Balance Shmalance

I’ve been reading a lot of articles lately about work/life balance and the one thing I have learned from the is this; I hate the term “work/life balance.”

Let’s start with the “work/life” part.  Listing these two in that way makes them opposed values.  I don’t know about you, but work is very much a part of my life. Work is a part of how I identify myself. To list them as opposite forces is unrealistic.  How often does a bad day at work influence your mood at home?  How many pictures of your family do you have in your office?  Work and “life” are intertwined like one big pretzel.  Therefore, I propose instead of “work/life” we say “work/TROL” (“TROL” standing for “the rest of life”, copyright pending.)

OK, so now that we have that settled, let’s talk about the whole idea of balance.  HA!  To me, the idea of balance conjures up an image of an old fashioned scale, where both sides are in perfect alignment at a given moment.  I don’t care if you are a mom, dad, worker or stay-at-home, do you ever feel this way?  I didn’t think so.  For me, and I am guessing most of you, the scale is in constant flux, sometimes the work side is higher, sometimes TROL is higher.  The key is not to allow ourselves to feel like something will always be “suffering” because of this.  Instead of being in the moment in whatever we are doing, we worry about the things that are not being done. How many times have you had the following thoughts?

•      I should do some work from home but the kids really want me to play Barbie, Candyland, school, Legos (fill in the blank.)
• ·      If I go to this conference I will miss my daughter’s recital (true story)
• ·      I want to read to the kids but the laundry is piling up.
• ·      I can spend time with the kids now instead of cooking, but then will feel guilty for getting take out instead of making them a healthy meal at home.

If your answer is “never”, well then please stop reading this blog and go back to baking your cookies from scratch and posting pictures of them on Pinterest.  If you answered “on a daily basis” then you and I have a lot in common and we should go out for drinks sometime.

In the wise words of Roseanne Rosannadanna, “it’s always something”.  Looking for balance sets us up for extreme failure, a goal that is just, in my humble opinion, unattainable (much like keeping my den neat or staying away from M&Ms.)

Maybe we should see life as more of a see saw, some parts are up, some parts are down, the goal is to just stay on so the person on the other side does not come crashing down too hard.

Do I take my own advice? Well, that’s debatable depending on the day, the hour, the moment, but it sounds like a helluva New Year’s Resolution. Who’s with me?

I Know I'm Getting Older Cause...

• Going on a playground swing has become an extreme sport.
• I don't recognize the people on the cover of Entertainment Weekly.  Ever.  Unless it's a "throwback" issue.
• Getting standing-room-only tickets to a concert seem preposterous.
• I use the word "preposterous." 
• Comfortable shoes rock my world.
• Going to see a movie that starts after 10:00pm?????
• I always bring a jacket with me.
• Drinking red wine puts me to sleep.
• Watching movies at home after 10:00 puts me to sleep.
• Pretty much anything puts me to sleep.
• I use one of those daily medication sorters.
• I make the reflexive "uhh" sound when I get up from a seated position.
• I sometimes use "I need to put the weather channel on" as an excuse to sit down on the couch for a few minutes (but then when I get up..."uhh".)
• I had to teach my office's graduate assistant how to use the fax machine.
• I don't know what a meme is.
• I still use a camera.
• I don't remember how to dance.
• I just panicked cause my screen disappeared and I did not know how to get it back.

Florence

When I was in high school I started working at a local bank as a customer service representative.  I was a part-timer and since I worked Thursday and Friday evenings and Saturdays, I shared a desk with a full-timer who worked Monday-Friday until 4.  Her name was Florence.

Florence was a bit over-the-top.  She had very big, blonde hair.  Not 80's big, but kinda-like if you had a bee-hive hairdo and just flattened the top a bit so it stretched out horizontally.  She wore bright make up. She was a rather large women who was always in a skirt or dress, with matching jewelry.

When you are 16 everyone seems "old" to you so I actually don't know how old Florence was at that time, and couldn't even venture a guess now. What I did know was that she was unmarried with no children;  that she lived alone and seemed to prefer that over any alternative.

Florence was a bit, well, difficult to work with. She could be classified as a "curmudgeon." She wanted things the way she wanted things. Since we shared a desk, I often took great pleasure in messing with her by moving her things around. She would also get upset if people did not follow procedures. God help the person who did not put the Traveler's Cheques box in exactly the place it should be.  This was a women who did not hold back a thought.  She would not hesitate to complain to one of  the managers about something.  Consequently, many people found it, well, challenging to be around her. But, for some reason, Florence and I got along.  Maybe because I let her complain, or maybe because she always seemed genuinely friendly to me.

After 3 1/2 years I left the bank to pursue the greener pastures of telemarketing, a job which would not cramp my teen-age style by requiring me to work Friday nights and wake up early to work on Saturdays (that job, by the way, was short-lived, I just couldn't deal with the constant rejection of people yelling at me or hanging up on me.)  But my communication with Florence did not end along with my tenure at the bank.  She was great at sending cards, up until just a few years ago she always sent me a card for my birthday, even though I forgot hers long ago, and we always sent each other Christmas cards, every single year.  Once I had children she would write to me how much she enjoyed seeing the pictures of my girls.  Every card she sent had a hand-written note. Florence had great handwriting and always wrote her notes in the Christmas cards in red marker (she did love color.)  Unfortunately, her notes were filled with updates on what members of her family had died since the last card, and the health issues that she was experiencing herself.  However, she always ended with her hopes for a healthier and happier new year.

Every year I worried when I did not receive a card from Florence.  Usually her card was a bit late so I would say to my husband "haven't received a card from Florence yet" and he knew that meant that I was worried that I wouldn't. It was always a relief to see that envelope made out with red marker.

Today I received the card that I sent to her back in my mailbox.  There were three letters on the envelope that were not there when I mailed it out, those letters were "DEC." My heart sank.  My husband saw my face and said "maybe it means December", neither of us really thought that made much sense but it was a good try.

I immediately took to the internet and try to find any mention of her passing, but there was nothing.  The thing is, Florence had no spouse, no children, and she had outlived her siblings.  There was not even anyone to write me a note to explain her passing, all there was was someone to write "DEC" and place the envelope back in the mailbox.

Of course, now I wish I had done more for Florence over the years.  Maybe I could have gone to visit her.  Or maybe I could have written her birthday down once and for all. I think of the fact that the image I have of her in my mind is one from over 25 years ago.  Did she still have the big hair?  Still wear the make-up?  I think of how unique our "friendship" was.  I think of what I have learned by it, and how I will use Florence as an example for my girls of "don't judge a book by it's cover".  Maybe receiving my annual card with my girls' smiling faces brought a smile to her face; or maybe she just appreciated the fact that after all of these years she was still on my Christmas list.  Maybe the little things in life aren't so little after all.

Rest in peace, Florence.