Kindergarten

I am particularly pooped today.

For no good reason, I seem to be completely void of energy.

It cannot possibly be because Boyfriend of Amazingness are buying a house together. That cannot be sucking energy out of me in wisps of wait-tastic stress.

It cannot possibly be because work is a little crazy right now, with health issues going on all over the place and schedules being shaken like one of Bond's martinis. Nope, I'm pretty sure that's not it.

It cannot possibly be because I spent last evening chasing a Small Someone around Boyfriend of Amazingness's practice. Even with slaying that crocodile**1, I don't think that would do it.

I don't think it's because it's half past one and I haven't had my lunch yet...

I don't think it's because I attended my lunch time dance class today and spent a whole hour twirling and wiggling and giggling...

And I don't think it's because I hit my forehead off of the back of Boyfriend of Amazingness's cranium last evening as I snuggled in to fall asleep as Big Spoon, and then fell asleep with a nagging headache that poked me in the brain all night.

No, I'm pretty sure I'm sleepy because it's nap time.

Corporate America, you gotta get in touch with your Kindergarten roots. We're missing out.

**1 It was big, and lived on a picnic table. The only way to conquer it was by flailing at it with a broken rose stem. Fortunately we had fairy wings so we could just fly away when it threatened to overtake us.

Poor Planning...

A PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT

For Incompetent Planners

There's a phrase I've heard used liberally throughout my daily meanderings.

I've heard it at work... I've heard it at play... I've even heard it at the grocery store.

That phrase is this:

"Poor planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on mine."

Basically it's a statement that indemnifies the speaker from having to drop everything and pull the asker out of an abyss of panic just because the asker failed to budget their time correctly from the start of a particularly difficult project.

(How's that for a poorly-cobbled sentence. Sheesh.)

I don't apply this statement liberally throughout my life.

I'm a helper. When someone has a crisis, I try to pitch in.

It works out pretty well, since I too have crises on occasion, and it's nice to have some help to get me through it.

But, there are individuals who just need to help themselves.

Mostly these are the particularly needy folks who leech on to any available life form and slowly suck the willingness to rise and shine right out of them. They prey upon kindness and helpfulness as sustainance for their all-consuming codependence.

It is mostly for those folks that I have created this list:

SUNNY SMILES' GUIDE TO
EMERGENCY SITUATIONS

 

Emergency Tier 1

Yes, this is a major emergency. It is acceptable to panic.

It is expected that you will need assistance with this situation.

* You - or a direct relative - has lost a body part or is otherwise mangled.

* Someone's life - person or pet - is in the balance.

* The apocalypse has come.

Emergency Tier 2

This is a minor emergency. It is not unheard of to panic, but it helps the situation if you don't.

Assistance readily supplied upon request.

* You left the stove on.

* Your basement is slowly filling with water.

* The doctor calls asking to schedule some follow-up tests because something isn't right.

Emergency Tier 3

This is an inconvenience. It is not acceptable to panic.

Assistance will only be available by the kindest individuals who desperately want to help you.

* Your car won't start.

* You misplaced your cell phone/glasses.

* The dog ate [insert your non-lethal substance here. For lethal substances, escalate to Tier 1].

Emergency Tier 4

This is a normal part of human life. It is not acceptable to panic, or even to suggest that this is a worrisome situation.

You will be ridiculed if you seek assistance.

* Traffic or road construction happens somewhere during your commute.

* I left the grocery shopping until the refrigerator was completely empty and I haven't any bonbons for snack.

* The little light in my car came on and now I need an oil change.**1

So, hopefully, that breakdown helps. It provides a basic reaction to whatever scenario may be playing out before you.

As a helpful aside, unnecessary escalation is cause for ignoring future pleas for assistance. For instance, if you escalate a Tier 4 issue to a Tier 2 issue, the next time you have a legitimate Tier 2 issue you're likely to be ignored altogether. The Emergency Paradox walks hand in hand with the Crying Wolf Paradigm.

RaYD,

Sunny

**1 Yeah, I've heard that one. "The light came on and I've got to go get an oil change right now! You can cover me, right?" And then she ran out the door.

Yeah. Ran.

Sociability

A PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT

To Individuals Who Are Prone To Social Unhelpfulness

Proximity is nine tenths of the law.

(Or something like that.)

I mean, when you're a child, the closest kid to the empty candy dish is the kid likely to receive the blame.

