Saying Buh-Bye to 2009
I know it's already well into January, and I probably should be ushering in the promise of 2010, but I haven't done a proper send-off to 2009 yet. And it was a pretty big year for me, filled with both losses and opportunities. So I wanted to thank 2009 for the following:
Thank you for teaching me how to deal with death and the unbearable heartbreak that comes with it. I lost my beloved dog Lucy in May, right after her 13th birthday. She was one of my best friends over the last 11 years, and thinking about her now still makes me want to cry. But thinking about her also makes me smile, to remember how she loved to lick my toes while I watched TV, the way she followed me everywhere with her silly tongue hanging out of a perpetual smile, how she treated our kids with such patience and gentleness (that even I didn't have for them at times). I learned that grief can burn away over time and leave an imprint of joy if we give ourselves the permission not to be consumed by our loss.
Thank you for kicking my ass just enough to get me out of my comfort zone. I had been with Cisco for 12 years at the start of 2009. I was managing a small but awesome team of really bright people. I had a manager that I respected. I had the cushiest telecommute schedule a person could ask for. But I had nowhere to go, and not much to learn in my role. As a result, I was bored and losing confidence. Enter a cold call from a company I never heard of asking me to interview. The economy was in the toilet; I had the easiest gig and a solid reputation where I was. And for some reason, I interviewed anyway. Call it Fate, call it Coincidence, call it the anonymous feedback on my review that said I could never get promoted as long as I "demonstrated a lack of patience for other people who are unable to do their jobs" (seriously!), but I had just enough clarity to recognize a great opportunity and took it. Who knew I had it in me?
Thank you for showing me that the only sure way to fail is to give up on yourself. I have never been any good at losing weight, and I've tried everything: weird diets (low-fat, low-carb, foods in a certain order, foods of a certain color, you name it), every kind of exercise program (cardio, weights, focus on my core, focus on my large muscle groups, low-intensity, high-intensity, etc.). Eventually I just decided it's not worth the hassle. After all, I have two kids; no one's going to think twice if I'm all doughy and schlubby. But the truth is, I never tried that whole "eat less, exercise more" thing. Not in earnest. I mean, it's really hard to keep track of how much I eat and how many calories I'm burning. And what if I do all that, and I'm still carrying baby #1 weight and baby #2 weight (and let's face it, the freshman 15 weight from waaaaaay back in the day)? Then it means I really am an overweight schlub. It's just easier not to test that theory. Except that as long as I don't try, I am already exactly what I'm afraid I might be. (Note to Alanis Morissette: this is ironic.) And what do you know? I lost 10 pounds in the last quarter of 2009, just by (really) trying. I have 10 more pounds to go, and I know I'll be able to shed them - because I'm not going to give up.
Thank you for introducing me to new friends. My writing buddies, my peops at Equinix - I've gotten to know amazing people over the last year. People who are creative, courageous, generous, and examples of how to live life to the fullest. It's so much easier to become the person you aspire to be when you're surrounded by those who inspire you.
So, 2009, you broke my heart, you kicked my ass, but you made me grow (and shrink at the same time). Now we must part ways, but I'll always remember you as a year that forced me to exercise my own courage and made me better for it. Good luck with your place in the history books.
xoxo,
Hulabunny
Thank you for teaching me how to deal with death and the unbearable heartbreak that comes with it. I lost my beloved dog Lucy in May, right after her 13th birthday. She was one of my best friends over the last 11 years, and thinking about her now still makes me want to cry. But thinking about her also makes me smile, to remember how she loved to lick my toes while I watched TV, the way she followed me everywhere with her silly tongue hanging out of a perpetual smile, how she treated our kids with such patience and gentleness (that even I didn't have for them at times). I learned that grief can burn away over time and leave an imprint of joy if we give ourselves the permission not to be consumed by our loss.
Thank you for kicking my ass just enough to get me out of my comfort zone. I had been with Cisco for 12 years at the start of 2009. I was managing a small but awesome team of really bright people. I had a manager that I respected. I had the cushiest telecommute schedule a person could ask for. But I had nowhere to go, and not much to learn in my role. As a result, I was bored and losing confidence. Enter a cold call from a company I never heard of asking me to interview. The economy was in the toilet; I had the easiest gig and a solid reputation where I was. And for some reason, I interviewed anyway. Call it Fate, call it Coincidence, call it the anonymous feedback on my review that said I could never get promoted as long as I "demonstrated a lack of patience for other people who are unable to do their jobs" (seriously!), but I had just enough clarity to recognize a great opportunity and took it. Who knew I had it in me?
Thank you for showing me that the only sure way to fail is to give up on yourself. I have never been any good at losing weight, and I've tried everything: weird diets (low-fat, low-carb, foods in a certain order, foods of a certain color, you name it), every kind of exercise program (cardio, weights, focus on my core, focus on my large muscle groups, low-intensity, high-intensity, etc.). Eventually I just decided it's not worth the hassle. After all, I have two kids; no one's going to think twice if I'm all doughy and schlubby. But the truth is, I never tried that whole "eat less, exercise more" thing. Not in earnest. I mean, it's really hard to keep track of how much I eat and how many calories I'm burning. And what if I do all that, and I'm still carrying baby #1 weight and baby #2 weight (and let's face it, the freshman 15 weight from waaaaaay back in the day)? Then it means I really am an overweight schlub. It's just easier not to test that theory. Except that as long as I don't try, I am already exactly what I'm afraid I might be. (Note to Alanis Morissette: this is ironic.) And what do you know? I lost 10 pounds in the last quarter of 2009, just by (really) trying. I have 10 more pounds to go, and I know I'll be able to shed them - because I'm not going to give up.
Thank you for introducing me to new friends. My writing buddies, my peops at Equinix - I've gotten to know amazing people over the last year. People who are creative, courageous, generous, and examples of how to live life to the fullest. It's so much easier to become the person you aspire to be when you're surrounded by those who inspire you.
So, 2009, you broke my heart, you kicked my ass, but you made me grow (and shrink at the same time). Now we must part ways, but I'll always remember you as a year that forced me to exercise my own courage and made me better for it. Good luck with your place in the history books.
xoxo,
Hulabunny