him about the time I was in the Woolworth’s in New York, selecting a shower curtain. I went into one of those Libran shopping trances, I told him. Each $2.00 shower curtain had a unique pattern, of course, and each featured different colors. So I had much to consider. As I picked up one shower curtain package after another, I was reviewing, in my mind, the colors of the towels that my husband and I had. I was considering the colors of the tiles in our bathroom. I was re-assessing the shower curtains’ patterns themselves. Did I want fish? Were flowers too girly? God, the questions!
The strange, strained look on my face caught the attention of a Woolworth’s sales associate, a man sporting a blue smock that featured a friendly name tag. He approached me and regarded the eight packages of shower curtains I was holding (these were the finalists). “Lady!” he said, “How many shower curtains do you need?”
Where was the Madison Avenue saleswoman when I needed her? Where was the person who might say, “Just get the blue one with the fish! It’s a fucking two-dollar shower curtain, for God’s sake!”
I probably also told Robert about the time when I was at a department store in a Los Angeles mall, and I tried on so many pairs of sunglasses that a security guard began hovering behind me. The guard probably reasoned that the exorbitant amount of time I was spending trying on an exorbitant number of sunglasses was all part of a plan to pocket at least one pair. But, I wasn’t looking to steal. And, in fact, the decision-making was so daunting that I just walked away. No new sunglasses for me that day. I was just too overwhelmed by the options.
Robert enjoyed my anecdotes, and I learned the next morning, when he came into my office, that they had provided him with some enlightenment. “I told my wife about the Libra thing and shopping,” Robert said, referring to a conversation he had with his new bride the previous night. “You totally hit the nail on the head! She hates shopping with me! I drive her crazy!”
+++
Robert and I continued to bond over our common idiosyncrasies, and one day, when I went into his office to see if he had a dictionary, I learned how clearly he had come to understand the burden we Libras carry. I was looking for a dictionary that day because our boss had edited a grant proposal I drafted, and she suggested, in her edit, that the word “reexamine” should be hyphenated. Being the stickler I am, I wanted to consult an almighty reference book before making the change.
Robert directed me to his dictionary, and as I opened it, I told him why I was needing it. He continued about his work as I looked up the word. When I found the entry for “reexamine” and learned that, according to that dictionary, the word could either be hyphenated or not, I really felt the onset of a quandary.
“Oh great,” I said in frustrated tone that was driven by playfulness.
“What?” he asked.
“It could go either way,” I let him know.
Robert sighed for both of us and looked at me with matter-of-fact concern and a gleam in his eye. “Well,” he said, “There goes your day!”
+++
My next staff job was at a higher ed institution, where I was the Rob Petrie of the three-person proposal writing team. Our administrative support came from Lisa, who prepped all proposals for final packaging. Lisa, who was quickly becoming a friend, knew of my decision-making dilemmas. And, often-times, she was more in tuned to them than I was.
One day, she wanted to consult with me about a budget page that she had completed. I was standing in the middle of the writers’ room when she approached. She gave no hint of being anything other than professional as she held up the sheet and pointed to the bottom line number. “This grand total,” she said, quite seriously, “Should I bold it or give it a double-underscore?”
She then watched my face as it took on an extremely pained look. She watched the busy- ness that was taking place therein and amused herself as she imagined what considerations I could possibly be entertaining. When it was clear we might miss the deadline waiting for my answer, she smiled her broad smile. “GOTCHA!” she said, as she ran off to make the decision herself.
+++
So there I’ve been in life. Deliberating for minutes and hours-on-end about shower curtains, sunglasses, hyphenations, and the appearance of fonts.
And yet there have been other decisions that seemed to take no time whatsoever: Should I get married? Sure! Move to California? Why not? Quit my job? Absolutely! Quit this job, too? Yup. And this one? Face it; it sucks. Even though I don’t have another job lined up? When has that stopped you before? Buy a new car? Gotta drive!
When I drove my 1998 Honda Civic off the lot, it had seven miles on the odometer, and I was committed to five years of car payments. I could swing it, I knew, and I wasn’t bothered by the commitment. But I was struck by how quickly I had made the decision. I would recount the adventure later, telling friends, “My God, I chose a car faster than I choose a parking space!”
Which is when it dawned on me: It’s the small decisions I cannot seem to make…
It took a few years, but I have finally reached a place where I can apply that discovery to everyday life. I have learned that if I can’t make a decision quickly, then I just don’t care. What a freeing revelation this has been! I have a formula now! When a question is asked of me, I either answer immediately or I volley it back to the person who posed it. “Surprise me!” I say.
As I’ve come to understand my relationship to decisions, and as I have freed myself up by letting others make the smaller ones, I also have come to appreciate my ease with the larger ones. It’s about intuition. It comes from the gut.
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