Likewise, the adult who's standing closest to a guest ought to practice a modicum of hospitality instead of walking straight past them, ignoring them completely in favor of secreting ones self away in a cubby hole and calling someone else to take care of them.

Sure, there are (on rare occasions) exceptions to the rule.

For instance, when the Jehovah's Witnesses knock on my door at 10:00 on a Saturday morning, I run like hell to hide my naked self**1 in the back corner of the kitchen while Boyfriend of Amazingness is left to spin a tale of how I left him heartbroken and alone to go join a gypsy circus.

But we know these Witness folks. And despite our best efforts of ignorance (and our pleas for them to practice the same), they continue to descend upon our domicile.

However, when one doesn't anticipate or know who the guests are, one must at least make an effort.

Now, I recognize that the world is filled to brimming with individuals who have a little trouble with interaction. And while, for the most part, I support the avoidance of discomfort-inducing activities, there are times when discomfort is secondary to the necessity of communication.**2

Thusly, for those non-social types (and anyone wishing to brush up on their basic skills of interaction), I hope to present this helpful hint:

Sunny Smiles' Guide to Practicing Hospitality

Instead of this...

"There's someone waiting for help at ______. [Regular Greeter] isn't here yet and someone needs to come find out what they want."

... I instead offer this option:

"[Visitors] from [company] are here. I wanted to let you know, since [regular greeter] isn't here yet and you're a wonderfully helpful person who I think can take care of this situation. I had them take a seat in the waiting area, but it would be a help if you could come get them to their final destination."

If someone is standing there, Reader Friend, talk to them. I promise, society as a whole isn't quite so scary as you think. And they're even less scary if you (brace yourself for this...) help them. Then they aren't quite so inclined to stare pointedly at you - or worse, attempt to communicate with you*3... - as you walk by pretending that they don't exist.

It's crazy, but it works.

And maybe, someday, someone will help you without being asked. It's like a big helpful circle.

But it's gotta start somewhere.

Why not with you?

RaYD,

Sunny

**1  Yes, that's right. I'm an actively practicing member of the Naked Saturday club.

**2 Sometimes I gotta kill me a spider. Sometimes you gotta talk to someone you don't know. If it helps, you can hold your shoe in your hand while you do it. It works for me.

**2 ADDENDUM: Do not hit the guest with your shoe. That's the opposite of helpful.

**3 The horror...

Impossibilities

So, something fascinating happened when I took off the creative blinders and opened this blog to my whole life, instead of focusing upon my work life...

I had too many things to write about.

Seriously - it's like this faucet is turned on in my brain, and there are so many ideas burbling around that I'm likely to spring a leak.**1

But as these ideas burble around, it's hard to focus on one or another so I can write about it and entertain you as thoroughly as I ought.

Which leads me to this:

My second prompted blog post.**2

Name up to six impossible things you believe in.

There is a quote about impossibility that I saw when I was a freshman in high school English class. My teacher had it posted on her wall:

"Impossible is just a big word thrown around by small men who find it easier to live the world they have been given, rather than to explore the power they have to change it. Impossible is not a fact. It is an opinion. Impossible is not a declaration. It is a dare. Impossible is potential. Impossible is temporary. Impossible is nothing."     - Muhammad Ali

I remember it being visually striking because it was printed boldly on a poster with a greyed-out picture of a small sailboat riding this angry wave on the ocean. It struck me so deeply that I flipped to the back page of my notebook and started a page just for quotes to inspire that teenage me.**3

Upon reading this prompt and starting to put my thoughts together, this quote immediately came to mind. What beliefs do I hold that others might consider to be an impossibility?


Age is just a number.

Although this adage is popular to share, it's not focused upon with the intent I believe it deserves. It's tossed out by individuals who appear to have allowed their age to take hold of their lives and mandate their actions, and wish a quick go-to quote to make them appear less concerned than they really are.

In my world, age is a number. It isn't a definition. I label myself biologically as a twenty-four year old. Consciously I'm in my early thirties. Subconsciously I'm around eight. The numbers are inconsequential - what matters is what I do with them. I work hard, and achieve. I unwind with Disney movies after running through my accounts. My age doesn't dictate what I wear, what I do or who I am.


The spirit of Santa Claus is real.

At Christmastime, religious folk start discussing "miracles." A woman with three kids and no job receives an anonymous donation of gifts for her children. An orphaned child finds a forever home. A stray dog is reunited with its owner.

Although it's wonderful to consider that a supreme being is looking down and orchestrating these actions, it feels more realistic to me to consider that there's a spark inside each of us that really is the "Spirit of the Season." A Santa Claus on the inside, of sorts, who leads people to make kinder decisions and pay closer attention to the world and the people around them.


Humans, like pit bulls, are innately good.

The other day, I stumbled across a quote from more than twenty years ago by a much younger Denis Leary that really struck me:

"Racism isn't born, folks. It's taught. I have a two year old son. You know what he hates? Naps! End of list."

This is absolutely, 110% true. Children must be taught that skin color, religion, gender or socioeconomic status is a basis for regard of another human. They don't know how to judge their fellow individuals any more than they know how to tie their shoes when they're dropped onto the planet. Hatred is a decision, and it's always an option to say "No, I choose kindness."


Today, it will be impossible for me to sprout wings and fly away. It will be impossible for me to kiss my Daddy's forehead. It will be impossible for me to give birth to a yak.

Just about everything else I can dream... I can do.

Just about everything.

**1 I told Boyfriend of Amazingness earlier this week that my brain was so busy it had started to leak out of my ear. He said "Hmm...," rolled over and fell back to sleep. He was obviously so perturbed that he couldn't bear the thought and put it straight out of his mind.

**2 I'm actually quite enjoying them. Don't judge.

**3 Also inspiring to teenage me: Disney movies and Tim McGraw. I was a teensy bit impressionable, and I didn't seem to care where the impression came from.

Boston Strong

As I'm gathering these thoughts, I'm sitting in a completely silent office.

Now, most of the time when I sit here at the front desk, it's quiet. There isn't a lot of chatter and outside noise to disturb my thinking.

Today it's silent.

There's no drone of the air handling units...

The elevators aren't zooming through the building...

I've heard exactly one door open and close as I've sat here putting this post together.

I can hear the clacking of the keys as I type.

I can hear the whirr of the fan within the computer tower beside me.

And I can hear the faint "pop-pop-pop" of the flash bulbs in the emergency strobe lights in the hallway.

This afternoon, just moments before a two-and-a-half hour company-wide meeting began off-site, a water line burst in my office building.

It immediately affected the floor I sit on, and the floor immediately beneath it (where the switchboard is).

So the building was vacated, and all employees went to the meeting early.

This all happened as I was adventuring - finally, after 8 days of wanting - for cupcakes.

So I arrived  back to the building in time to watch a wave of coworkers flood the sidewalks, two fire trucks scream down the street and stop in front of our office. I didn't know what to do.

I hate not knowing what to do.

So, after a short session of attempting to get in to retrieve our belongings, we were informed that we needed to wait outside. We meandered to the small sitting area, sat down with our cupcakes and chatted while we waited to be cleared for access.

It was as we waited that I started to think.

There were two fire trucks outside the office. The firemen stood in the lobby, conferring with maintenance staff about the situation.

This was classified as an "emergency."

But in the scheme of things... this was nothing.

On April 15, during the Boston Marathon, a real emergency broke out. Some individuals set out to make themselves know through the pain that they caused. They hurt more than just the runners - they hurt families, and they hurt our country.

That week was terribly, terribly dark.

But out of that darkness, a wonderful light started to shine - brighter and so much more positive than the strobes that are blinking around me now.

Three students at Emerson College - Nick, Chris and Lane - started a campaign that they called "Stay Strong - Boston Strong."

They thought, perhaps, they might sell a hundred tee shirts to raise a little money for the marathon runners who were hurt, and the families of runners who didn't survive the attack.

The result has been tremendous.

News stories have erupted everywhere. These students have been on USA Today, they've gone to Red Sox games, and they're rocking the nation with the difference they're making.

That difference is to the tune of almost 48,000 shirts, and over $700,000.

Nick designed the tee-shirts - a simple design, with yellow block letters on a royal blue tee, in the color scheme of the marathon - on a website called "Ink To The People." Ink To The People agreed to create the shirts, if over 110 would sell. Then they donated the first 1,500 shirts to the cause. More than 46,000 shirts later, they're taking only $5 out of the sale of each tee shirt for production costs. This campaign has put more shirts through their presses than they've created in the history of their company.

And the campaign continues today, striving to reach $1,000,000 for The One Fund. The One Fund, set up to assist the individuals impacted by the bombing, has raised over $27,000,000 so far, and continues to need our help.

You can get your very own tee here:

http://inktothepeople.com/marketplace/ink-detail/4916

So I ask you, my ReaderFriends...

Are you Boston Strong?